Best Hard As Nails Poems
Down in Alabam where big sweet taters grow
lives great aunt Cyndi diggin dirt with a hoe.
Up in the morn bout the crack o’ dawn
see for miles where she’s dug up the lawn.
Hard as nails with hair sweet- tater- red
she could set a table, make you feel fed.
Wave you down and ask you to stop by
have a piece o’ her sweet tater pie.
Smash sweet taters and hickory smoked pork
a chilled bottle o’ wine with a stuck cork.
Cornbread in the oven ready to take out
Slap your mama silly, lip smackin no doubt.
Dawg’s patiently waitin on the back stoop
for the cornbread mush and sweet tater soup.
With tongue a hangin and tail a waggin
shortly his tummy will be a draggin.
Sweet tater pie with whipped cream on top
you’ll eat so much you’ll think you’ll pop.
Sweet tater pie my sweet love from the south
more o’ sweet tater pie, well shut my mouth.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
This is it the real me, the me you haven’t met
I bet you don’t believe it, that’s if you do bet
I am tall, but not beautiful, and not very slim, I am afraid
But back in my younger days I was considered a saucy maid.
My heart is full of love but very well disguised
Some think I am hard as nails and that’s because I’m wise
If you hold your heart out, for everyone to see
They will take advantage, especially of me.
So I let them think otherwise, but I’m always here to help
Just keep those puppy eyes off me, or my heart will melt
I grew up in poverty, but there was love in the home
It just got put aside sometimes, when we were left alone.
In strange homes we’d find ourselves, not really sure why
But we had each other, we could hold each other and cry
Then there were the bad days when all our nightmares did come true
But we still had each other and so we all came through.
Time to grow up, and take what life did throw at us
Use our bond of love forever, let’s forget about life’s fuss
We none of us grew up, without our scars from living
But when your heart is soft, you can do lots of forgiving.
I dedicate these words to my eldest brother James
Like a father and a mother to us in everything, but name
His demons didn’t leave him and not knowing hearts would break
If only he knew the gap he left when his own life he did take.
If only he were with us to see how his children have grown
If only he could feel the pride in them a pride he should have known
To James although I never heard you, ever called by that name
We loved you dearly brother and we feel no shame.
A long time you’ve been gone you took so much with you
But our love still holds, it will be forever true
Through no fault of your own and you bear no sin
Just remember we still love you, my eldest brother Jim.
19/03/ 2014 © GG
To Jim 1951 - 1990
Judo
My façade it is ‘hard as nails’, I must survive that way.
But when they got to know me well, it’s then, I heard some say.
That really he’s a cuddly toy, but we cannot tell why,
For martial arts, he’s made his sport, with that you never cry!
It’s ‘Judo’, that I’ve made my life, I’ve loved along my way,
A martial art! you’ve got it wrong, it is ‘The Gentle Way’.
For though through contest we must win, our glory to be found.
We’re most the time, just like in life, thrown crashing to the ground.
You struggle there, or get back up, both ways you stand to win,
Enjoying trying to compete, although it can be grim.
A hold, a strangle, lock, the pain, just take it with a grin,
But keep alert, avert the pain and seek the chance from him.
To be thrown hard and love your ‘foe’, for what he taught you then,
To stand back up and laugh and plead, “Please show me that again!”
To know that when you lose a game, to someone in his prime,
It’s just the lesson that you’ll need, to make you win next time.
Yes, I love my Judo, at ‘Deva Judokwai’,
And even though I’m getting old, I know that I must try,
To pass on skills and attitude and keep the youngsters bold
Accept defeat and sometimes pain, as their young lives enfold.
With injuries and aching bones, I try to give my all,
I used to bounce around the mat, but now I barely crawl.
In age and wisdom now I see, just when you’re walking tall,
The thing that Judo shows us best… is how to take a fall!
Ivor G Davies
A Comrade like Ben
A statesman like Mandela diplomatically
suspended the necessary struggle of opposites,
gummed his fragmented land together with reconciliation….
exploiters to exploited , murderers to martyrs
imperialist to invisibled indigenes
lives in Sandton and councils Bill Clinton
and Naomi Campbell on plush carpets
a sinewy activist, hard as nails, like yourself…
Ben Palmer Louw, always
cajoling
conspiring
criticizing
organising
uprising
forever
beautiful in your pregnant concern
that freedom , dignity and justice
is tangible and beautiful as black skin, kinky hair
is real when a continent’s wealth is fairly shared
is manifested when the state collapses in selfless deeds
old man Nelson turned ninety and is now a teddy
to those who feared the terrorist at forty.
He no longer speak for himself but for his party
and the party is a self-serving affair.
Pity your death at thirty-something
when Nelson started talking to his racist oppressors.
For ten years you and your young militant army
punctured holes in the racist ideology,
marched flames and thunder through townships,
died in your thousands,
stopping with blood and bones
bullets casted for centuries by the fascist
in black holes of greed and fear.
