Long Maleness Poems
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Defining a Man ( A Letter to my Daughter )
What is a man in these modern day attitudes and parlances of our times
harder now, I think to define a man than maybe it was
but then maybe not, considering how much we all have learned
Rather it should be easier for a man to define himself, as a man, in these days, than it
was in the past, but this seems not to be the case.
Ever it seems, men, cling to the ideas of “The Macho Man” ( which if you think about it is
so Gay.. trying to prove to everyone that you are not Gay, by being a “Man”….. how gay is
that ? )
Any “Man” that conforms to a stereotype, or the stereotypically accepted view of what a
man is “Is not” a man
But a mere shadow of one
Who by acceptance has agreed in his own conscience “not” to think past or beyond
a cultural definition of what he is
And therefore has not explored to any depth the idea of maleness and all its qualities of
personality
They have, to say, accepted a definition of themselves which is a blanket and an easy
excuse to explain what they are and how they behave.
I can count the number of men I have met in my life on the fingers of two hands
but I have encountered an innumerable group of brainless masculine gender defined people
in their thousands….
Firstly a man is or has the courage, “not” to define himself by stereotype
he becomes a wolf instead of a sheep and so to some degree an outcast. ( and so many sheep
call themselves wolves that it is laughable considering their obeisance to acceptance )
A man, does not use self-centred egoism as an excuse for truth or a replacement for truth
He will contend with any rationale that challenges his idea or view of his life or world
until it can or has proved itself to be better than his own
In which case it becomes his own rationale.
A man does not, by the use of any force, verbal, physical, emotional or mental, make any
person submit to his will, in order to prove that he is right. ( erroneously or not )
A man will use his physical strength to defend, not attack.
I have a lot of questions
questions
questions
he repeats
slowly swinging
and dancing
on our creaky screened porch swing.
Radiant
in fiery ginger godliness,
mind centering omnipotence
He is so far ahead
of answers,
I feel embarrassed
to share them.
But, in not sharing
I become lost in caring
what you might think of me,
feel about we
without sufficient daring.
He swings a..l retentive
in a whole new light
of previously unrepresented delight.
Ah! that could not be my question.
A hypothesis, perhaps
meriting further research;
new questings.
It feels important to me
this questing
for high and deep best male alert
dessert thick
and creamy,
dreamy wave of carnal delight,
absence of fright
or fight
in last and long dark nights
on seas of swings
just f.....g right.
I want to squeeze
these pulsing questings
out of this maleness
female mess
so quickly
complexly asked
and chaos given
Shriven
of clothes
but not masquerades
of closet questions
questing answers
not yet hard
and widely embraced
formed
invited graced q...r notions
Of motions
and emotions
just right
and left
bilaterally in-between
bicameral lusts
and binomial leisure
to swing all theories continuous
polypathic
polyphonic
polyvagal
polymetric ways
Of in
and out
and rebellious shout
for Earth's most carnal freedom
of re-connecting
polycultural con-scientific re-ligioning
questions about straight and narrow
meets wide and deep
Why 1
slides so sexily
into 0
shaped chakras
of natural
spiritual co-empathic pole
and hole energy
like nuts
and bolts
and male
and female bi-polarities.
So many questions,
he gloriously proclaims
in majestic awe
meets lusty wonder
As his bicameral feet
gently invite
our graced swing
to sweep and seep
with co-gravitating
revolving Earth
back to Spring
and forth to Fall
One late summer morning
on our screened porch swing.
It don’t mean a thing
When there’s no bling, bling, bling
No gold adornment or diamond ring.
A brother buying Rolex
In clothes starched and well pressed
Never notices the sister
Selling jewelry to eat.
Yet,
Praise God for the sons of Adam
Made in the image divine
Say “bones of my bones, flesh of my flesh”
My beloved, I’ll know you are mine
I told you I saw Him in long locks
Which made Him even more fine
A looker with an air about Him
I think I’ll give Him some time.
Yes, for water I’m searching,
sneaking noon day at the well.
Yes, dream -married to many
wonderfully wed in my head.
He said He knew my story
men in and out the door.
My history speaks of plenty
desperate quest for grand amour.
Bitter tears and snot I’ve tasted.
You have counted every drop?
Truth will free the captive.
The come and go will stop.
My heart was often
Overjoyed
By a son of Adam’s nod.
