Best Must(A) Poems
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
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do Men Cry?
(A Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian collaboration)
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.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Why stone the sparrow as she sings
To silence her with broken wings
The gentle creature knows no hate
So cast no stones, it’s not too late
Though feathered of a different score
Her song desires just to soar
To live and let love bears no cost
And nothing to avail is lost
Why stone the sparrow as she flies
So sad whenever something dies
Created by a love divine
As life is meant to thrive and shine
There must a place be, to remain
Where all can sing in sweet refrain
So sing, oh sparrow, never cease
To sing your hopeful song of peace
Ajuga, will be a must, a blue beauty that blows in the wind.
Bellflowers, charming and faithful and lovely, of course I must have
Candy Tufts from gardens of long gone, enchanting. And mother's favourite,
Daylilies, in a rainbow of colors, Delphinium and Daffodils also, so dramatic.
Evening Primrose along the fence will create quite a stir, and on the porch
False Watercress spilling out of a container, and then old dependable,
Geraniums and Glory In The Snow, I love my dreamy dream of spring flowers.
Hyacinths, scented jewels of color sparkle in my garden, along with
Iris Reticulata, an early spring treasure, it will be a wonderful place.
Jacob's Ladder, with blue-purple blooms, mingle with Johnny-Jump-Ups.
Kalmia Latifolia, pure white blooms, related to the laurel family.
Lily-of-the Valley, so sweet and fragrant, how could I forget you and,
Meadow Rue, a lavender wave in the wind, and anther old dependable,
Nasturium, a gardeners dream and it is also edible. Oh my list is long!
Oriental Poppy, was there ever a more heavenly gift from God, except maybe
Pasque Flower, unfolding from beneath the snow, and those Pansies and Petunias!
Queen Anne's Lace, so pretty is her lacework, did you know ishe is a wild carrot?
Rosemary, with a scented pretty flower, like dew in the morning is a must, as is
Sage, that billowy haze of lavender, pushing away the rainbow Snapdragons.
Thrift, delightful vintage touch to my rock garden in the shade, sweet the tulips too.
Umbrella Magnolia growing in the garden corner, with creamy white blooms, and
Vinca Periwinkle with lovely blue flowers, friends to Violet and Viola.
Wall Flowers, who love the sun, drooping with snow cap jewels, oh over there
Xenia's blooming in marine colors, so unique. And here a childhood love,
Yellow Anemone, aka Buttercup, who does not love Buttercup?
Zinnia, friend of Sunflower, elegant and colorful, nods. Must this dream end!
________________________________
April 13, 2016
Poetry/Abecedarian/In My "Dreamy" Spring Garden
Copyright Protected, ID 16-777-564-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
The tricky question of how many animal farms we have
May be more complicated than most of us think;
There are at least some fifty-five animal farms in the world
Where wild mammals play and eat and drink.
And although there lightning is feared more than law,
These farms all seem to have the selfsame collective code.
Since different from the mainstream law, we may call it lore:
The silent cipher that governs the primitive farms.
There everyone is entitled to their share of breath
As long as they breathe within their native home,
Breathing within the territories of other beasts
Wins you mob lynching according to the animal tome.
No animal may acquire such vast knowledge
As to threaten the rule of the Elephant and the Lion.
The acquisition of illegal learning only leads
To the doom Artemis wreaked on the restless Orion.
There you must not shout of forbidden things
Such as animal rights and equality of beasts oppressed;
For it is clearly stated by the immutable silent code
That some mandrills are more equal than the rest.
A beast of worth begets offspring of the same worth;
If a beast be an outcast born, the same must a pariah remain.
No animal may rise from the bottom to the aristocratic realm:
No beast must such thoughts of improvement entertain.
The lore of the mandrills is not lean,
As said, these codes make a huge-volume tome
Which you can’t leaf through in a day,
Though you may get a copy and read at home.
Yet the problem is that censorship there is tough
And as such the lore has never been put in print;
The few Cheetahs who championed for a free press
Were one by one snuffed without a hint.
I think of how you must have been
in bygone days with friends from your boyhood.
From things you’ve said, I picture you back then
blazing trails and camping in the Cincinnati Wood.
And then perhaps you stood a man at seventeen
with one carnation pinned onto your suit.
Vernal still, and on the threshold of your dreams,
you’d blaze a path anew and leave your roots.
Years passed. Only you can fill in all the spaces
of what you heard and tasted; what you did;
pursuits, accomplishments, and the many places,
and when you found Alaska, I was just a kid!
I’m certain that you felt at home, grew bold
on the tundra, moved with feline grace, and maybe kayaked there,
viewed double rainbows, hunted, and knew the color of gold,
climbed mountains and inhaled the pristine air.
You’ve seen the eagle soar; fulfilled a destiny.
So much you’ve done in all your fruitful life.
You served your country, married, made a family,
coached softball, taught and traveled; loved your wife.
Today you move more slowly, or so you’ve told me.
I’ve never seen your face. Better do I know your soul.
I see you as a wine finely aged – mulberry,
red and sweet – not bitter – and you long for a life that’s full.
