Best Boys Poems
My babies have all gone,
They've grown and left the nest,
Spreading out their wings to fly,
Upon life's thrilling quest.
The years flew by so quickly.
Babies turned into little boys.
Little boys grew into manhood,
Putting away their childish toys.
I miss those little boy faces,
With their mischievous, winsome smiles.
I miss their childish chatter,
And their creative little boy wiles.
Why didn't I pay more attention?
Why didn't I play with them more?
Why didn't I realize how fleeting time was?
But I didn't and it makes my heart sore.
I miss the little boys that my sons were,
But I'm proud of the men they've grown to be.
They will always be my little boys,
And I will treasure each and every memory.
Kim Merryman 3/10/12
They taunt me one then the other
Push me—hurt pride—scattered books
Crying? Go cry to your mother
laughing with smug contemptuous looks
Dark musty locker room, stripping for gym
Shouting, snapping towels at each other’s rear
Vice principle comes by looking grim
His volcano erupts—we’re silent with fear
Growing into a body odd and disgusting
Face oily and breaking out
Cursed with tormented lusting
I give up—What’s this about?
My mother asks me over dinner that night
How was your first day of junior high?
Not wanting to upset her, I keep it light
It was even better than I hoped, I lie
6/4/22
inside white fences
boys play at war with toy guns
miles from their nice homes. . .
villagers tremble before
a rifle-bearing child’s glare
Aug. 26, 2015
The soldiers said
That the boy threw a grenade.
The parents of the boy said
That the soldiers planned to kill him.
This is what happens
When one person
Believes that another person
Is but an animal,
And not human.
People will self-fulfill as animal
And it’s much easier to kill
An animal,
Especially when you are an animal.
So, this is what really happened that day-
Both sides were right.
The boy walked down the street,
Before dawn, and saw the soldiers,
Who were walking on egg shells
With fear and expectation,
(Of course, they were mere boys themselves).
When the boy saw them look his way,
He reached into his basket
And threw a fresh egg
In their direction.
The boy’s face had just a split second
To crack a small smile
Before the bullet
Shattered his face
And skull
And the soldier
Was left with egg on his face
As well, but unfortunately,
Just a split second after he fired the shot.
So, eggs are grenades.
Boys are killers.
And that is when the cock crows
Between boys
In a Jerusalem morning.
They fought for a country, they fought for peace
But in 2012 the gunfire still does not cease
Being no more than a young lad
To sign up to fight they did so and was glad
No fear of what may come, no fear of the unknown
But some feared that dreaded knock at home
They put down their life, a battle they had to endure
They gave their life for me when they went to war
No time to be selfish for a task was at hand
They done their best to defend our land
I don't think I could be as brave as they are
They took up the role, not for the pound, cent or dollar
For queen and country, for the sake of mankind
They said goodbye to their loved ones and left them behind
All we have now are poppies and many unmarked graves
Many are the names and many have been saved
Who knows what would be if they didn't take up the fight
Yet still in Iran there's gunfire at night
A war is ongoing and will it ever end
How many more troops are we going to send
We have some of our 'boys' who think they are men
But to fight for their country they'd think again
I cannot repay you for your act of kindness shown
Goodnight, God bless until you return home
Mud puddles were made for little boys on warm summer days,
In search of tadpoles and frogs and other delightful items of play.
Grass snakes are fine but they’re hard to contain,
They get slick and slimy when left in the rain.
Little boys need big pockets to amass all their wealth,
Momma’s need strong hearts to keep up their health.
They never know the mysteries they’ll incur while sorting those jeans,
What’s lurking in those pockets may be obnoxious and obscene.
Cowboys and Indians with a stick horse named Rex,
Little Johnny told Tommy my new name is Tex.
He said I’m the toughest desperado this side of old San Antone,
The fastest quick draw that’s ever been known.
Momma calls out, it’s time to come in, it’s time to lay down,
Come in right now there is no need to frown.
So off to their rooms they are sent, so momma can rest,
As they both hug her neck and say you are the Best.
Liking the first girl they see
This is the age seven
Liking the second girl they meet
This is the age eleven
Dreaming all day everyday
About the girl of your dreams
Then you snap back to reality
As your mother yells come eat
Getting to school early
To meet the girl of your dreams
You know she doesn’t like you
Though it may seem
Between the both of you
It’s a love hate relationship
You may not be together
But you have a good friendship
It will take forever
It may even take your whole life
No matter how long it takes
She will be your wife
So you go home
And you play with your toys
I just described to you
The life of a boy
Its twenty years later
You’re now thirty-one
The girl of your dreams married you
Once you said she’s the one
Compare her pictures from then to now
They may look like a disgrace
Before she was a sweet pretty girl
Now bruises cover her face
If you look at your hands
Their covered with marks
But they’re not defending marks
They’re attacking marks
We look at you now
We see someone other
You’ll be on a woman
But won’t touch her brother
You’re a big man
She is smaller than you
What once were pretty eyes
Are now black and blue
She cries every night
But you don’t seem to care
Something should have told you to stop
Once you saw that first tear
There is no reason why you hit her
Maybe because you were drunk
This is not a boys to men story
Its boys to punks
Two little boys lost in the woods.
