Details |
Men Poem
|
(WARNING SIGNS)
You are old and fragile
Claiming to be a lion when in bed
In some way, you remind me of the walking dead
Your bones make sound when walking across the room
Rattling, as if they know your end is near
Confusing rigor mortis where muscle mass once stood
You say you have stamina that has no end
Until now, your back hurts when you move
Losing count of every inch that got away!!!
With your moods constantly changing,
I prefer not to mention the belly fat around your waist
Then you have romantic days, you plea to love
You chase down a Viagra pill with red fuzz
Seemingly, without adding depression to your day
Pill's are the only object expanding when swallowed
40 some, and you think you can romp around the room
I yawn, yet you are the one tired, next to doom
Dusty and old you boxer shorts
Can't remember the last time you stayed up late
Kicking the bucket every time I talk about S E X
Your hairline aged with time, bold and bald
I forgot which one you recalled this morning
Perhaps these are signs of low testosterone
Merely in the meantime............... R.I.P. WILL YA!!!
BY: PD
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
|
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 | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
In the past, my country
cradled me in her bosom.
Today, 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.
I prayed while watching attempts made
at her resuscitation—
impatient hands held out pens,
prodding me to fill in the proper forms.
The world is on lithium.
My country was on lithium;
for her, vibrant colours turned
into a monochromatic spectrum of grays.
In the end, her heart gave out
from having spent too many decades
within a capitalistic cage.
She had an organ donor card—
her organs were sold off one-by-one
while she was still alive.
Her organs were replaced
with nationalistic flags,
and roaring stadiums.
Men from every standing,
groped Motherland's body.
Many men had laid with her.
Oh, how they did.
At least some men displayed decency,
graced her with loving caresses;
they were few, between the rape
that led to miscarriages,
and live-births of degenerates
via caesarean.
Lithium is slipped into my drink,
so I purge daily,
horrified by my country's overdose.
She looks decrepit, laid out in the morgue;
a cardboard tag hangs from a big toe
like a foreclosure sign.
I will have to give her a proper burial
within my heart,
for they are going to have Mother embalmed,
encase her in a glass coffin,
and put her on display.
Our Mother passed away,
yet her corpse-land remains behind.
I will walk across clear-cut ridges
and through neon-lit distractions
as a gypsy vagabond.
From now on, the territorial lines
mean nothing more to me than rules to follow,
maintained by a system turned empty-hollow.
I lost my country today:
gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending,
and pie-charts, overseas.
As I held her in my arms,
I felt her slip away.
April 30th, 2012
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
Are men supposed to show their strength
denying doubts and fears?
Should they pretend to play it cool
concealing all their tears?
When things build up would weakness urge
temptation to give in;
should one betray signs of defeat
because of hurt within?
There is a line where macho ends,
it’s there for all to see.
The mask is ripped and make-up melts;
emotions are set free.
For men are at their strongest point
when they are free to cry.
Why must a man lose confidence
when tears spill from the eye?
For men in touch with feelings are
a treasure trove to find.
Each woman’s dream and deep desire’s
to find one of the kind!
A man who’s strong enough to show
he has a caring side...
well, such a man is sure to be
a woman’s joy and pride.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Collaboration between Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
In silence, your friendship is a sun to me,
Your warmth a shower to erase pain.
In you pain exists, something I cannot solve,
But in my warmth you can stay a while.
Just know that I am here for you,
For friendship is no one way street.
***
Copyright © Darren White
March 31, 2017
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 -
J.A.B.
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
Refrain
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 | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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
18.03.2012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012
|
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 - Fraser | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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
1/14/13
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
Even if he has the physical strength
To crush you with just one blow,
A good man wouldn’t hurt anyone;
He always shows self-control.
He’s slow to get angry and quick to give in,
He forgives and forgets all mistakes.
But if you hurt somebody intentionally
He’ll quickly put you in your place.
He’s especially protective of women,
As a truly good man should be.
He won’t tolerate any harassment,
You’d be wise to not disagree.
Even if he’s very good-looking
He makes no attempt to beguile.
He charms the ladies inadvertently,
With his caring and courteous style.
He’s a man with a lot of compassion,
He doesn’t just take, he gives.
It’s integrity that defines him -
This is how a good man lives.
Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
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 | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
There was a day, a specific day,
When a pair of boots stopped walkin.
Leaving no average prints on the way,
That an average man could walk in.
Each step he trod was a step of faith,
All knew who walked beside him,
None were better or less than another
For friendship was this man’s fulcrum.
These boots had walked not an easy path
The hide battered from heel to toe,
By the rocks and briars of his past,
His battle, not letting it show.
Always found at other’s need
With a solution or a suggestion,
Sacrifice was his way of life
About that, there is no question.
To many, these boots all weathered and worn
Have no value at all to be told,
But the wise all know the boots strength is it’s soul
And Terry’s boots should be gold.
And Terry’s boots should be gold.
There was a day, a specific day
When a pair of boots stopped walkin,
They continue to lead me down a path of life
I daily strive to walk in.
Thanks Dad
Copyright © Jack Eldridge | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
Stop for a moment
And look past my face
Ignore the smile
And look into my heart
For it is there
It does exist
You just never bothered
To see it.
Lust in my eyes
You think you see
Look through the windows
And open the door
The joke that I tell
The wink that I give
The hair that I brush
Is not me.
Barriers I make
I put there to stop
People like you
From bruising my soul
You see what you want
And not what is real
Inside this bright wrapping
One who can feel.
You say stupid things
Like I am so pretty
It’s my parents I’ll thank
I owe you nothing
What I see in the mirror
Is of flesh and of bone
I don’t need that
Validation.
I want to be loved
For how I would you
Not the car that I drive
Or the clothes that I wear
But for the care that I hold
And the passion I feel
The want to caress
When you walk through the door.
So before you approach
Please ask just one question
Is it me that you want
Or just my reflection?
The first would produce
A most bountiful love
The second, this mind
Just might be too much!
Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Men Poem
|
Some write to write, others to please their own romance and love
I write to enchant thy heart, and thy imagination, thy vision
To tell yee the truth I write to please my desire, to fulfill a personal mission
For I am to touch the souls of men into the right path with God our lord from above
When yee find thyself in the open pause thy heart and look at your surroundings
Pay audience to nature herself, for she comes alive but by His breath of life that creates
Open thy ear, feel the peace that flows in the open air, hear yee not the wind it sings!
Whom but all poets shall come to open eyes, for their gift is to see and write to appreciate
Walk in thy own path, make thy own life come to life
Thank Him everyday for thy joy, for thy own peace
For sooner than the sun sets for eternity will His return be, and all time will cease
Drink thy wine, live life with joy, and be true to thy wife
For it is promised that yee shall receive no more than thee can bare
As He knows of thy hearts smallest desires, and will provide, if thee seeks Him first
Jump with tears of gratitude, for He promised a Bright tomorrow
Will no one believe, as in the times of Noah? Believeth so for all must end, all sorrow
With each passing sun He nears
Yet the world stands idly by, no one even fears
The heart of the earth finds itself celebrating and ill in fake cheers
Little do they know, that He will arrive in times of sleep and with an army of spears
Hear the message for it is not I that write to thy aid, but our Lord himself for he loves us all
as all men were created equal, and some to speak to hearts
Feel the burden that dwells on my heart, and read on before thy soul departs
Rejoice in my art, as I bring about the art that comes from the heart
Copyright © Edward Orozco | Year Posted 2009
|