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Best Men Poems

Below are the all-time best Men poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of men poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Don't stop! The most popular and best Men poems are below this new poems list.

Leading Men by Heemstra, Robert
Men vs Boys by Merryman, Kim
Hello Ladies' Men by J.T., Honestly
The Men by Ward, Julia
The Leaf Men by bauer, ilene
How Do Real Men Die by James, Lord
For All Ladies and Brave Men A Birthday Surprise by tor, michael
Her and Between the Two Men by Ntema, Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Mambo
Two Stick Men by Ward, Julia
A Dozen ways in which women confuse men: A Sarcasm Piece by a Confused Man by Walters, Kody

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The Best Men Poems

Details | Men Poem | |


Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer

Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around. 
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…     
~BY: PD~

Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey 

There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~

(for Catie's: Re-write contest..) 

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

More great poems below...

Details | Men Poem | |

Motherland's Funeral

In the past, my country
cradled me within her womb,
but our roles reversed.
I held her in my arms,
felt her slip away.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

They wrenched her from my arms,
took her from my loving arms
to poke, to prod and draw blood.
I prayed while watching attempts made
at her resuscitation,
as greedy hands held out pens,
prodding me to fill in the proper forms.

The world is on lithium,
the drug has defiled the last drop of clean water.
My country was on lithium,
for her, the vibrant colours turned into dull grays,
and in the end, her heart gave way 
from having spent too many decades 
trapped within a gilded cage.

She had an organ donor card -
her organs were sold off one-by-one
while she still clung onto life.
Her organs were removed,
replaced with waving flags
and roaring stadiums.

Men from every standing, race and creed,
groped Motherland's body
after causing her to bleed.
Many men had laid with her. 
Oh, how they did.
At least some men showed decency,
graced her with meaningful caresses.
But they were far and few between -
between the rape, miscarriages and spoils.

Lithium is being slipped into my drink,
into my food, into the very air I breathe,
so daily I purge,
horrified by my country's overdose.
She looks decrepit, splayed out in the morgue,
a cardboard ticket hanging from a big toe
like an empty, whorish price tag.

I will have to give her a proper burial in my mind,
for they are going to have Mother embalmed,
encase her in a glass coffin,
and put her on display.

Our Mother passed away,
yet the land is here to stay.
I will walk across clear-cut ridges,
pass through neon-lit distractions
as a gypsy vagabond.
From now on, the territorial lines
mean nothing more to me than rules to follow.
The shell of this country remains, 
Nationalism has turned empty-hollow.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

I lost my country today,
held her in my arms,
watched her slip away,
felt her slip away.

April 30th, 2012

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Men Poem | |


OMNIPOTENT: HE KNOWS ALL I know today, at this time You... my son(man), may not wholly know me. but, may I ask you... Have you taken one time to close your eyes in silence, feel me in your midst... and somehow reflect why despite say: your abounding richness still, you feel lost or empty? your waterfall trials still, you find yourself standing? your ten thousand sins still, you are given another day to live? My eyes, My hands, My feet. My heart, My breathe, My mind, All of them are filled with unselfish love for You. Before... I created the world complete and beautiful for you that all you need and all you want is there within your grasp. Within your reach. No hunger. No thirst. No killing. No stealing. No pain. No disease. Nothing evil is there nor anything to cause a tear from your eyes. I created you my son as like me unto my image and likeness you are mold yet above all these, how was I to know... that with some lies of a devil you will desire to be greater than I am. but I have forgiven You and given You always chances to change, to be better and once again look unto me as Your God alone. Yet, You seem to be blind, deaf or seem to be high-pride Hence, I have come to the point of sending you, my Only Begotten Son Him, who I answered and empowered through His uttered prayers. Him, whom I asked to fully demonstrate how it is to be human and more to be God at the same time. Him, who didn't consider status, gender, race or age. Selflessly, He embraced all but overall still He wasn't accepted . Him, who begged with blood of tears that I will take away the cup from Him but later, surrendered and humbly said: MY WILL BE DONE. so even His follower who was bribed-- became a traitor. And so, He was condemned and put to death. Again, my son, I ask you to ponder on this Do you need me to every now and then be infront of you? (when I am always here knocking at Your heart's door) Will by seeing me in flesh and hearing my voice convince you? (aren't my Creations: the sun, flowers, the waters, the air tell you am around?) that I am Your God, who will never leave you nor forsake you. (aren't my spirit, your friends, family, supporter, or even a kind stranger tell you am present?) Don't you recognize every single day that I am performing miracles for you? (but sad. Sad. Sad that you don't notice them) Have I not given you a heart and a mind to know and decide? To name a few.. I am a builder. I am a teacher. I am a healer: the greatest physician. I am a fisherman. The great carpenter. The great farmer. The great gardener. Oh yes! yesterday, today and even tomorrow you will hear or you will see so much about me from anyone but have I not told you always to seek me by your heart and that apart from me you can not do more and that you need faith, hope and love to see me... As strong as the wind, as quiet as the forest As fearless as the fire, as immovable as the mountains from east to west, from north to south to the flying spell of the night, to the erupting swell of the sun even borders and beyond... I am the way, the truth and the life I am the alpha and omega I am the one and only God I am who was, who is and yet to come I am the God who knows all... I so love you my son that above all this, I gave you free will, I am leaving you the choice... to open your door for me or not. Will you let me enter, my son? _________________________________________________ 10:03 pm, March 24, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

