Hello, all! Hope you’ve made it through the week all right.

I wrote this poem when I was watching my cat play with a peacock feather (Cats really love those things). The beauty of the feather, the idiomatic vanity of the peacock, and the strange femininity the feather carried suggested this poem to me.

Something about the Peacock Woman reminds me of those female “players” — you know, the drop-dead gorgeous ladies who go around breaking hearts and serving their hedonism. (Sorry, strong language?) I tried to get this concept across in the poem.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Reaching up happily in dramatic pose,

The peacock woman, motionless, dances.

Her arms, light, fluffy, airy,

She gazes, reminiscent of a fairy,

Pointing up, and to herself.


Her face is blank and beautiful,

A gold and royal mask.

Blues and greens struggle to be seen,

With purple painted on the disc.


Dark-daubed eyes stare intently out,

Her arms and hair wave gently.

The peacock woman is so proud

Of her iridescent beauty.

She is soft and smooth (and deadly?)

As she proudly presents herself.

Thanks for reading! Like this, or leave a comment to let me know if you liked it. Have a wonderful day.

Original poem by KiWi. Copyright 2017.

Art Credit: Lila Prime. lilaprime.blogspot.com

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