Falling prostrate on a rug
Pleading favor, this one, God.
Now, I think back on everything
Smile inside myself,
cause,
It don’t mean a thing.
Father, Bless the sons of Adam
Some who “know not what they do”
Presenting themselves in a fashion thereof
To other women when they’re through.
We love them for their maleness,
blackness, strength and form.
Forgiving flaws and shortcomings
Help their victims to move on.
I tell you in this song I sing
All the heartbreak
Loss and grief
Disappointed dreams and failed belief,
Wishes for a wedding ring
Joy, honeymoon, bling, bling, bling?
I look back on everything.
Laugh like Sarai on the sly.
Angels, hear me cry,
Cause
It don’t mean a thing.
7/28/2022
What values do I choose
for a human body?
mind?
nature?
spirit?
sensory soul?
What values do we choose
for a humane embodied species?
for maleness?
for femaleness?
Yang and/or Yin values?
for empowering strength
and enlightening flow?
Do we choose these values
or do we inherit them?
Wholesale values
learned from marketable skillsets
developed from those now physically gone
yet metaphysically
and multiculturally forever?
Or do we also choose
as we mature in chosen/unchosen experience
to embellish
and extend
humane empowering memories
and enlightening imaginations
out to all Earth LifeTribe cooperative values,
And predative disvalues, rooted in anger,
flowering in retributive injustice systems
authorized by straight and/or white and/or male privilege,
And competitive misvalues,
choosing win/lose survivalist fear of change
To value profoundly regenerative
polycultural
multicultural becoming together
in valued sexual bodies,
evaluative sensory minds,
revalued sensually experienced hearts,
invaluable bicameral souls,
root organic energy systems
for enlightenment
left-brain dominant,
empowerment
right-brain multiculturally prominent
Morality of past light memories
for future EarthPower
humane-divine
natural-spiritual
secular-sacred
ecological-theological
resiliently-resonantly valued imaginations.
What healthy values
do we most wealthily imagine
for a human body?
democratically egalitarian mind?
unprejudiced nature?
compassionate spirit?
humane culture?
divine climate?
sensory listening soul?
I noticed the uniform, and the heavy soled shinny black boots
Not the man within it, I apologized.
I remember the clean fresh smell of maleness, as they stormed into the house,
Broken glass, ripped down hangings, a slashed sofa, a pulled curtain,
A sudden maneuver to throw my brother’s bear across the yard,
Such military worries, hidden bombs in a child’s best friend.
Your broken cross I buried in our garden after they left.God, come back to my house, I am
waiting.
All I saw were figures painted the colour of grass and bark,
with gilded edges traced by some crazed church painter's brush,
faceless with pockets full of bullets and chords,
Their arms intertwined with red eyes and swollen hands of my teachers,
Stiff figures against the soft jeans, sweaters, and knitted hats below.
Standing witness in the yard above watching, I waited for her to die.
Shinny black like the dirt dug from the mass grave,
Full of crumbled human bits, decaying coloured cloth,
while the sun scorched the group sorting the cellular samples
I saw the black boots etched into the bone fragments.
Lost bones of lost loved ones from empty families,
Standing in the desert, I wait for a name.
No, I do not see you the man, just the uniform.
I see the butt of the gun, the dent of the boot, the slickness in the air,
the cruel power of the swirl jungle green print with gold trim.
As a witness God left me, and I was waiting.
Change, let me meet the man,
maybe the waiting is over.
The Day Your Child Stabs You
Version 1
In order to weep
I guess I must care;
At least enough to stress
Over these words, to share.
To her free mind, half mine
She stares down at me...
But not for one second
But perpetual eternity.
Mistakes, unforgiven,
Yet nodded upon,
social contracts in the air
But forever shunned.
The air thick with resentment
Over war zones entrenched
Like poison over drudgery
Liberty over stale love's stench.
Spreading her wings over our
Clipped flight,
And gliding over us,
As every next generation must.
I shut down and give up.
Can't be disappointed
Ever again.
Pick up your spoon or your needle
Or your bottle or pill;
Your children dance on your grave,
Before you are ever ill.
Version 2
Tell me again
Of your woke generation
I will sit in my diaper
Waiting for your instruction.
Tell me again how
Everyone has a right to their
Sexuality and
Reference points
Of they or them or assigned
At birthness.