Details | Men Poem | |

Slavery in Haiti

Haiti, the home of voodoo practices
Seventeenth Century Spain cedes to France
Catholic Spaniards trembled when they saw
“Dead” men revived to wander in trances

A vile poison can make men appear dead
Revival requires an antidote
But perhaps there is more to zombie lore
An explanation to why these souls woke

Brutally treated slaves worked sugar fields
Captives from Africa known as “Maroons”
As French aristocrats sat and grew fat
Blacks sweated for “sweets” in the tropic sun

Buried guilt deep at night still festers
For conscience is God’s gift to each man
Some may suppress it for just a short time
‘Til magical night envelopes the land

Spirits of those who were taken in chains
Are given by God a chance to rebel
Stalking the living in deathly pallor
Haunting their captors with visions of hell

“Zombifications,” Maroons erected
Spreading the horrors of slavery with anger
Showing the French what their evil produced
And putting their sanity in danger

So please put the voodoo dolls back on shelves
The needle-sharp pricks of remorse can sting
Enslaved Maroons prevail in heaven’s court
Our Creator’s eyes aren’t missing a thing

Magic, black or white, God sees no color
Love is bestowed on men of all races
And those who question the Lord’s intentions
Should look in the eyes of living-dead faces

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Men Poem | |

Answer Me This

My life surpassed, fades long, yet fast
(Below the dirt, my coffin's cast)
Despite how deep, however vast
I'll dwell inside that vacant mass
It's only He that understands,
The One that gave me Poet's hands
So tell me please, if you can-
How from dust arose a Man?

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet

Details | Men Poem | |

Wise Men Still Seek Him Today

W-hen the fullness of time had come, Jesus was born behind an Inn in a cave-like stable.
I-n the Inn there was no room for the Son of God, no room for the Saviour of men.
S-tar was shining so bright above the stable for the shepherds to find their way to Him.
E-ven angels proclaimed His birth to those shepherds "Unto you is born this day."
M-anger is where Mary and Joseph first laid him.  It was filled with hay.
E-very animal there must have known that their Creator had come that day. 
N-o one knew the depth of love God had, to give His Son to dwell among men.
S-ame star guided three kings from the Orient, who studied the stars and heavens.
T-hese wise men from the East came saying "Where is He that is born King"
I-n their hands they brought him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrr.
L-ike these three wise men, wise men still seek him today! 
L-ove is the reason that God sent His only Begotton Son into the world to save us.
S-eeking for you and me, yes God was seeking for us because we had left Him.
E-veryone, yes, all we like sheep have gone astray. Everyone to his own way.
E-ach one has to make his on decision to follow Him or not to follow Him.
K-ing, born to be a King. King of the ages. King of the past. King of the future.

H-eaven, He came from Heaven to earth to show us the right way.
I-niquity, the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
M-elody, He gives us a sweet melody, we sing many songs of praise to Him.
T-ree, A Christmas tree, the love that Jesus had for us, to die on a tree.
O-nly one life and how soon it passes. Only in life can we accept His Love.
D-eliverance, He came from Heaven to preach deliverance to the captives.
A-cknowlege Him and accept Him. Behold now is the accepted time.
Y-ou, Yes, this Christmas Love was for You.  Will You accept this love?

