Best Hardheaded Poems
It either kills the person or gives them glory.
It has it’s own life and demands territory.
It is one of the seven most deadly sins.
Be very careful because it could make your life end.
It is the contrast of real inner strength.
It has a unforgettable smell with a stench.
Pride generates vanity and humility.
It reminds me of a Greek tragedy.
With that in mind I remain humble and meek.
But are proud men considered weak?
In a lot of religions pride is definitely forbidden.
It is a mask behind which low self-esteem are hidden.
Pride makes you unable to listen to others or to God's messages.
Some people have cockiness with smuggness as their self-righteousness.
They soon deny about having problems.
But by being so hardheaded and stubborn they can never solve them.
They need to shed their masks, which covers low self-esteem, a lack of self-
confidence, and a sense of insecurity.
Seek God and keep Jesus in your life to make you happy.
"Blessed is that man that makes the Lord his trust, and looks not to the proud,
nor to those that turn aside to lies." (Psalm 40:4)
The Unborn Child
I wonder will they let me in?
Will they furnish me with life support?
I want to be my Grandpa's friend,
his pride, his joy, and his hero in sports.
Really, it’s not his decision
for these nine months to go on through.
Mom and Dad, it’s up to your religion
to see that I’m worthwhile and needed, too.
Oh God, I’ll make them love me,
please, God, tell them both to go on.
I won't act hardheaded, nor wicked nor will I be ,
apathetic and sad, nor gripe and moan.
I’ll lie restfully in my Mother's arms.
Please, God, tell them both to let me be
BORN.
I am tired of seeing our mothers cry;
It’s painful to see their tears.
It’s been happening much too long,
Down through the years.
You don’t want us to chastise them,
Or beat them in our homes.
But you will chase them in the streets,
And shoot them; now they’re gone.
When will this madness stop;
What do we need to do.
To stop the law from shooting our children,
And cease pain we’re going through.
Many of our children are hardheaded;
Disrespectful and they talk back.
They are not the only ones like this,
Do you kill ours because they are black?
We are all profiled by one thing are another,
If shot; all of our blood is red.
When statistics and surveys are taken,
More of your blacks end up dead.
Yes I say they are yours,
Because you brought us here.
If maybe you had left us in our homeland,
No one would have to shed a tear.
But you crossed the ocean waters
Just to bring us to this land.
Because cleaning house and picking cotton;
Was a task for a stronger, hardworking and powerful man.
Now that we are here;
And through being used by you.
You can’t put us on a boat,
So shooting us is what you do.
There is a spirit that came with us,
And it came to destroy,
It did not come to bring unity,
But to take out every man, woman, girl and boy.
If you don’t want this spirit here,
You should have left us in our land.
Because before you went to Africa,
The black man was killing the black man.
Shaka Zulu is a great example,
Of what I am trying to say.
You should have cleaned your own house and picked your own cotton;
And left us in our way.
But since you came to get us,
And that spirit came here too.
Beating us, shooting us, trying to take us out,
Will not stop what the spirit came to do.
We must come and unite together;
Repent and turn to God.
For only He can destroy that spirit,
Many people in America thinks this request is odd.
For they do not even believe,
That my God is real.
Yet if we turn from our sins trust His way;
Our hearts and land He will heal.
He will destroy the spirit,
That is destroying us.
If we have faith in God;
And truly live….In God We Trust.
A Cowboy is lean, tall, muscled and an inarticulate mass
Of loyalty, independence, pride and downright Western class
He cocks his hat to the back of his head and lets loose an infectious grin
Testosterone overflowing he’s masculine from boot toe to hat brim
He mumbles “Ah, Shucks”, ducks his head and charms the ladies
He’s saddle born, ranch raised and calls his palomino horse Hercules
A Cowboy kin drink, git drunk, cuss and dance a mean square
He kin hunt, trap, fish, and if put to it, outrun a riled–up bear
A cowboy spits, chaws, farts, smokes hand-rolled and sings off-key
He shoots, ropes, hogties, brands and whistles at cattle in high “C”
He’s an introverted soul, shy, gawky and tongue-tied in society
But ranch owners’ virgin daughters are eager to marry him
After doing hanky and panky stimulated by 100 proof killer gin
The shotguns hang on the fireplace wall, but the Cowboy ain’t gonna give in
Thinking, “mebbe It’s time to git gone and ride out like a swift blowing wind”
And into the sunset the Cowboy eases away without a backward glance
Looking for a cattle ranch that needs know-how hires and give him a chance
To punch cows, shoe horses, drive cattle and harness a gal into a new romance
Cowboys choose, lose, win, and wander here, there, and all around
Unless a right-smart gal he diddled in the stable of a small cow town
Is a hardheaded Cowgirl who hogties him when his pants are down!
