Long Masculinity Poems
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Mine fervent aspiring political activism...
Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate,
cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.
Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)
to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020
an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,
and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.
Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described
indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.
I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.
I am stuck in the darkness of another sunny day
The demons inside of me, prescriptions cannot slay
My psychiatrist is demented
I’ve got psychoses she invented
For each new diagnosis, extra I must pay
The world inside my head is a scary place to be
Sometimes I am unaware of which persona controls me
I am alone in a crowd
The silence is too loud
But it is too crowded when I am in solitary
Positive forces are in a negative state
If everything is normal – there must be a mistake
The reinforcements are arriving much too late
The euphoria I feel, I know will soon abate
My masculinity is crying like a child
My libido is running around wild
My id has started to let go
There is nothing super about my ego
I can no longer function
At this neurotic junction
Compassion is out of fashion
And pierces like acupunction
Individual personalities inside
Have been born and died
Some committing suicide
A tact I do not abide
Left to devices of my own
Captive in my home
Not casting any stones
Decaying to the bones
Dialing 9-1-1 on the telephone
Love is a blank canvas, a phantasmagoric fantasy,
to pucker up with glossy lips, the subtle soft brush
against the opposite sex, with eye-shades drawn.
Love doesn’t know the body yet, still sizing it up.
It doesn’t know the femininity and masculinity of art.
O Leonardo…O Romeo…Ah Juliet…O Venus!
Love craves the parts that match up, some the same,
others staining the cheeks, straining and draining strength,
magnetic and quaking, erupting and earthshaking.
Love weakens knees, draws attention from the whiteboard,
sharpens the brilliance of the sun, dots the i’s with hearts,
Nearly breaks the blank canvas with its passionate volume.
This canvas sans focal point. Bubblegum pops, primroses
afloat with ribbons and strings, ponytail tugs, pastels and
honeysuckles. Swings way too high - the girl, the guy.
Best seller
“Gone Girl” a novel by Gillian Flynn
Riddles, my wife loved games of amusement
I never found out the clue of why
she had gone missing, accuse me?
I was spent on our anniversary
Under mysterious circumstances
Nothing is what it seems
Nick and Amy’s duality
Identity, masculinity
For once I didn’t feel like I was struggling
Iconic cool girl persona
The girl men like Nick want
Never get angry, party girl, let men do what they do
Women’s issues, an essay Amy would write
Molding herself into that girl reinventing herself
Image and alter-ego are everything!
Appearance verses reality
Genuine pleasure to read
Oh, she has the last word
A classic Who done it? distinct subgenre
Surprising and masterfully done
Amy is smart, self-aware with a vindictive psyche
Warning authors of their marriage
Nick’s side or Amy’s?
Two very different humans
They both prove to be unreliable
Awry, a thriller of unease
Conservatives’ banning’s apropos of nothing
At twelve when he delt with this
shouldn't have to jump through hoops
should’ve been able to explore when a teen
But because of many conservative groups
The Ire excessive was the coming of age
Juvenile mistakes made in adult years
Denied the ability to pick up social skills
Sexual assault and sexual awaking
considered pornographic
Q**r’s often live a second adolescents
This is a guide for the coming of age allies
States have taken off the shelves
Intersectional as his life
Chapters are a collection, four acts
referred to as “parts” in this guide
self-contained essay’s
The memoir progresses through Johnson’s life
Two letters appear alongside
the chapters for mother and brother
Conditioned to think what’s the truth
Indoctrinated in us
Stop crying, racialized
School bullies
The flee market incident
Institutionalized violence
Family structure marginalized
Community –college fraternity
And black joy
Tells the truth
A black and q***r boy’s experience
Gender identity
Toxic masculinity
Brotherhood
The chipmunks are oblivious
And so, too, are the birds.
I doubt if they would even care
If they could speak in words.
But humans and their calendars,
At least where I reside,
Know Fathers' Day's upon us;
By the rules we must abide.
A card or call's expected
And perhaps a little gift.
It needn't cost a fortune
But should give your dad a lift.
A barbecue's de rigueur
And the drink of choice is beer
To make the masculinity
Of this day very clear.
So here's to all the dads around
With grandpas, too, included.
Enjoy your burgers and your brews,
Though chipmunks are excluded.
They said that they were building
a great society,
that poverty would be vanquished,
brought down onto its knees.
So they gave lots of hand-outs
to the destitute and poor,
and every year they cried ‘compassion,’
we must always give more.
But almost from the very start
problems arose unforeseen,
hitting home so very hard
in the inner cities.
With welfare checks coming in
there was no need for a man,
didn’t matter if you worked or not,
you’d still have cash in hand.
And the more kids you had alone,
the more money they’d send you,
incentivizing single parenthood,
a horrible thing to do.
Thus the families fell apart,
and for children it sucked,
starting from a broken home
leaves the youth out of luck.
Seventy percent of urban children,
born out of wedlock,
the foundations of society
this situation rocked.
The teenage boys had it the worse,
unchecked masculinity,
with no fathers to reign it in,
leads to criminality
And, of course, these violent gangs
prey on business and shops,
so most just up and moved away,
taking with them the jobs.
Even if you want to work hard
and fight for your escape,
there’s few places left to punch a clock
and earn your daily pay.
All of this the consequence
of an old desire to help,
point out the vicious cycle
and the P.C. crowd all yelps.
They have to see the futility,
yes, I think that they know,
but their only way into office
lies in bribing for votes.
Get a person hooked on hand-outs,
gives you leverage and sway,
“Vote for me on election night,
or the money goes away…”
Well all know this is detestable,
that free men don’t do this,
but long ago some decided it
was a ‘small’ price for office.
The endless cycle now created
is one of grinding pain,
they made cities vote plantations,
and gave people longer chains.
But the future does not have to
be miserable, bereft,
to end this man-made travesty,
turn your backs on the left.
Out of the bath, in the mirror, check me
picture of spindly masculinity
talc on the feet, and armpits sprayed
now for the body a choice to be made
Hai Karate or Aramis
both leave the women in a state of bliss
(so the adverts say, yet no such luck
since thus far I have scored a duck)
tight Y-fronts are to my taste
and Oxford bags with a six button waist
big collared shirt in Brunswick green
and a silver kipper tie that looks pretty keen
nylon socks with a couple of holes
in black and red three inch platform soles
jacket in cream, collar up round the neck
with a red and green pattern of tartan check
hair centre parting wet the comb, keep it simple
for a look reminiscent of Anne Boleyn's wimple
out of the door, bemused looks from my Mum
so watch out, ladies- here I come!
( looking back on it now when I hear the old tunes
I can honestly say you've seen better dressed wounds )
1970's: the decade that fashion forgot.
Viv Wigley, to his eternal embarrassment, July 22nd 2015
Drowning in your eyes
and your masculinity,
Here I press- I can't express
What you do to me.
I don't know what I'm doing
as I'm crazy just for you,
And not to have you with me
Makes me feel so blue.
Just wanted you to know this
As I try my very best
Not to be a burden
and rather something less.
I wish you'll be my husband
I wish we'll be best friends,
Don't really care what's done or not
Nor the odds and ends.
But I do worry if we'll ever meet
if we'll have the time my sweet
If I've destroyed it already
If I'm good enough
If I'll have the strength for us...
For you're something else I need to have
and that is why you send me mad.
Mine fervent aspiring political activism...
Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate,
cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.
Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)
to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020
an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,
and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.
Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described
indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.
I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.