For Brian Strands Christmas Love contest.

Copyright © Marty Owens

Details | Men Poem | |

Wisdom of the Cougar

She thought by marrying an older man
She would forever look young in his eyes
He led the way, ‘twas a child that held his hand
Until he met with an early demise
Older now, she finds herself attracted
To young men more likely to outlive her
But my, oh my, how her peers reacted
With choices she made, they could not concur
Fiftyish gal with a thirtyish mate
He showers her with such great affection
And he doesn’t mind she can’t procreate
But from old friends she's scorned by rejection
These friends have husbands who are cheating now
For men have desires to feel young as well
Their marriages hang from a fragile bough
As these men fire blanks at much younger belles
*Entry for Dr. Ram’s “Cougar Effect” contest
By Carolyn Devonshire

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Men Poem | |

- The Fabulous Queen Of Egypt -

Woke up to a new life in Egypt
I was young not more than seventeen years
Adorned with gold and precious stones
My body was in the shroud of silk and jewels in my hair
I sat on a throne as a Queen

My name was Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile
During the day I lay on the silk cushions
and dozed in the shade of palm trees
Beautiful men and women kept flitting
around me with all sorts of temptations
Fed me all sorts of fruit and cold drinks

When evening came, it was time for romance
As Queen I had many to choose
My choice was of course:
"The greatest men of Rome"
Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius
Why choose one when I can have two?

On a long journey down the Nile with
my love Julius Caesar, I was forced to
make a choice.
But a choice one must take...and the
choice was that I gave birth to a son
and Julius Caesar was the father

My love life was not popular
my husband was killed and I 
was no longer popular
It was no longer a life of happiness and joy
No, it was war and national mouming
and I would not live anymore

A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Men Poem | |

Song Of A Cherokee Princess -

Cherokee chamber,
where a pow wow stampeedes preconceptions of inheritence,
from Her beaded neck charms of chance & chains of change
glisten from opulent offerings of roots, corn & lavender ablaze
on an alter of unworked stone mantled with skins strong beasts knew,

She is a " Stomp Dance " Queen with an owl as a friend and a spider as assassin,
with rattlesnake ribbons around Her wrists and prayers in Her braids thick with traditions,
the walls of Her teepee painted with the pigments of buffalo blood & sunflower pollen,
portraying a history hewn from customs known to Spirits and men alike,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen speaks for Her People and sings from the stars,

I found this Tribe, not in Appalacia nor on a prarrie stage but in the smoke of ceremony,
the Cherokee Princess has rattlesnake teeth tied to Her thigh & turtle shells upon Her hips,
She played the rabbit on the scene, then the wolf, if you know what I mean,
celebrated by the warriors as a tomahawk maker,
praised by the medicine men for Her Visions,
and feared by the Elders because of wrath that may follow Her steps,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen is a Princess, She is a Cherokee with a song Her own -


Copyright © Justin Bordner

Details | Men Poem | |

America: A Rant with Attendant Anecdotes, Amplifications, Dogmas, Harangues and Digressions

This ain't my first rodeo, so knowing the score more than four
I declare in this manure-flinging system of elected despotism
we ain't got no permanent friends, just permanent interests.
America's a dazzling chupacabra of a conceit
conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition
that shades of equality increase the gross market share.
We supplant the visible etchings of the colonial lash
with the invisible ones of debt by procuring more *****we don't need.
Breathless canaries in a cultural coal-mine,
fascicled to Breaking Bad, Mad Men and the Simpsons,
shackled to Amazon 's 'Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought'
we're driven out toward the oceans beneath Europa's baker's sugar crust
where freedom exists on a mono-cellular level
but knowing we 're not alone doesn't amount to manure 
cuz they ain't Christian microbes so they ain't gonna be no use to us.
Like wind before the thunder the supple susurrus of my heart 
sends frissons of pleasure jolting though my *****
bloated to such Brobdingnagian dimensions
as to feel at home in the hallowed aisles of Costco or Sam's Club.
Our finger wagging Uncle has overstayed his welcome,
So **** your tired, your poor -
you're taking away jobs from real Americans.
**** your huddled masses yearning to breathe free -
your emergency room doctor visits are costing taxpayers $2286 a pop.
**** the wretched refuse of your teeming shore -
we already have enough garbage to fill our landfills
Just gimme my VIZIO 80” Razor LED™ 3D Smart TV  for my eye candy
Gimme my  Google Nexus 8 cell phone cuz Steve Jobs can suck my dick
Gimme my Fidelio X1 headphones so I don't miss the subtle nuances in Willie Nelson's 
Gimme my Nestlé Crunch Girl Scout candy bars for my sweet tooth and latent pedophilia
Gimme my Dial Triple Moisture Body cuz my balls got a stank like 3 day old crawdads
Gimme my Quilted Northern Ultra Plush toilet tissue cuz my ass needs TLC and backdoor action
Gimme my Fruit Smoothie Shakers so I don't have to get gouged by some turban mofo at Jamba Juice
Gimme my Gillette Fusion ProGlide Power Razor so I don't look like Jesus-F-Christ or a sandnigger
Gimme my Lash Factor Eyelash Conditioner cuz flirtatious love winks should be unconditional