Tell me how understanding
You are, and how your generation has
Finally got it right.
I will drink my booze
And swallow my dope
In my late 20th century
Americana maleness,
All the while shivering
In skin, too afraid to address
Any of my
personalities.
Version 3
My child steps on
Her blind spot
Which is on top
Of my mental illness
To preach from her soap box
About how prejudicial I am
Towards society's victims.
August wind, glass moon,serendipity...
two chairs gazing at each other in tender flow.
Hundred miles away, clouds gather
to fondle the opening and closing
of after- midnight refrains,
both trespassing a continental divide
to awaken upon scrolls of ramblings
united by the sorcery of mystic spaces
between humid lenses.
On such lit evenings, I will surrender
to the maleness of a trembling heart ;
your cheeks swollen like yeast…a shaven head,
the blue of your shirt buried in my cellar
unbuttoning the heaving pauses
between the nearness of our skin…
Chairs grind in wanton anticipation of palms
touching my hair… you whisper,
“ I adore you beyond words.”... and I; I falter
while a glint climbs into the almond of my Oreo eyes…
The scent of hours lingers as we wrap our fingers
into morn, owning a body language in play of charades…
Your mouth hushed, searching the curves of my spine
glazed by soft bites of an August wind
brushing our lips…until the slide screen fades off,
and we are dissolved into a paradise inhabiting
unborn stars. In raw enchantment, our warmed glances
wait for a next time, as if a tarot of angels
had known about serendipity.
PD's Best Love Poem # 3
Bouquet bride on a smitten horse,
Chocolate doubts and pastel thoughts.
Twister of love wails and hums,
Something wedding this way comes.
Envy ripples from jade reflections,
Last call for last chance objections.
Silenced by their kindred vows,
A shield of trust subdues the crowd.
Safe in a sleek four-wheeled cocoon,
Speedy whoosh travel and floral scent swoon.
Observing with steady, wanting eyes,
Soft, supple breasts and baby-white thighs.
Husband squared and maleness pumping,
Tender beastie rhythm thumping.
Chosen master of my flowing, blooming heart,
Future father giver with a fluid mix to start.
On that night of seven-course passion,
Wanting him more than you can fashion.
Holding her after you explode with release,
On that bed of wedding grease.
Oh, what a marriage we will be,
Running like twins through a mystery.
Memories gaining, curious, diverse,
From a twisted pair of hearts in verse.
Bouquet bride on a smitten horse,
Chocolate doubts and pastel thoughts.
Twister of love wails and hums,
Something wedding this way comes.
Inspired by SAW, JR
You got me in rifting feel twists
of bits not yet on my heart’s list.
You got me with your careless ways
that my ways had not come across.
Yes, you laid our mess in pain’s toss.
Now I know my body swelled grips
wanting your sexy, sculptured lips;
your maleness was my need display,
your long, dark hair, my dared fondle,
your brown eyes, my eyes' prized coddle -
and, your movements flared my sway.
You got me in rifting feel twists
that sent me thru heart mirrored mists.
We dragged love mute thru wasted days
until stays were just trace loss
and no feeling words held hope-gloss.
Yes, you got me stuck where lost lays.
Now, I need remedies best tips
to strengthen my spirit’s raw strips.
Yes, I am lost in numbing rays
where my hope tilts on my wobble.
My honest thoughts steer full topple
and tend my breaks in tentative ways.
You got me with false act insists
and kissed me blind in dizzy frays
that my love-laced dreams failed to resist.
CHAPTER SEVEN
this seventh month… a handful of sun dust
greets my aurora skin, touching every
lace of foliage: buttered stems, blushing leaves,
soft-boiled branches with upturned eyes
silky in the veil of July’s palette
face. farther on,
i wanted to smell its rareness,
how my own raw eyes pass behind occasional
veins and wiggling ridges, wondering the
maleness and femaleness of their palms
receding then whirling underneath my
feet ,receiving the ancient chant of some wild
calm…
how intangible this soft fire in
my belly, splattering like auburn harvest
of wheat thrusting unto air
chambers of sun nymphet honored
in all shades---the emerald, garnet,
sapphire of paradise patch as if
saved from the kaleidoscope of month’s past,
slowly cuddling every sinner and lover the ember
that feeds on harps and cancer -zodiac stones.
. . . .
Contest no 300 Premiere