My wife is a hardheaded lady
So when she makes up her mind
Whatever it is that she wanted
Is just a matter of time
She wanted a family vacation
Everyone must make the scene
Including our kids and their families
We are a group of sixteen
The first one took us to Oregon
To a motel on the beach
Although everyone had lots of fun
It was just too far to reach
The next one was also held out of town
A nice place on Lake Chelan
With boats and skis and a swimming pool
Everyone thought it was grand
Went to Lake Chelan for two more years
Then we found a brand new spot
It was a big lodge in Idaho
We all loved that place a lot
We had that big lodge all to our self
It was on Lake Pend Oreille
It rained the whole week were there
We played games inside all day
Even though we had that bad weather
The vacation was the best
The place so big, kids played hide-and-seek
Good visit, fun games and rest
We returned there again the next year
It has its dock and bay
Water sports, fishing and paddle boats
Then someone sold it away
The next year’s vacation was different
We rented two large house boats
A week boating on Lake Roosevelt
I got sick and almost croaked
Then we went to Marrowstone Island
To my daughter’s new beach place
They caught crabs and clams, then bought oysters
Crammed sea food into our face
Then the guy boated to Port Townsend
But when they were coming back
Yellow boat died in the ferry’s lane
They barely avoided a smack
The next year it was back to Lake Chelan
But at a different place
One of the kids brought a small scooter
Road it all around the place
Two years ago, back to the beach house
Played games and had lots of sun
The tenth family vacation for us
For two year’s now there’s been none
My wife and think it is so sad
To lose such a tradition
Let’s start now and plan one for next year
That is this poem’s mission
NOTE: There always seems to be confusion on pronouncing Chelan, but the locals say it "shuh-LAN" (short "A").
Also, Pend Oreille is pronounced "PAWN-do-RAY"
what colour do we wanna look at?
red, of course, like the doorway i knew in childhood
like the blood whispering through the pipes of an egret
it doesn’t matter
yawning voice draining unconscious energy from dying room
the boy on my left keeps opening and shutting his calculator
like a hollow refrigerator
orange-faced girls bustling into lines with warpaint on their eyes
don’t overthink it, don’t overthink, don’t think
they say form is never more than an extension of content
but everything is form
if only i could shape shift so easily
i would fit myself into the negative spaces of the atmosphere
and make tacky jewelry from the entrails of humans
after all, if you can’t figure out what to do with it
chop it off
if it’s important, it’ll grow back
just like the gouged eyes of the nordic prophet
bronze-headed swans are tripping in the rattle crash of the pond
making gilded love to dead water and sunlit reflections
i light a small fire beside me and the molecules press against my fingertips
but yellow is terrible terrible terrible
i feel like a root turning over
it’s so boring to write about having a body
and connection to the earth is tenuous
muddy sludge sleuthing sewers
brown dirt caught under the fingernails of hardheaded construction workers
it’s been ages since i’ve seen the mountains
there are no pine trees here but i can still hear
their green phalanges scratching the glass
but where do all the bags of rejected m&m’s get sent?
in that case, let’s pick blue
everyone knows the blue i mean
the midnight coffee, discount supermarket shopping, haven’t slept in four days blue
even now the air is cobalt and i am ravenous
I’m hardheaded as they come
Yet I feel no repent
I’ve always stuck to my guns
No matter what it meant
Don’t think of it as stubborn
It’s not an affliction
It just shows that I have the
Strength of my conviction
I’m not going to compromise
Look for a middle ground
When I know I’m in the right
I can’t be turned around
I stick to: WHAT I BELIEVE
But keep an open door
Staying true to your beliefs,
That: IS WORTH FIGHTING FOR!
Shes the kind that loves to hear truth when its spoken softly
Not phrases from a, mind that is currupted redeem me!
Any man betrays me is destined for an awakening
Verify this the code of Honor
Gestures boy make them .pretty faces she makes at me
I hop in her thoughts then i jump out dressed in her love still.
Spoke in a style she gave me.
Personalized the order she deserves it.
Its fortunate I'm telling u its a godsend just to be the guy she becomes involved with.
High on the scent of her hair and.
And ill kiss her if she dares me.
She is a renegade on phase two. A mighty Temptress as we switch,to phase three.
And threats of violence dont phase me
Ask my Momma and she can tell you " the streets r the only thing that could raise him"
Hardheaded nah, just not the one to bow down to a man or,idol .
Look i give u game four dollars for a friend feel me.
Thirty points i have made her.
I'm the highest scorer on her team man.
I'm so uffing frustrated
It's late night n my pupils dilated
Blood pressure sky rocket like I'm ovulating
N life ain't wasting no time
Like its obligated
Catching me slipping on the sideline
Right beside being patient
On a ledge trying to hold on
Just trying to say this
But daily it seems like I'm not supposed to say nothing
It's Vegas
I understand the situation so I'm quietly changing
Nah
Let me take that back I'm just tryin to change this
One perspective way of looking
The only way I know that's how I made it
This far n now I'm posted in the land of endless vacation
I've traveled a lot
But this plot that I got I'm just trying to stay in
Too hardheaded to quit that's my problem
No need in others sayin
Of course it's not gonna be easy
This ain't a game it's life ain't it
Yeah I'm prideful I know
Another thing in the process of work
It's changing
But everything ain't the same so
Now I gotta flow with the game
Love every headache
Just want shyt to settle in
Because I'm tired of me having my breath wasted
N being patient
Seems to be the only remedy
So I guess at night I gotta pray harder
That's what I see
You hate rules,
I hate fools,
You hate school,
I hate tools.