America's soul is shrinking and vanishing like glaciers.
Grackles ebonize the sky where once proud eagles soared.
With God's help, America will rise again like the body of Christ after a good whooping!
Come on y'all - don't let my patriotic rant spoil a perfectly good Klan rally.

Copyright © Beryl Dov

Details | Men Poem | |

Elegy for Michael Jackson (4)

You shimmering waves on the ocean blue
Dance not again, he cannot dance with you
You weeping forests where the winds wail too
Let your bright tears fall in the pool of dew
The world of pop will never be the same again
The king is dead, and life is a dream so vain.

               Do you ask me why does my sorrow flow so
               Endlessly for him? Is he not gone the way 
               Of men that many went before? O I do know
               My time may not be long, and lessons delay.
               Who do think was the man in the mirror? did
               You see us there, did you know it oppressed him
               When like wanton dogs drugged and rabid
               Went heedless along the callous way being dim.

Look at the dance videos again, tell me
You see the what he begs to beat it. Off the wall
Are shadows falling like an inner expose
Where he internalized the world, and yet did call
In many songs - his troubled world was us
But now the king's sun set to dust, and we
Remain to heed and weep the vanity of lust
The tangled truths of out tentacled history!

                  Michael was God's gift to our season, and how I
                  Wish he would dance for me across the tribal plains
                  Of Africa again, where warriors ride in the sky
                  Through the fire make us brothers without chains
                  A global oneness where dreams deny the child
                  Nothing again. O death, what oneness beyond this
                  Can we find? Treat him kindly there, be mild
                  To him who in this troubled life knew no bliss.

Michael I miss you; O genius, sleep now in peace
The storms of life are over, the lightning ends
And droughts will come again, but I'll never cease
To proclaim your virtues to foes and friends;
Sleep beloved. Your glory stream in summer's eye
And Harlem's street are filled, old men remember
And old women interrupt their planning to cry
Farewell, Michael ... the grandest star is but an ember.

Copyright © L'nass Shango

Details | Men Poem | |

Emptiness of Living

The confusion of the living
With its sad and futile passions;
Is wearing out the people
As a woman wears out fashions.

What men have taken from the many
Is now the property of few;
The commandment not to covet
Is what men now love to do.

The dream of being equal
Would give abstinence from pain;
But they counted all the cost of things
That were not theirs to gain.

The landscape of life's summit
That bathed itself in glory;
Has told us what we now can see
With judgment on the story.

All the banal thoughts
Of self-righteous grasping men;
Never found the satisfaction
In truth written by a pen.

The friends we have today
And those that we once knew;
Are not more than the memory
That we once listened to.

Believe the fleeting moments
Find what they never gave;
For the sins of selfish living
Finds no comfort in the grave.

Copyright © elizabeth wesley

Details | Men Poem | |

Aboriginal Sin

We made arrows from feather and bone
before burning down our homes,
our footsteps slinking 
over undulating, snow-covered hills.

The animals residing inside my head
follow me into the forest
where I cross streams to lose my scent.

Bugles blare in the distance,
but at my feet, the hounds lay open,
bleeding-out in morning's fresh snowfall.

These moments invoke an original sin.
I could fell a million men with the softest of blossoms -
slay a million men with a gentle, whispered caress.

