Men are still men, even if
they fail.
They may get wounded,
battered and shattered
By life's problems,
struggles and storms,
But they still remain men-
they cannot be women.
Life's challenges may mar
or deform them,
Still yet, they are men no
matter what happened.
They are great-all of em,
Though some may not
look it.
They all have potentials-
though many
undiscovered.
All in all, men are men
and nothing can change
that.
Eyes Of An Ageing Man
The eyes of an ageing man
Can tell a story few others can
For surely he has seen it all
From a nation rising, to it’s fall
From wars for freedom, and of security
Each with its own uncertainly
His eyes has witnessed the Russian collapse
To more recently, the border control relax
He’s seen great men lead, and other fail
Oh the stories his eyes could tell
Dictators reign to complete overthrow
He’s watched freedom rise and continue to grow
He’s seen the common worker loss his job
He’s witnessed grown men sit and sob
He watches as the drug trade overruns the land
Stealing time from the hourglass of sand
He’s seen building go up and come down
He’s seen fear and panic on the ground
In all his years he never though he’d see
The power of hate that there appears to be
The lack of tolerance and morality
That has become the normal reality
For what this man has seen through the years
Has dried his eyes of it’s last tears
I have a dream
I am in darkness
I look and see a world
Only wanting evolution
Picking and grabbing
Until all remaining life
is lost in time
I see a world
Conquered, and in pain
By men after men
Wanting only power
I see a world
A Victorian world
Hardworking, truthful, yet full of lies
Those advanced rule all
I see a world
Wanting revolution
Wanting an idea only to change it the next day
Changing in blood
I see a world
Countries still divided
But trying to hold for a hope
A hope of peace and nationalism
I see a world
Of growing towns of steel
And motorized metal
Clanking over a ground unprepared
I see a world
Where men stand up
Different colors, with hands high
Chanting a chant of love
To be free
I see a world
Full of terror
Leaders who struggle
And people who search
For someone to blame
I see a world
A world of blue
Of beauty
With peace, and love
All is well
All are happy
Poverty is gone
And wars, dissolved
Then I awake
I start to cry
I had a dream
Wartorn
~~~~~~~
Streets lined and littered with discarded warriors of the Salvation Army
No marches in formation their battles for life fought on the streets
Of a war torn country, our own the United States of America
Living and dying on a daily basis, denied the human dignity of health, jobs
And homes that the banks don’t own
It’s a constipation of the constitution
A tattered old scribbling never meant to include me
The founding fathers folly and obsidian hearts
Speaking with forked tongues, lying of equality for all men with hate in eyes
Yet even more abuse of men in abundance, red, yellow, white, and black
Liberty and justice for some, mostly politicians and statesmen
Not speculation just a plain harsh and simple fact
It is a hot afternoon at Pancho's Cantina
And Rosa is sitting at the bar, mariachis singing
Cause the juke box is dead
She is the red rose in Pancho's Cantina
There is no telephone, so you can't hear it ringing
She is letting the tequila, get into her head
She once had a hour glass figure, that is about out of sand
A lot of make up to cover up most of the hurt and pain
But she smiles at all the men that come her way
With another tequila in her hand
To help drown her pain
She wishes she could just run away
And it is not all roses in her bed
But that is where she makes her living
And she hates her life
But it keeps her poor family fed
She think that men do all the taking and damn little giving
Serving many, knowing she will never be a man's wife
Beyond this ocean of life I see those hard time,
Men sweated or toiled and did not go without a dime,
With greed, both learned to work for the extra prime,
The good bad and ugly thought this was no crime.
.
Then blew the wind with women preservation,
India's fifty-fifty, world remained unsure;
While half the Indian women earned to inflict,
The men lost jobs in pure protests and conflict.
.
Should women learn to fret and pull a tug boat?
Relaxed men enjoy these working lust beauties;
Pamper them with praise as they go through the maze,
Nice jingling bells as they run for work in daze.
.
Why should all men decry their conservations?
When women want hundred percent reservations:
If married women were painted blue
so men knew who to hit on to.
And fatter women came with numbers
so men could tease their weight than wonders.
If meaner women wore bright socks
so men could save themselves hard knocks.
And stupid women's shirts had stripes
that dumb old men could find their types.
If all these wonders became true.
The day when women paint themselves blue.
No man is a god, fit to worship
There are no gods among fools of men
There are no men of honour
For it truly is a dying breed
That poet's still remember
And in there words our hope lives
Neither memory nor dream,
Forgotten rules of courtesy.
For truth and beauty,
Hope and grandeur.
Questioning of mans belief’s
Regardless of race or creed.
And still the genteel poets wonder
Where have the men of honour gone?
Who let them fade away?
Replaced by self seekers,
Greed and strife,
Truly for that is all it seems,
That survived our hero's plight
I'm getting tired of men
and their childish ways
if it doesn't shine they
don't want to play
I haven't found a guy yet
to be heavily interested in
my brain. I have to keep
appearances up or they won't
notice me. I feel a little melancholy
because boys will be boys and if I were
to play coy they'd date the flamboyant
girl with the silver pearls. I can't seem
to unearth a real man
there is simply too much sand
and I don't have the patience
to suddenly stumble on something great
why all the illusion? I never seem to reach the
the right conclusion. Men keep sticking
me into little delusions. I'm so sick of
doing all this self soothing.
O Hail the King
That lies along the ring
Beside the bank of Niger
Mauling fishes like an Ocean scavenger
Lo, he knoweth not
That if a man wants rot
Before fall cometh pride
Pride; when on a high horse we ride
Aye, the fishes are with the voice of men
Crying & Wailing like a Babylonian convict on his way to the den
And our king felt it fun
Hence, the mauling goes on
But his hands killeth men
Our king knoweth not then
No aide would talk
Dare one, on his body shall it feed on; Hawk
Behold, the lord of war won't stop
He kindle the furnace of hell with their fleshes
But the men can take it no more
Now, an alternative they seek
Enough of yawning and folding of arms
The sickle is coming to their heads
This, they can't take
They seek the weakness in the king's prowess
The Apple of an alien prostitute
A bite is enough to kill a wild bear
But our king ate much in the company of a beer
Luck, fate and fortune are the three birds
of the same feather.
The three feathers reach the culminating point
when fine is the weather.
Man is the architect of his own fortune.
To be fortunate self- confidence, hard work
and patience will prove to be a boon.
'We make our fortunes, and call them fate.'
To make a good fortune it is never too late.
'Shallow men believe in luck,
Wise and strong men in cause and effect,'
'Fortune is ever seen accompanying industry.'
To the weak, unsuccessful, fraud and misfortune
their fate is like a calamity.
'Fate is not the ruler, but the servant of providence.'
The seeds of success will flower by the waters of
diligence, confidence, obedience and intelligence.
'Where there is a will there is a way,
But Rome wasn't built in a day.'
Fortune made in a day
Very soon goes away
As for fate, you who are learned should know
Man's effort can equal the wonders of fate.
Venture far, but not too far,
Be bold, but not too bold.