“A shame … but subversion is to blame ”
`` the defenders of law and order loudly exclaimed
“Not good for business”…the moneybags conceded
“ if Soweto bleeds , profit –rates receeds . ”
“Give black chiefs and compradors the garrotte
and stick the small change of capital under their nose .
They will throttle the radical noises at the root ”.
Wounded deeply, your rapid-firing baritone voice
still thundered on battle-fields and in halls,
urging us to destroy mental and wage slavery.
I saw you fight for freedom
the whole scorching way,
every hour of that long bloody apartheid day…
but one night
you leaped ,
proud black brother of mine,
right into the sky…
fist raised high as heaven with a two-hour smile
whispering re-assuringly “Don’t ever give up, gents…
the harder they come , the harder they fall.
See… brothers and sisters…revolution is!
In memory and respect to Ben Palmer Louw (1950-1987)a student leader of 1976 soweto insurrection
He’s tender and caring in his own way,
From moving cattle to bucking hay;
He’s stubborn but gentle and hard as nails,
As he deals with all that his job entails;
He may seem distant but he’s filled with pride;
From the cattle he tends to the horse that he rides;
He’s defender of the small and weak,
And protector of the sick and meek;
He keeps the code of the cowboy way,
Standing steadfast from day to day;
Watching over and protecting from harm,
All of the beings that reside on his farm;
He’s sometimes reserved and far-away,
And he never really has too much to say;
Laugh lines cover his weathered face,
Something even time can’t erase;
He is a cowboy, born and bred,
From the boots on his feet to the hat on his head.
The best fire wood to be found
If dried it cannot be split
Extremely dense and heavy
And as hard as nails
Leathery evergreen leaves
Red bark peeling from the trunk
Whitish flowers, red berries
Growing from a cliff
It’s known as the Ironwood tree
But that’s not its actual name
A Pacific Coast native
The Madrona tree
Trees Everywhere Contest
Entry by Charles Sides
Where I grew up there’s a unique creature
Has Horns everywhere, a unique feature
Six inches in length and dinosaur like
The horns on his head stick out like a spike
They call him a “Horned Toad” where I was raised
“Horney Toad” or “Horned Frog” he’s also phrased
Actually he’s neither a frog nor toad
A “Horned Lizard” is the proper name bestowed
The horns on his body are actually scales
But on his head they’re bone and hard as nails
When he runs, he lifts high up off the ground
A wibble-wobble run to where he’s bound
We took some to a Boy Scout jamboree
Traded them as pets or sold for a fee
We also painted some large cockleburs
Traded as porcupine eggs as it were
There’re all kinds of legends about these guys
Like eating hot coals, and spitting in your eyes
There are fifteen species in the US
The Texas Horned Lizard’s biggest and best
Azizam
I await the fall
The cool air
To seduce my skin
I await the kiss
Of your fall
The tumbling
Of your heart
Azizam
The world is tumbling down
Crumbling upon the ground
Like castles in ruins
Madness all around
The cruel, ole town
People running around
Like savages
I'm trapped in this place
Stuck longing for something
That I can't understand
Ah, Azizam
My words are so useless, really
As I write this to you now
But I'm a slave to them
Sweating to make sense
Of their wicked ways
Azizam, how can you say there is nothing?
I must have faith, I must
That there is
A love above me
All around me
And within me
That keeps me alive
We both know
I should be dead
Despite the devilish dirtiness
That I wear like a cloak
This love whispers
Sweet everythings in my ear
For sweet nothings
I've heard a thousand times
Especially from you, Azizam
But this love murmurs
Truth in my listening drum
I know I'm in quicksand
With my sins
And this love has a way
To pull me out
This love
Calls me Azizam
I've tried to be as hard as nails
As tough as a warrior
I end up being the one
Nailed to the wood
Cut up all over my body
Losing the battle
I cannot bear another storm
To rage inside of me
The axiom
Of anxiety
That you seem to bring
Azizam
My heart
Is like a cage
Of monstrous butterflies
I don't dare
To unleash them
What chaos that would be
But no matter what
The moon has her eye on me
She thinks that she's my mother
She calls me Azizam
And tells me
It's going to be alright
I am a teacher
Eager beaver
Full of beans
I build bridges
And burn the candle at both ends
I am a teacher
Cap in hand
Full of the milk of human kindness
I fight tooth and nail
To make my pupils see reason
I am a teacher
As hard as nails
Face like thunder
I resent cheap shots
And the breaking of every rule in the book
I am a teacher
With a carrot and a stick
I bring my pupils to heel
I reward who reach for the moon
I clip pupils’ wings
If they go far and off the rails
I am a teacher
Not a mouse potato
And not behind the times either
I am all ears
I bare my soul to my pupils
I make them explore all avenues
And go the extra mile
I am a teacher
I have my heart set on giving
It is a long row to hoe
I will make headway
Pull out all the stops
And hang in there
That’s what I have on the brain.