And so I pray for my hate to be replaced by grace,

since you are the other half of my heart and hearth,
since you are also a victim to the plague,
it's all I can do, to atone for my Aboriginal sin.

~(2013 Halfling Remix)~
January 22nd, 2013

*Dedicated to Singing Rain: May your sacred arrows always fly true


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Men Poem | |

Gypsy Dance

Climb up the hill where gypsies hide,
And breathe on the wind of a restless tide;
Where notes of sorrow from a violin,
Cry out to the night from a heart within.

The day is dim and night is alive,
And gypsies dance like bees in a hive;
They spin and turn while the fire burns bright,
And sparks fly up to kiss the night.

Old men sit while weaving a tale,
While young men sit drinking their ale;
And fires of night flicker and glow,
While the winds of night moan and blow.

They dance too fast, they dance too far;
They follow the light of a fallen star;
But there in the sky a sickle shaped moon,
Dances with gypsies in the fires of June.

Copyright © elizabeth wesley

Details | Men Poem | |

Thanksgiving from Three Perspectives

A Child's Thanksgiving Prayer 

Lord, I thank thee as I sit to eat,
For mashed potatoes that I helped to make.
And thanks, dear Lord, we're having something sweet.
Besides the beets and peas, there's pies and cake!

I thank thee for the sweet potatoes too
‘Cause Mom put tiny marshmallows on top.
They melted into white and taste goo;
Bless Mom, this  time her cooking didn't flop!

And thanks, dear Lord, my cousins came today.
I only get to see them once a year.
It snowed, and so we're going out to play.
Only my aunt Ruthie isn't here.

I'm glad she caught a cold. Forgive me, Lord.
It's just she talks so much we kids get bored.

A Dad's Thanksgiving Prayer 

Thanks, Lord, for this day of our Thanksgiving.
I've got a nice long weekend thanks to thee,
Starting with what I call really living-
Football on TV for me to see.

I'm thankful for this turkey on the table,
And for my wife, who bought it at the store
Even though she had to read the label
On how to cook the thing and even more . . .

Because this was her first time hosting dinner,
There was a lot my poor wife had to learn.
But the pumpkin pie turned out to be a winner,
And the gravy(which I love), she didn't burn!

And praise to thee, my kid is not as bad
As those that my wife's sister Annie had.

A Mom's Thanksgiving Prayer 

I thank thee, Lord, for this Thanksgiving Day,
For helping hands to clear away this mess;
For snow to tempt the kids outside to play;
For all my family and the meal's success.

I haven't seen my sisters in a while.
Though Ruthie's gone, I'm glad we all can chat.
The men are in the den.  Each wears a smile.
They're chugging Buds and happy getting fat.

I'm thankful too that Mom and Dad are here.
They're taking all the kids to see a show
Tomorrow while the men are drinking beer.
I hope nobody gets into a row!

Bless Mom and Dad.  The kids will have them hopping
(Especially Annie's kids) while we're out shopping!

For PD's "Gobble, Gobble, Gobble.. any food, thanksgiving
 or turkey poem CONTEST.. Poetry Contest"

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Men Poem | |

Warrior Woes

You sit there in your castle all alone
Surrounded by the trinkets of the past
Sometimes a King is shackled to his throne

Sadly the days of glory did not last
You feel the heart of a warrior beat
Surrounded by the trinkets of the past

It seemed the world had been laid at your feet
Now it is your men that go to battle
You feel the heart of a warrior beat

You long once again to feel the saddle
The coursing of blood going through your veins
Now it is your men that go to battle

You are King so they say you hold the reins
You long for the adventure and the speed
The coursing of blood going through your veins

The sound of snorting from your mighty steed
You long for the adventure and the speed
You sit there in your castle all alone
Sometimes a King is shackled to his throne

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Details | Men Poem | |

Close Enough To Hear Men's Screams

the fifty cal pierced the tank
flash and bang, it quickly shrank

shrill high screams,so briefly heard,
then comes the death's, savage bird

thus pecked clean; blue eyes and spleen,
not more terrible, death, seen,

and so the night's moon I'd thank
died, I  not, in fiery tank

Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes

Details | Men Poem | |

A Meadow's Sigh

The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.

Green and warm, full of life, the forest's skirt, the Maid's delight,
where rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells, a dream in morning light.

