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The Best Men Poems

Details | Men Poem |

THE MALE MENOPAUSE - please feel free to join in the collaboration

Ted’s libido has now gone astray
He refused a quick roll in the hay
So what could be the cause -   
It’s the male menopause   
He’s been grumpy and snappy all day!
 
His testosterone levels have dropped  
Many Viagra pills he has popped  
He drops one in his tea
It will keep his cookie
Standing up straight whenever it flopped 
 
By jingo, Ted’s put on so much weight   
It’s not down to the lunches he ate   
His once perfect tush   
Has now turned to mush   
Ted should diet before it’s too late  
 
His middle aged paunch has been spreading  
Can’t fit in the suit from his wedding   
He once was so hot
Now he’s gone to pot
And now I hear he wets his bedding   
 
Ted’s developing male breasts, I see
So I renamed them "moobies," tee hee
They stick out so far
He needs a 'man bra'
If measured - he’d be bigger than me!
 
Ted’s losing all the hair on his head
(It’s sprouting from his nostrils instead)
With long hairs in his ear
Poor Ted can hardly hear
And he braids it when he goes to bed   

BY JAN ALLISON

8/4/18

Mister T has trouble finding his ding dong
I have to laugh even though I know it's wrong
He's nothing but a wimp
Now that his parts are limp
Bet he knows where it all started to go wrong

WRITTEN BY LIN LANE

Ted is anxiously awaiting his date
A beautiful blond he met out of state
took blue pills from his pocket
to help rev up his rocket
but he wonders if she would rather wait

WRITTEN BY TANIA KITCHIN

"I'm so sorry". Apologised Ted
To his wife, as they lay in their bed
It's not you that's the cause
It's that male menopause
"Do you fancy a cocoa instead".


WRITTEN BY RICHARD D SEAL


Well the doc said “you need exercise”,
So it’s football today with the guys,
Roger yells “on me head!”
“Well I could do,” says Ted,
“What’s the point though, when everything dies?”

WRITTEN BY NINA PARMENTER

That male menopause can be iffy,
do more than just cost you your stiffy.
You've no more will to jerk;
it's just way to much work,
but you'll write new haiku in a jiffy!


WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART

Ted had a problem didn't know the cause
his mate told him it's the manopause 
advised him to see Bill
to purchase a blue pill
Bill said this will amuse her indoors

Ted asked his wife not to sneer or mock
when he told her it was such a shock
he had tried a blue pill
to give her a big thrill
worked too well its now a stumbling block.


WRITTEN BY ROY PETT


She burst into the room and caught Ted
lying naked, aroused on the bed
thought that she was the reason
that he was now 'in season'
not brochures for a new garden shed

 WRITTEN BY VIV WIGLEY

There a was guy named Ted,that was cool
He would make all the young ladies drool
Now he’s married and limp
And he resembles a blimp
The “lift” tanked and the Mrs thinks his a fool


WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y


The male menopause caught up with old Ted
He's no longer the stallion in bed 
But now he takes a little pill 
Before he goes in for the kill  
Now his poor wife just lays there full of dread 

WRITTEN BY TOM CUNNINGHAM

Ted used to be good in the sack.
`Til he started smoking that crack.
Now his wife`s had enough
and she`s left in a huff
and picked up a spare with Jack.

WRITTEN BY CHARLIE KNOWLTON

His wife asked, "Ted what's the cause"
He replied, "tis the male menopause,
I was embarrassed to mention
It won't stand to attention"
I'm afraid you've been clutching at straws."

WRITTEN BY GARY SMITH

Ted loved his "kit-and-kaboodle",
Kept it clipped like a champion poodle
But a glitch in his gland ...
Meant the thing wouldn't stand
So it hung from his gut ... like a noodle.

WRITTEN BY GREGORY R BARDEN

IF YOU WANT TO JOIN IN THE FUN PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME ANY POEMS TO BE ADDED

Details | Men Poem |

Pride and joy of his family

Having lived on earth for some time now
Impatiently he dwells, harboring self doubt.
In face of impediments he loses his mind
Acquiring dispositions like hate and lies,
Hosting showmanship to look good and wise.

Never does he claim his world to be saintly
Letting dreams reign and thoughts go wild
Acknowledging failings incapable of verity.

Risking happy tears, triumphs he celebrates
Saving saddened ones to mourn disasters,
Banking on the strength of worn-out hands
As unforgiving minutes tick-tock forever. 

When he gets a turn at the wheel of fortune
Losses seem to mount at every pitch-and-toss,
Regretting moments when he says:"hold on"
For he loses the ground on which he stands.

Yet he carries on, in treacherous currents
Swimming boldly in shark-infested waters
Accepting the reality of fish-eat-fish world.

Unsatiated reveries bestow vacant dreams 
Never ever venturing to walk with the Kings,
Commoner he is, like his friends in drudgery.

Pride and joy of his family, a Man he's already!