Behind closed doors you sit alone in your chair.
I envision books displayed, numerous on a shelf.
Despite this show of knowledge gleaned, your house seems bare.
Your family’s gone, and you’re having to care for yourself.
You like to frequent restaurants and watch a little TV,
but friends have passed. You need a fresh new plan.
Forge a new frontier, my friend. Exclaim your poetry.
Poems should have a purpose, and so too must a man.
May 29, 2022
It is the change of the season
Summer has left-Autumn is here
The days will begin to be longer
The summer weather is gone
Autumn will bring cooler cold air
Now a huge weather change
Time for sweaters and jackets
Autumn has country fairs
Everyone enjoys them
Also the bright color leaves
To enjoy the beautiful season
Oh! A must a hay ride in the
farmer's field
I was born to be a writer-
It just came to me quite young,
and even sometimes, I am a songwriter.
Since the beginning words have sprung,
I never realized words would shatter my heart;
that my own words would make me fall apart,
and that I would in time consider my writing art.
And that rejection would be a dagger to my soul.
I never knew how hard it was to reach my goal;
I shoulda read the fine print for the sinkhole.
Why must a writer suffer so much?
I pour out my soul with weeping tears.
Oh, why to a pen at night do I clutch?
And send my poems on wings with fears.
And each new poem I press to my chest,
I must admit at times my words make me depressed;
and for this poetry writer there is no rest.
I must, must write the chatter in my head,
I must follow the theme and the thread;
the terms and conditions of a writer I shoulda read.
______________________
January 18, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Born To Be A Writer
Copyright Protected, ID 9835-30-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, shoulda read the fine print 2
sponsor, John Lawless
Eighth Place
EXCUSE ME!!!!
Do you not see me
standing before you?
Do you not realize that I,
a black woman had a life
that mattered too?
The black woman appears to be
the best kept secret in death
being wiped from the face of the earth
where many won’t remember
our names or know of our existence
When black girls vanish
the only way anyone knows is
through the newsfeed of social media
when white girls vanish
the news media makes sure
the world is notified
while paying no attention
to the clues of plasma
footsteps we leave behind
Many ignore the crimson bleed
of life that seeped
from the opening of the
slashed throat racism made
leaving us to become
the mutilated corpse lying
on the ground society
relentlessly steps over
We’re viewed as a nothing gender
Melanated race of women
often deemed as bothersome or angry
The bellows of our spirits
are discombobulated
as we quickly become
shadows of unrecognized Queens
we are being killed in alarming masses
and all you can say is we must of had it coming
Black women are the givers of the
black lives that are supposed to matter
still we are looked upon
as the doormat placed at
the bottom of the totem pole
you seem to enjoy wiping your feet on
When it comes to black men,
you are seen and heard,
be it good bad or indifferent
but how high must a black woman jump
in order to be seen
how loud must a black woman shout
in order to be heard
Better yet
how many black women need to
be annihilated before our lives
are mourned and celebrated
Brothers, are you willing to
stand up to protect us, even if it's
your fellow brother we need
to be protected from
Our life and death must not be in vain
So what will you do in order change it
Remember,
black women marched for you
don’t you think it's time you march for us?
We are forced into invisibility
like the remnants of
Sandra Bland’s disparity
that was swept under the rug
and lifeless body of Kanika Jenkins
they shoved into a refrigerated coffin
Nia Wilson’s memory they washed away
along with her blood that stained the platform
of a Bay Area Transit Station
or Breonna Taylor and Atatiana Jefferson's peace
they fatally laid to rest in the confines
of their own home
I will forever remember their names...will you??
Ohh to find this one my heart doesth desire
to end this streak of loneliness with fire.
This women must have a desire to love
and able to recipracate this love
for all the days we shall be one.
Size or looks are null and void in the one
I want one who knows God deep inside.
She must a have a desire deep inside
to be in what he created for all to see
as we sit on a hill to see a sunset as one.
Time in the woods all alone
as we enjoy our time as one.
Why must it be so hard to find this one
and enjoy a dinner I cooked for the one.
A night on a couch we cuddle
as we shed a tear from that scene
when someone that loved is no more.
Ohh what night we could share
all alone in winter next to a fire.
She must like the country to see
as we travel sea to sea.
Days and nights of romance
for that one who would be mine.
Fine furs and diamonds not for mine
just all my love I pour out to thee
should suffice her soul seeing all the care.
To try a dance once as we gaze
deep into our souls through her eyes.
Every morning she will hear my love
as I hold her in a tight embrace
and tell good morning I love you.
Every night I will ask how your day be
and say the words I love you honey..
Oh to find this love and dance as one
because she would be my angel from up above
A story with a twist, so sit down so you won't miss this!
Now I'm sitting at home, and dam I'm all alone, wishing this man of mine would just pick up his freaking phone!
I feel the need to have him here, to have his body near. Why is he not answering? Is it because he doing dirt, addressing someone else's matters?
I have called him once! I have called him twice!
The next time won't be so nice.