December 17th, 2015
an atypical poet
an atypical poet
a little of this
a little of that
a dab of daring
a dash of do
super sensitively
hard as nails
the softened heart
of calloused pain
the gentleness
of granite’s grain
worn warrior
of windmill fame
lamplighter
of the darkened mind
the hide and seek
of look and find
the implication
of tongue in cheek
the “I dare you” of
“come take a peek”
follow twisted pen
down crooked lane
from serious
to quite inane
embed within
the common phrase
forever’s passion
still ablaze
torching lover’s
broken dreams
exposing liars
convoluted schemes
the black and white
of ancient crust
cold weathered face
of tarnished bust
writing poetry
in the dust
John G. Lawless
©7/7/2017
10/3/17
IMAGE ME A POEM
In the night, dark and cold,
There gallops a stallion, strong and bold.
His beautiful coat, brown and sleek,
Slim and shiny, like polished teak.
His black mane and sloshing tail,
His sturdy hooves, hard as nails.
His bulging muscles and burly legs,
Harder than a wooden peg.
His tossing mane, in the wind,
His legs and muzzle, black and singed.
His shiny, reflective, rippled skin,
His hoofs on the ground and their vibrant din.
His smooth strong gallop, beautiful,
His daring brown eyes, purposeful.
And still he gallops, gallops on,
And gallop he will, until the dawn.
She's just an old lady with a slow walk
There's a little pain where a smile once was
She's not chatty, just a little small talk
Her left eye don't see what her right one does
But,ah my friend, she once was hell on wheels
She sat the saddle like a cowboy might
Preferred hard ridin' to automobiles
Didn't much matter whether day or night
She is a lot of what this country needs
As hard as nails and then soft as a fawn
I'm dying now and I've sown my seeds
Someone be gentle to her when I'm gone
She was a hardcase and all that covers
And she was one of the world's great lovers
September 1, 2016
For those of us who have lost your hair
And feel embarrassed as a mudguard up there
The truth of the matter is simple to see
Just shave it off and grow a goatee
And you will look tough and hard as nails
Where when measuring up you wouldn’t fail
So cheer up you can look cool
By shaving it off and growing a goatee as the rule.
© Paul Warren Poetry
From a video I saw recently
He stands,
his left leg resting upon a powder keg,
slightly bent,
with arms resting upon his knee.
Hands, callused, hard as nails
cross wrists thick as wheel spokes,
his left hand is open,
extended,
his right holds the stem of his beloved pipe.
He is an educated man,
educated without the benefit of schooling,
educated by the trials and tribulations of life;
in his world, none are more versed than he.
Men gather around him seeking his council,
some sitting on the wooden deck,
others resting,
their back against a rail
to balance against gently rocking waves.
All have thick beards,
most untrimmed,
framing faces hardened by
years of wind, sun, and sea.
Pipes,
filled with tobaccos of various aroma,
provide a covering cloud
to quell the stench of their lives;
men living upon the water,
regressed to seldom experiencing
its cleansing properties.
They are a rough lot,
fearing none,
yet,
disciplined beyond expectation;
their bonds forged by a brotherhood
spanning centuries of adventure,
hardship, and war.
He clears his throat,
begins to speak with fervor,
his voice,
softened by the snap of sails
buffeted by the wind,
cause all lean toward him to miss nary a word.
He is the master,
the unquestioned purveyor of knowledge.
He gives to each freely;
words of wisdom;
training each in the ways of his chosen life;
this is the world of show and tell;
this is the way of men whose lives
are lived upon the sea.
Each owes a debt of gratitude
to this man who rests his leg
upon the powder keg.
This keg chosen not for comfort,
rather,
a symbol of the strength
and power conveying experience
through education.
One lone sailor looks forward to each
of these gatherings,
listening intently,
shifts his weight against the rail
and dreams of the day
he rests his leg upon
the powder keg.
My daddy was born
in Arkansas.
Momma wore a tight fitt-in bikini bra.
Daddy worked real hard he had us to feed.
We never had alot but had what we need.
I wish there was somethin I could say bout me.
But a squirrel don't fall far from the tree.
I got a little brother and his names Eugene.
When he drinks whiskey he gets real mean.
My sister she is as hard as nails.
They say she knows how to give-em hell.
I wish there was somethin I could say bout me.
But a squirrel don't fall far from the tree.
Our daddy taught us to work;nothin came free.
Momma was in the kitchen fixin ice tea.
We were poor but we knew how to have a good time.
Playing poker and drinking homemade wine.
I wish there was somethin I could say bout me.
But a squirrel don't fall far from the tree.
Wrote by Buddy&Teresa Skyles
7/27/08
This song was wrote for Buddy my 1st.born but with Michelle&Eugene in mind.