Gold and bright, full of life, the forest's skirt and Knight's delight;
life lies in grasses high, where lovers sleep and passion cries.

White and fair, full of life, the forest's skirt of pearly white;
burrowers sleep in bowers deep, hearths alight on chill nights.

The meadow's breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew;
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.

The men have made the meadow home, no rabbits now play there,
no deer appear so near the roads for cars bring them dispare.

The meadow was home to many things, butterflies, birds on wing,
yet, few can dwell where men reside, the forest's skirt swept aside.

The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Men Poem | |

What If God became a woman

What if God became a woman what a difference we would see,
And the first thing that she'd tackle is the way that we all pee.
She’ll have seen all the advantages that’s there when you’re a boy;
How it saves with all that squatting, and at night becomes a toy.

She'll introduce discretions, like an air valve better placed,
To save girls sneaking trapped air out and getting all red-faced.
With the aid of hidden pipework, they could whistle merry tunes,
And the playing of this music could be used for clearing rooms.

The next thing that she'd tackle would be partners taking turn,
As a nine months’ stretch is quite some time for carrying a bairn.
If the girls can do the last part, when dear junior starts to rub,
Men could have it when it doesn’t show and take it down to the pub.

And then onward into shaving - where it really isn’t fair,
As the slightest fluff grows on girls’ legs and barely none elsewhere.
I fear that Man’s dispenser will be programmed and re-planned
So a button pressed and wristwork will squirt hot wax in her hand.

And the final piece of justice; she'll see balance to be done,
As we both will have the ‘monthlies’ now instead of only one.
We’ll gladly do the mood swings, and we’ll even have the belly,
But the thought of using tampons simply terms my legs to jelly.

So there we are; the deed is done, at last the world is equal,
But I, for one, don’t hold much hope for this thoughtful female sequel.
And as for: “Will it make things better, or will it make things worse?”
I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Oh shite - I’ve dropped my purse!

Copyright © Dennis East

Details | Men Poem | |


Before a child comes to the world ,it ought to cry
That sound makes the bearer happy
Isn't it an irony?
what is the child trying to say?
Man needs to cry to call for joy

Before the child walks,he crawls
When he tries walking, he falls
He continues until mama calls
He falls in pain
Yet  stands to walk again
What message is the child trying to convey?
Man ought to fall before standing high

His feet finally touch the land
He gets long legs to run
He turns into that great man
Things start moving high
He gets feathers to fly 
He moves over they sky
He completes his life span
He then says bye
Making people cry

He came making people happy
He goes making the same people gloomy


Details | Men Poem | |


You Man

-a request by Mam Aiyah

You as a man can fill up this world
With the love of your heart,
Let them flow into your veins
As the oxygen of your spirit
Goes into the lungs of your kindness

You as a man can share the thoughts of your brain,
Even though your memory is not that enough to complete the story
Let your axon abound and connect to the spinal cord of your dreams

You as a man can smile with your lips
Let there be a good quotes for every word
Of your mouth as they slip,
Swallow all the sorrows, 
Cut the sadness of your teeth, make them fly away

You as a man can show your eyes with happiness,
Mix this with inspirations
As they blink in with visionaries

You as a man can smell the fragrance of nice posture
Strain the bad from good using your cilia,
As your thumb and index made it concrete
And threw them at a distance

You as a man can hear solutions,
Can fight all the negative pictures
With your muscles in your skeleton,
You can build a problem killer device
Energy is your emotions,

You as a man can face all of your knotty points
You can hold the sky,
As your feet stay on the ground…
Because you as a MAN,
Is H U M A N…

Copyright © jhucel del rosario

Details | Men Poem | |

THE RESTLESS SEA historical quatrain for contest

                                         THE RESTLESS SEA

                           As dawn swept 'way the morning stars
                           A gloomy Helen glared
                           Poor Paris stood in silence-- watched--
                           He’d kiss her if he dared.

                           The sea was raging round their heads
                           The men rowed without cease
                           The lovers headed to their doom--
                            A myth is birthed in Greece

                           Ten thousand ships launch in pursuit
                           Rough soldiers flex their knees--
                           Today hunt thieves tomorrow queens-- 
                           Men do what kings will please

                           The soldiers puked and gambled hard
                           Twas boredom that they feared
                           A seasick trip was just a jaunt--
                           The Trojan shore appeared

                           The glory grew beyond Troy’s walls
                           The truth no one can trust….
                           Dark tragedy writ in the books--
                           Tis flung among the dust.