Truth he owns, is the truth he delineates,
Being a flawed man, for forgiveness he prays.

October 21, 2018
Poem of the day on October 23, 2018
Placed first in..In response to Rudyard Kipling's poem IF
Contest by Silent One

Details | Men Poem |

SEX AFTER 40

(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

Details | Men Poem |

STILL WINTER

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..)

Details | Men Poem |

Motherland's Funeral

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—
hands impatiently held out pens,
and I was prodded 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

Details | Men Poem |

Do Men Cry

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
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Details | Men Poem |

Slavery in Haiti

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

Details | Men Poem |

Friendship Is No One Way Street - For Tim

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

Details | Men Poem |

Wise Men Still Seek Him Today

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.

Details | Men Poem |

Song Of A Cherokee Princess -

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.

Details | Men Poem |

Elegy for Michael Jackson (4)

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.

Details | Men Poem |

- The Fabulous Queen Of Egypt -

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

Details | Men Poem |

Wisdom of the Cougar

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

Details | Men Poem |

OMNIPOTENT: HE KNOWS ALL

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

Details | Men Poem |

Emptiness of Living

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.

Details | Men Poem |

Gypsy Dance


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.

Details | Men Poem |

Thanksgiving from Three Perspectives

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"

Details | Men Poem |

A Good Man

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.

Details | Men Poem |

Can poetry matter

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.

Details | Men Poem |

A Meadow's Sigh

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.

Details | Men Poem |

What's fair is fair


What’s fair is fair

I walked into Macys Department Store the other day
thinking I’d buy a few items for the summer
I entered on the first floor and was met by
counter after counter of cosmetics and perfume
with finely made up women in fancy smocks 
just waiting to apply the latest from Estee Lauder
or spritz the newest fragrance from Lacome. 

Then I wandered through the labyrinth of ladies shoes,
Every style, color, material, pattern, shape 
and design known to man, well maybe not man
Low heels, high heels, stilettos, pumps, sandals, boots
running shoes, dress shoes, casual shoes 
and don’t get me started on the purses, Coach, Michael Kors, 
Dooney and Burke…clutches, handbags, wallets, totes,
big bags and even bigger bags

I took the escalator up hoping to find something to my liking
I walked from one end to the other, nothing but women’s clothing
Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, J.Jill, Hilfiger, you name it, they had it. 
Tops, skirts, dresses, work attire, dinner attire, after eight attire
There were weekend outfits and morning, noon and evening wear
Low cut, high cut, hip huggers, sleeveless, three quarter sleeves,
short sleeves, long sleeves, ruffles, leggings, shorts, t-shirts, gowns
denim, leather, cotton, polyester, nylon, fringed, hinged…I cringed 

Another flight up, my fingers crossed…OMG, ladies lingerie. 
I had no idea there were that many bras in the world, it seems like the 
entire alphabet is used for the sizes and sometimes it is used twice,
A.B.C.D.E.AA,BB,CC…and so on… 
There was also rack after rack of panties, Spanx, body suits, nylons. 
pantyhose,  knee high, thigh high, lifting, supporting, separating, 
holding in, back support, front support, butt enhancing…butt enhancing? 
Negligees, robes, pajamas, and bathing suits, millions of bathing suits    

One more flight up and needless to say I was becoming quite aggravated
I scanned the floor then finally asked an employee where the Men’s department was? 
He said, “It’s way over there in that corner, 
just past the toaster ovens, luggage, dinnerware and bedding, 
tucked in behind the Children’s s department.” 
Then I asked him one more question because at this point I was very curious
“Where are all of the female customers today?”

He answered, “Oh, they are all downtown protesting how the world is so unfair to them.” 



Note: Macys is a department store in the states. Similar to The Bay in Canada or Fenwick in the UK

5/15/17
Written for the Foreskinfedora For Poets Who Identify As Men Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless

Details | Men Poem |

Warrior Woes

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

Details | Men Poem |

Relax

Lay back clear your mind
Let my hands do the rest
Close your eyes hear the music
As my tongue touches your chest
I then whisper in your ear
Sweet words as I relieve your stress
No worries and no fears
Safe in my arms you nest
Tension flows from your body
As we begin to undress
Touching each others bodies
Enjoying each others best
Movements slow then pleasure
Our bodies tightly pressed
Laying spent from ecstasy
Satisfaction at your request

Details | Men Poem |

THE RESTLESS SEA historical quatrain for contest


                                         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

Details | Men Poem |

A GOOD MAN

A GOOD MAN 

Is loving
Is a Good Son 
Is a Good Father
Is a Good Brother
Is a Good Friend
Is leader 
Is a magnet
Is a teacher 
Is confident 
Is not afraid to fail
Doesn't mind being vulnerable 
Knows he's not perfect and ok with that
Most of all a Good Man is clueless that he is,
because know one told him or showed him how to be a good man




Alexis Y
10-28-16

Inspired by "A Good Man"contest