Two little boys trying to get home, only if they could.
Two little boys were freighted by things that went bump in the night.
Two little boys prayed for daylight.
Two little boys heard the search party coming.
Two little boys begin laughing and humming.
My father didn’t cry until my brother did.
It was the final good-bye between three men, who are all told that they are not the type of people to cry because they are not me or her.
Don’t cry they plead to themselves.
Don’t show this emotion.
My little brother was the first to give in to the nature,
The first to show who he truly is,
The first to not only weep as a father left but also start a movement between every man that knows not to cry.
Soon after my father caved.
The tears of a man who hasn’t cried even when he landed upside down on the motorcycle track was sobbing holding his son so hard begging he won’t have to let go.
In his mind he is screaming at himself not to go
To Not leave his boy,
The boy who was brought into this world by him and was now being left behind.
Last to cry was my big brother.
As he went into the embrace, I remember thinking to myself how dead his flower must be as he never waters it.
For after all a flower cannot grow without water
Even if that water is the tears of two breaking brothers and a leaving father.
My father then held us as we all wept,
My brothers and me,
My dad and my mum.
We Wept for the past and the future,
For us and for them
For the flowers that can’t be watered
And for the flowers that are dead.
They performed again
the aging Beach Boys
Conjuring up seaside
utopias
Caught their act
years ago
at Madison Square Garden
I remember a pretty young girl
-a bit drunk-
was kissing me during the
show
The life we led has
magical moments
which face into the box of memroy
Remembering days and "nights"(!)
at the beach
I pass into a nostalgic haze
escape briefly
from the worlds of science and tehnology
into a soft bubbles of joy -
it not that far away
here what I say
its well understood
if you be good
you have alovely day
so don't be a bad clown
for better toys
BOY AND GIRLS
SANTA IS IN TOWN
Boys don't cry,
I felt my soul collapse and concave into a black hole located in the epicentre of my white heart.
They never told us that when you let pain nibble on your sanity you lose yourself to the gluttony of pain.
They never told us that pain never seeps out from the pores of hope,
Or that thick ropes make for comfortable ties that clog up pain from condemning your head.
Boys don't cry,
They only taught us to seal tight the bottle that encages our emotions so that they can live like freedom-deprived animals in these cages.
They told us to drown in shallow glistening pools of tears that defy the laws of gravity,
Taught us to be barbarians and never display weakness on our plain faces.
But they should have told us that
Boys do cry.
Maybe it will take time to unfasten the 'nots' of society but until then...
Boys do not cry, they simply sweat through their eyes
It gets kind of crazy living with 3 young boys, there’s always a mess and there’s constant noise.
Their mouths constantly running, their little legs too; they rough-house like tiny wrestlers, off the couch they just flew.
They never get old, those silly fart jokes; and the noise and clanking of those bicycle spokes.
They change costumes every minute from football to Batman; next it’s baseball then it’s on to Spider-Man.
You better watch where you step when you come through our door, there’s legos and Nerf bullets covering the floor.
They’re covered in mud, they’re covered in dirt; there’s ketchup and Cheetos all over their shirts.
They argue, they fight, they cry and pout; then they giggle and laugh after they hug it out.
Living with boys you never know what’s next, you better watch what you say, they’ll change the context.
Their imagination totally rocks; they can make anything out of a box.
Just give them some scissors and a glue stick; that box transforms into a Batmobile real quick.
They’re wearing their breakfast, there’s mud in their hair; it’s an act of congress to get them to share.
Their diet is subpar, all they want to eat is junk; and with three sweaty boys, you can imagine the funk.
We’ve turned into detectives, constantly looking for lost toys; we’re also mechanics trying to fix whatever they’ve destroyed.
Although these boys can cause us some undue stress; I wouldn’t change a thing to prevent their mess.
The house can be clean when they’re grown and they’ve moved out; so for now I’ll sit back and see what life’s all about.
I’ll enjoy all the noise and the mess on the floor; I’ll pray my feet are protected from the legos galore.
I’ll wash their clothes and clean them up; and be thankful I can fill all our cups.
Thank you God for my three sons, we’re thankful and blessed, and we love them tons.
cars sound the alarm
autumn delivers it's storm
night time is shattered
window faces watch
our world of broken branches
wheelie-bins gone rogue
when tomorrow comes
boys will collect their conkers
grown men their shovels
Running the hills, to
Dive under the trees
Pierced with our shrieks.
We bawled along the woods.
Soft laughing streams
We tripped. Trails whipped
Through nettles, to show
The world our infant mettle.
Away from home, charging
Free, the sky bowed to
The power of our hearts.
Small we stood,
Giants in our minds, strong
To conquer the days.
Imaginations blazed, as we,
Heroes of the Summer,
Merrily raged the hours away.