Victoria Anderson-Throop

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop

Details | Men Poem | |

Is there an Exclusive All-in-One Principle

  ‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of  different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘

Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at

                  the red or the green

                                 nothing then is certain

not even death but the life one endures

 quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons

particles like men and beings in general

                                             bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup

         great teachers or rather teachers with great followings

     those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking  for them

         especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy

                 would want us believe

                                             there’s just This One

  and all comes and goes to That Only ONE

If only it were just as simple as that

Then what is it that This One wants

Or is It caught up in its own caveat

And must of needs come apart

        on the seed that It alone plants

                           and do what we may

   nothing goes wrong

            whatever the explanation

everybody is right

right from the start


         Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand

         Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold

and out again

         for the Brahma Day

and after aeons the Brahma Night

And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity

         neither space nor time

            squeezed in and out

Birth as in Death

An eventual point of total extinction

        if ever there was one

Yet always the two extremes

      and the ever-changing in-betweens

Matter versus Anti-Matter

Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin

Though matter itself is neither

Is nor Is-Not-ness

         And the 96% Dark Matter

          And the infinite number of parallel universes

Does it really matter


         ‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !

            You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’                   

Vanish into what

                                    Dark matter

or just non-dark matter

Still the duality of matter

Still the ever-changing conundrum

              Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs


         ‘Sex is emotion in motion.’

Emotion erupts

           into thin air

      into where

Dark air

Motion disrupts

         and roots one here

      tied to the lunar year

       why should it matter

if we cannot know the reason why

ego id libido

drive faith fame femme father future

if super/alter ego connects the ego

       to the collective unconscious 

       why drown the self in the Great Self

by wilful act

       when the Ultimate One

is the sum of all the little ones

Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones

each of whom must move to eat drink sleep

copulate make money grow roots in a society

get and fight to keep a job

make love marry raise children

struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children        

one’s house  if one can get one

one’s career one’s future

and helter-skelter race to cheat death

If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew

What does it matter if it keeps changing in view

Of the desperate haste with which everything

We see smell hear feel intute sense

Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich

And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way

Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda        

Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters 

Through some trillion cataclysmic light years

What’s the impulse to keep moving

Is the yogi’s stilled-centre

The death of all action

Which cannot call for a reaction

Or is the art of keeping still

Merely the art of making belief


          ‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting

until your performed role becomes your normal character.

Then you are safe inside your character armour.’


As soon as you have thought It out

It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out

                 and you know just why

                                                               don’t you now


References to the quotations

Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.


Attributed to Mae West.

Eric N. W. Mottram,  « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.

I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?


© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.

Copyright © T Wignesan

Details | Men Poem | |

Scroll of an Oracle

Memory or dream from hell I cannot tell
The vision of stygian forests where harpies dwell
And men from them among men spawned
Greedy gullibles that on pagan mysteries fawned
Evicted from stygian caves to wander bared
Of human comport and yet in human shape
By cultures of war in Cerebus’ loath  prepared
These monsters of men defy, steal, kill, rape
The African land still, and virgin virtue defiled
In all her children stolen, manacled, despised
Toss upon dread waves like dead meat, disguised
From pity of sharks, innocence, kindness biled
By the same fiends frantic at the Judean cross
And this colonial evil is unsurpassed in dross.

They should have known such deeds are wrong
If they had known we are people too, and he
The Eternal light, the bringer of the griot's song
How they murdered him in grim glee of prophecy:
When each of us are enslaved or kill, he dies
Again in that wickedness entrenched in vanities.

Copyright © L'nass Shango

Details | Men Poem | |

Can poetry matter

In the debate between accessible and difficult poems
Poets' poems and poems for people
Only the single poem and private reader matter

Both kinds and anything between can matter or not
Solid or made of air, a vase or heavy clay ashtray
One word repeated or many like a lei

An acquired taste, like wine, and like wine
Not sustenance, yet men die with their miseries
Uncut without it, news and mere matter

I advise everyone to keep a personal anthology of poems that matter
Or not. Perhaps it should be novels. Stones, insect wings,
Feathers, Birds you've seen, People loved.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow