Best Hard Man Poems
Here I stand alone upon this stage,
You prance and mock, a beast to test,
This night, ordeal, more like all the rest.
Your burnt out eyes; defunct yet full of rage.
I use your words, as fodder for my fume,
“Low down hog and dirty dog, pathetic little prat”,
Are you of any consequence at that?
There’s no respite, compassion in this room.
I load my verbs like bullets in a gun,
Act one, scene two this character’s a fool,
For all I’ve lost I have to keep my cool.
Hard man, you’re not the only one!
Whiskey breath, long live death,
I damn you down, pathetic clown,
You so proud, declared so loud,
“Admire all, a man of my renown”.
I wish I was a tough guy
The kind you meet in books
Made of rock hard muscle
With rugged hard man looks
A Raymond Chandler hero
Exuding macho charm
A super spy or villain
With a beauty on each arm
I’d love to be the kind of guy
That others see and fear
The bane of every coppers life
I'd look at them and sneer
I might fall for a sucker punch
Get beaten up or more, but
I’d meet them face to face
And then, I’d even up the score
Wish I could be like Marlowe
And ooze testosterone
Women falling at my feet
For my heart as cold as stone
I would stand up to the bad guys
When I’d won, I’d get the dame
They would say “who was that tough guy”
I’d say “Rupert, that’s my name”
Mae West
one of Brooklyn's best
her quotes were more witty than kind
like "A hard man is good to find"
contest: For Andrea's - Seeking a fresh crop of clerihews -
9-27-2012
(4)
In the iron grey days of the 1950's change changed everything, good or bad,
Tom, who was the local coal-man for this area, a hard man of steel but kind,
He tried to speak but no words would come, he just pointed, on to the road,
Following his gesture, outside was a new motor lorry for his rounds, no horse.
In broken and heart wrenching sobs, he said, they had taken away my old horse,
He's been sold to another firm and I will never see him again, he's gone away,
Tom loved that horse, his life was built around it, morning evenings, weekends,
In his own time Tom would trim and groom that horse, it was his closest friend.
They never said me that my dearest friend was going I had no time to say goodbye,
He's probably in a new place now waiting for me to come and take him back home,
I know that horse he is my only family, I bet he is really worried he will so sad
He probably thinks I have deserted him because I don't love him that's not true.
I bet he is in a stable, his big brown eyes moist looking around all the time,
Any door that opens he will think it is me, he will be excited then really hurt,
He will miss our long talks together in the evenings he used to nod his long face,
He will be in a panic, like me, waiting for his dad who will never see him again.
A strong man who carried tons of coal everyday he had no family only his horse,
Brought up in a state run home never lucky enough to be picked by any families,
His horse was his friend who new all of Toms deepest secrets, tears and sorrows,
Tom left his new lorry where it stood, with heart wrenching sobs he walked away.
I watched him go, there was nothing I could say there was a painful lump in my throat.
The poems have been flowing like a river
Must take advantage while it happens
I think they say, “while the iron is hot!”
Other very familiar idioms like...
“A bigger bang for your buck” sure has sexual overtones
“Take the bit between your teeth”
Again, do they all have sexual overtones or is it me???
“Tail wagging the dog” uh-huh
How about, “Wet behind the ears!”
Sounds like someone has been keeping their tongue busy
I like, “Peter out”
Now if that doesn't conjure up an image
“Wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole”
YIKES!!! I wish!
“A hard man is good to find!”
LOL! Nothing to add here!
“Make a clean breast of things!”
No explanation necessary here either!
“Middle for diddle”
Now this one should be at the top of the list
“Caught by the short curlies”
OUCH!!!
One last one...
“Keep it under your hat”
WOW! Now I'd sure like to see that!!!
© Jack Ellison 2014
all teeth and eyes
the road-man wears diesel and grease
he wears leather and jeans
his is the hard life
but he lives it like no other
the road-man is a mouthful of bullets and bones
and his eyes are dust and gravel
his motorbike's engine growls like a living thing
its pipes shine in the unforgiving sun
it runs the road like lightening
the road-man is a creature of the
high desert road
where dust devils and snakes crawl the
unforgiving landscape
he is a hard man to know
has not much to say
but you will never meet another man
so ready to lay it on the line
so ready to face the burning road
a dying breed
Pop was quite a poet,
though his bio wouldn’t show it,
with the exception of this little poem
which I really do feel I owe him.
He was happiest working in the wood,
and did so when ere he could.
That was one of his necessary incomes,
for his five daughters and four sons.
It was then he would sing a song,
Always short and politically wrong.
The rhymes could make us boys smile,
If not but for just a little while.
In the woods he was a self educated master,
He loved it there; peace is what he was after,
Everywhere else, us boys were a bit wary,
His temper trigger was a little hairy.
Brought up roughly, a Canadian farmer’s son,
A machine gunner in the Second Big One,
I never heard those gruesome stories very often,
Only when he allowed his heart to soften.
PTSD and nightmares were his living hell,
complicated with Malaria fevers as well.
With depression a formidable resistance,
He farmed for his family’s existence.
In good moments he would sing poems of an alter life,
Where there was, obviously, no such strife,
Of “when he would go swimmin
With many bull legged wimmin”.
Those feeling good songs rang out loud and gay,
To keep his painful depression at bay.
“Yes ... we have no bannaners,
We have no bannaners today!”
Canadian French was his language norm,
So many of his songs took that form.
I’m sure Mom was his best and biggest fan,
She must have really loved that man.
He had a hard life and his song poems helped him through,
We were often at odds but he did what I could never do.
An unknown hard man with a well hidden poetic heart,
I don’t think he knew it, but Mom did from the start.
For each of his children’s names, he made a French rhyme,
Making the most of poetic license for each of his nine.
They probably weren’t politically correct…
But at least for that one moment,
we .. Each of us ... were his elect.
( Dedicated to the memory of
Rene Francis Dufresne 1917-1998 )
written by Bob Dufresne 6/5/11
Johnney Ringo a hard man a cowboy a clute
Leads Stallion and mares to the valley and bute
This white rearing beauty looms large on two legs
Call on a price who sells or who begs
Sweep down to the range between those two hills
The sage and scallion the lead horses fills
With dust cloud a trailing my eyes will blot out
The Stallion leads them a neigh and a shout
Circling round and a stamping of mare
The frenzied alure and the cowboys a scare
Calmness descends and the bust bowl is clean
The night air a twitching the crickets are mean
Saddle on ear and a belly of beans
pork from a can and the coffees a dream
Star light and shooting away to the east
a coyote calling for famine or feast.
A sleep by the night not a groan to be heard
A crack of the light from that thunderous bird
The horses stampede over dinner and plate
Grab all your stuff and run down to the gate
The cowboy a chase to corral once again
The blunder the bus and the saddle a bend
It's hard and its tough a work load to bare
He'd rather write this and just sit in my chair.
I once was a farmer
I worked the land
I reaped the corn
With a scythe in my hand
I ploughed my furrow
I sowed my seed
I grew my crops
My family to feed
One day hot and thirsty
With the sun going down
I went for to drink
At the alehouse in town
As I was a drinking
There at the Inn
Without any warning
The press gang came in
So I was taken
I was taken so fast
And told that my future
Was before the mast
So in my fields
I no longer plough
Instead the wide ocean
I must plough now
From hauling on ropes
My hands are all torn
Sometimes I wish
I had never been born
Our captains a hard man
If one of us fails
He'll have us flogged
With a cat o' nine tails
When I climb the rigging
I oft times will find
I think of the family
That I left behind
One day I'll jump ship
And I'll stay on shore
I'll serve the Kings navy
Never no more
I'll return to my loved ones
I'll go back to the land
Once more I will reap
With my scythe in my hand
I've sailed the wide oceans
Seen Paris and Rome
But nothing compares
With my humble home
Denis Briggs
The words of a hard man sitting alone
Lighting fire beneath the hand, beneath him
It’s not his way, to be accident prone
Can he be caught, by the other one slim
Those that bite. can seem to multiply here
Lighting fire beneath the hand, beneath him
Sojourn he sees the fire, sends off his flair
Taking down the mighty just by his walk
Those that bite, can seem to multiply here
Following that which alarms someone’s talk
Keeping it in, won’t let the fire to burn
Taking down the mighty, just by his walk
He’s a master, burning within an urn
There’s a bite to the fire, none like before
Keeping it in, won’t let the fire to burn
Amazing he wafts to belong to more
The words of a hard man sitting alone
There’s a bite to the fire, none like before
It’s not his way, to be accident prone
Russell Sivey
Scent of a memory
16/05/2015
The old man ambled by, a scent caught my eye.
A memory long dispatched, elicited and slowly hatched.
My Pops lounge room, musty never seen a broom.
His kind warm smile... takes me back a while.
Hard man as he was, he knew my Nan was boss.
House crowded in smoke, a chewy Mentos for her throat.
Statues in their yard, of white stone so hard.
My mind is transported, sights a smells distorted.
House seems so large, with a twenty car garage.
I can smell the river, and my Nana cooking liver.
It’s like I’m there today, yet in my memory they stay.
Now long gone in time, rest at Rookwood in a shrine.
A hard man
That is why women
Do not flock to him
For example a Dachshund dog was thrown 5 floors to his death
The owner photographed this and posted it online
His dog looked like he was sleeping but was dead
I tracked the Dachshund Dog’s Killer down and killed him
I put him in an 80s violent video game with block graphics
I hit him with a stabbing dagger in both shoulders
Then machete chopped half of his pinto skull off
Finally finishing him off with a flick knife in the gut
Next there was the case of the animal rescue centre
9 pussycats were murdered for no real reason
Except they were living in the centre
I drove up to the animal sanctuary in a Technical
I beeped and they opened the gates and I saw him
The Pussycat Murderer who swaggered about like a real man
I aimed my remote control 50 Cal gun with my PS2 controller
And popped the motherer with a hundred 50 Cal Raufoss rounds
A woman cut the foot off her dog with a machete
Because the dog annoyed his owner
All this was filmed and posted online
I found the Limping Woman who made her dog painfully limp
I said Hi and smirked then tightly tied her up
And had my way with her 25 times in a calendar day
Her pussy was sore and needed stitching due to the table leg
As did her feet when I sliced off all her damn toes
Most bizarre of all was the small dog
Who was partly skinned alive by his owner
This dog was rescued and given treatment
Dog Skinner was a hard man to find but not hard in a fight
I threw him a knife and said, ‘Skin me or be maimed...’
His lunges were slow and unskilled and embarrassing
I blocked them with one hand and closed my eyes
I snapped his spine with one single side kick
And a man drove his car and threw out his dog
Like a bit of trash with duct taped up feet and muzzle
The cops rescued the dog and jailed the man
I impersonated a Police Officer and ‘apprehended’ the suspect
Who had just been released from jail for leaving his pet dog for dead
He let me into his house and I Tasered the bastard and duct taped him up
I dragged Dog Duct Tape Man to my fake squad car and put him in the trunk
I drove him to a secluded spot and did a very enjoyable EJK
I enjoyed each and every act of Pet’s Revenge and Murder
This is my new job and I always enjoy it and get away with it
I have backing from Big Brother and the Illuminated People
Hard man,
sad man in disguise
trying to cover up
what’s behind the lies
look into his face
see behind the eyes
the pain and the hurt
he’s suffered in his life.
Hard man
tries acting like he don’t care
spends his time creating
an atmosphere of fear
it’s all external it’s all bluff
see what happens
when you push him to much
he will either explode
and simply breakdown
hard man
you ain’t as tough as you sound
treating women
like they ain’t worth a ****
truth is love, you can’t handle it
so you cast it to one side
like you cast away the women
make out that it’s you that’s winning
but I see the truth because I grew
up around the likes of you
your intimidation doesn’t come from strength
your nasty streak represents being weak
and because you can’t define it
in an intellectual norm
you manifest it in a physical storm
but I don’t hate you like others do
in truth I feel sorry for you
because hard man I know your life story.
ACE CANNONS' CANON
Through the morning, shimmering with colors that wavering, fade
from a desert where heat is a hue, and history's due
cactus and trees, knotted and sparse, a portrait some mad god must'f bade
into being, into the "Otherwise Sane"; set apart from the world, lived in by you
dust lays 'pon the ground, puffs upwards with resentful complaint
as my mount plods onwards towards some tumbled town
Town?
a few homes, in a land where grown men could grow faint
weary, thirsty, sweat-soaked; riding, walking, falling, down
down...
town
Ace Cannon's my name, should anyone ask
you may have heard, or you may not
at times that's quite a task
as i'm found wherever battles are fought
and those who stay behind
are often quite dead
they thought, or they didn't, or dint really mind
that those men who pushed, cursed, threatened with lead
disrespected ladies, dint tip their hat, just hawked and spat
raped, robbed or rustled, or horsethieved from towns
and thought to back down the good folks with that
more often than not, were buried with smiles,
'stead o' frowns
i'm a gunslinger, in the olde sense of the word
a hard man, a good man, a gunman, driftin' along
light as a feather, fast as a bird
i enjoy playing, Guns' melodious song
"abandon all hope,all ye who hear,
with nary a sound to accompany fear.
the blackbirds are singing, as i draw near;
the tumbleweeds roll, as leather i'll clear"
a few townsfolk stroll from home to store
a few, even this early, stagger from saloons to squint
as at last, i ride past houses, where happy people live poor
knowing each other, when last year they dint
a traveler, through beauty and badland
worthy of trust, friend of strangers in need
dangerous at times, yet loyal to brand
the code of the west, that noblest breed
a stranger, hatbrim pulled low, all dust and sweat
a horse noble as Knighthood, and muscled in trailwornest tan
this was "the West", that hadn't quite yet
met the Man
Ace Cannon
-esquire-