I like pools,
You're like a mule.
Hardheaded,
Bullheaded.
Fools do not
Go to school
Fools do not
Follow rules.
Emma does right
Emma don't fight,
Why won't you
Go to bed at night?
If you won't
Go to school,
And you won't
Follow rules,
Then you won't
Know which tools
To use
For the job.
for all narcissistic purposes,
are you my yeyo,
my guiding light
my guardian, my knight,
my moon, my morning,
my moonlight in darker nights,
I am lightheaded, yeyo
and warmhearted,
by you,
my yeyo
I am even hardheaded.
I get violent for you, yeyo
I am weakened by the climax of your imagination
I dare not belong to another
I positioned myself for this very poison
tabooed by you, my yeyo
so love me.
A cranky old man that rules his household
from his armchair. There isn't one he doesn't scold.
With jabbing comments and taunts;
feels he can say what he wants.
A shameful big mouth, hardheaded and bold.
His chauvinist views; women with boobies
were created to make meals and babies.
He still lives in the stone age
putting people in a rage.
Crazed old man, no respect for the ladies.
2/4/2018
Poetry Contest: Limerick 4
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Syllable count for both:
10,10,7,7,10
10,10,7,7,10
https://www.howmanysyllables.com/syllable_counter/
is counting... " isn't " and " doesn't " as 1 syllable
soups are counting them as 2 syllables
Only 4 years old and if looks could kill
Definetly different with a will of steel
Butting heads and not getting along
Sworn enemies in a little girls world
Better than Barbies
Claws out like cats
Battleground and Playgrounds
Strong willed and hardheaded
Little Princess is a pistol,
And she’s about to go off
Little Princess is a pistol
And she’s about to go off
Screeching like a banshee
Firecracker blowing her top
My way or the highway
Little Princess is a pistol,
And she’s about to go off
There's a passport I would like to revoke
from one person who thinks it's a joke
to repeatedly make fun of fellow writers.
Like a pugilist, she calls us 'prizefighters.'
What harm if we enjoy entering contests?
That doesn't prove whose poetry is best
because one person's opinion has weight
and another says it's open for debate.
If she's trying to deflate anyone's intellect,
she won't do it with a weapon of disrespect.
I applaud people who bravely try a new form
They're not afraid to write out of the norm.
She stabs with a pen, trying to draw blood
while sitting on her toosh like a couch spud.
We don't write to be popular. She's wrong,
but lord, she keeps howling the same ol song.
She claims we want attention and a high profile,
but her posts draw attention in words that defile.
I've never understood why her eyes get glazed
over contest entrants who should be praised.
She dares write of grace and having humility
but complains vehemently, and with hostility.
Her PS passport should be revoked & shredded
as punishment for being rude and hardheaded.
I have this strange feelings twirling in my stomach since yesterday and it will not go away, it is not a feeling of pain, it’s not a feeling of shame or guilt, it is the feeling you get when someone has taken your heart away. You know the one that young lovers get when they fall in love for the first time and don’t have a dime? It is not quite like that but almost like that. It feels like something is literally twirling in my stomach, I am not sure if it is butterfly or middle age crisis.
I was supposed to be going places, soaking in hot springs and enjoying fine beaches. I was supposed to be going places, skiing on the slopes, and holding on to the ropes, climbing branded mountains and spending the night in the wooded cabins piled up with snow around me with a little fire place to warm my hands and feet while sipping hot chocolates from my brand name mug.
But here I am in this place stuck for four long years suffocating from the stanch coming from the toilet pit hardheaded children screaming from the top of their voices, stirring my bones and sinews, great god, I have to start my life anew.
I grip firmly to my pride listening to the commotion around me and the cars racing up and down the alley, the music box shouts from across the street while the night fades slowly before me and embracing daylight in front of me. The birds start swirling in the restless sky looking for the early morning goodbye.
I walked along the road and looked at their faces soaked with anxiety and parched variety; the waxing moon hinges its burden to the sky and watches the people as they go by. Plunging into precipice and drowning in waterfalls. I watch the lines moving around the bend; parallel lines, straight line, zigzag lines, curved lines and horizontal lines that one can walk on. I followed the diagonal line to the end looking for a new friend but the butterfly kept twirling in my stomach and I feel like throwing up.
Change the plot or many more will rot, change the plot and get the people out of the rock, change the plot and get me back on track. Change the plot so that I can wear a brand new frock. Change the plot to end the shock. Change the plot and raise your glasses.