I just might forget that I loved and missed him in the first place, causing me to feel like I'm having to waste, waste my valuable time on a man of this kind.
See he's making it hard for the next man.
I hate to see the next soul coming after him.
And If you sitting out there thinking about yourself at a chance with me, don't think then you wouldn't be exempt.
Now more time has passed, and yet he hasn't accepted these calls.
Must a sister go ballistic and go make this man another statistic?
Maybe, I need to jump up already pass pissed enough, go outside, jump in my ride, pick up my friend, then go visit this man.
Now, I'm driving to his house, so lowkey, quiet as a church mouse.
Knock hard on his door, and watch his heart hit the floor, because now I'm super pissed because he's been missed, left me feeling dissed.
He opens the door, falls to his knees begging me, please.
Please for what I ask? I sometimes feel as if you are wearing a mask.
Sometimes I don't know who you are, but you are showing thus far that you can't be trusted, and why are you acting like you just got busted?
What's that sound I heard echoing around?
Now I'm walking toward my man's bedroom door, and as I kick in the door. I saw boyfriend Joe, hit his bedroom floor!
Giovanni the Pizza Guy
(Pronounce "a" as "uh")
Giovanni,
you make a
de savory tomato
and de thick
white creamy alfredo
you are a de pizza guy, amor'e
Si',
I make a de homemade paste
she's a richer for you taste
and that's a part of my story.
I make a de pizza pie
I make a it to please
you wanna de pepperoni
or you wanna de plain cheese ?
I am a you waiter
I take a you order
when you food-she a comes
she make a you mouth water
I make a de perfect pizza
in me you should a trust
you wanna de thick
or de thin crispy crust?
I can make a spagetti
or make a zucchini
butta for you , I make a linguine
I can make a de sauce red
I can make a it white
after you taste-you wanna more bite
I make a de spagetti -she's a made with love
I cook a real slow
you order ahead ; or you take a to go.
I putta de stuff on de top
I give a you wine or a some pop
Uno momento, will you please
I must a cut a de cheese
I am a you pizza guy
to make a you pizza pie
Why must a you stay a at home
when a you can a dine a in a Rome ?
I save a you a table
I tell a you a fable
I fill a you pants
I make a you dance
I make a de sauce thick
I make a de sauce thin
I make a you laugh
I make a you grin !
Si',
Please a come a back ; see a Giovanni again!
CHOW FOR NOW, BELLISIMA !
Copyright McCuen 2009
God's Gift
God's gift starts out with just a white light, a blank canvas, an idea ready to take
flight, the ink touches down with a swipe, this is how He begins our life.
He painted rocky mountains, rolling hills, and grassy fields. As paint dripped
from his brush and fell so abrupt, creating rivers and brooks. Then an ocean
came to be, the biggest wonder you will ever see.
God stopped and pondered , what don't I see and then wondered, animals this is
what it will be, some for the land and some for the sea.
God struck his canvas with a flick of his brush flowers and trees as far as you
could see. Then looked at himself and created you and me just like he had
seen. The greatest accomplishment a human being.
Six days of lust an idea that came from a brush. All has been created including
us. The seventh day this is a must a day of rest. One day out of a week and
four days out of a month. This is the day we pray and thank him for showing us
the way, to his home, heaven you see, that's where we all want to be. This is
God's gift to you and me.
Genesis 1.1 the New Testament
By
Rowdy
Yates
, , , then on the seventh day,
-walking to the valley with
brother Gene - a silver haired fox
crossed our path - (un-indigenous)
Dare I say, moving through dimensions,
he cocked his head at us
but never altered his gait.
, , , Done now almost with my death duties
- the sudden vacancy started to take hold-
But I did not see you Ma, not in the Irish nun
at your wake, that, upon realizing she
was at the wrong service said,
“Oh BEGORRA, God must a sent me then.”
(I did not correct her redundancy)
Later when the Irish priest hit my car
in San Francisco and laughing he said,
“Oh BEGORRA son, Be careful on your journey ”
I felt your sense of humor, then, Ma, getting it
I thought of the nun too - Realizing
they were you - not just ready for
what lay ahead.
, , ,How would I continue my journey
without your guiding word - rich
yellows, oranges and purples
of a New York fall - you always
had a good sense of timing - Calling home
from the docks is when the falcons began,
looking up, three, circling me, from above.
Then underway on the bridge-wing landed
-With all your resplendent dignity-
your talons golden, great and sharp
clinging to the rail, your head askew.
You would ride with me too far
out to sea - too far for a hawk -
To make it back to shore -
**IT HAPPENS IN EVERY AFFAIR**
"Controversies! controversies!!"
All over the air,
This is not fair
This is an err....
I heard some one said...
"These two were love birds,
Obsessed and possessed
By each other, making
Us impressed,
For no other, could put asunder.
Yet misunderstanding making things
Not outstanding, but not withstanding,
Understanding might surface in a race
When the hearts go into real partnership....
Uncertainty must a times prevail,
Controversies too, either for good or for bad.
"Controversies! controversies!!"
I hear some one saying....