Long Masculinity Poems
Long Masculinity Poems. Below are the most popular long Masculinity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Masculinity poems by poem length and keyword.
The closet, once crammed with the styles of youth,
holds not so much as a coat hanger.
Dents in the carpet are the only evidence
that a bed, dresser, and nightstand filled the room.
The frilly window dressings and wall art are gone. The truth
weighs heavily on my heart; my sense of loss is intense
as I gaze through tears at the emptiness.
Five years ago, just down the hall, I stood in a room
stripped bare of furniture, clothing, and all hints
of the masculinity that had thrived there. The gloom
set in as I visualized the weight-lifting equipment
and the “man cave” corner that was always messy.
I reminisced and pondered where the time went.
My sentiments may resonate with others
who revisit vacant spaces—the fathers and mothers
now categorized as empty-nesters, who must accept
the reality that vacant rooms are part of the
natural scheme of things; they are survivable.
I leave the Christmas matinee
after five. Clouds sparse and dark
blue, fierce wind kicking up
from the North. Last night I rented
Midnight Cowboy, hoping it wasn’t
a mistake. The first time
I saw it I was spending the night
with my closest friend, who lived
in the dorm. Some guys
trapped me in the men’s toilets,
blocking the door, forcing the air
from my lungs. But how could I
not watch again, with goofy Joe
Buck, cowboy hustler who cares
too much to earn genuine coin
for sex, and Ratso hobbling
(like Amahl or Tiny Tim)
and that inconsolable harmonica
and Nilsson dragging me
to endless aching? How badly
I need Christmas this time
around. Something to keep me
from slugging myself. Ratso
follows me like a cozy shadow,
all crumby and disgusting. If only I
could kiss him on the mouth again
and again, crash the showers
in the men’s dorm and lather him
tenderly. If only I could go back.
If only my buddy had said
something. Just something.
Some say they from a broken family
I’m not but nowadays its broken anyway
punished when in trouble had to take responsibility
picked apart by my troubles stripped of masculinity
punishment not found when a parent ups and leaves
in all probability it took the confidence from me
labelled a cluts my fails they made me see
at 11 brother went to university
my sister moved out unhappy
so in my family unit I was on my only
funny as now my siblings disowned me
my parents are peoples they don’t want to see
I’m stuck at home reluctantly
one year over 33
let the bird fly free his nest his destiny
let him find his kids his lady
they label me lazy some say crazy
stuck here deservingly deserve living desertedly
as I’m not searching assertively,
I’m not from a broken family
just one that lives far openly
It's wonderful~how some women's
shoes are delightful and feminine.
Yet women dress more and more
like men each day.
It's very sad in the USA, to watch
femininity quickly pass way.
Why wear pretty underwear inside
while dressing Paul Bunyan on the
outside?
Why get facial waxes, when a beard
and a mustache, matches your mannish
clothes and shoes?
What's the need for Dooney and Burke
expensive purses?
When sweaters your deceased grandpa
would not wear, you flash
with unabashed flair!
What happened to daughters who once
dressed as girls?
All have fallen and been totally destroyed
in a giant, omnivorous jean-factory world.
Why do sons and daughters dress like
fathers?
And why this fetish for masculinity?
And the crushing decimation of our
femininity?
January 24, 2020
11am PST
Feverish heat spreads across my body
Thoughts of seeing you again
Echoes of words electronically spoken
A cascade of pent-up emotions
Desire flowing like a tap open
O! To be touch again by silken fingertips
The erotic graze of fingers across my lips
The head that holds your intelligence
Rested upon my watered breast
No sound except the ones in our world
Swift currents of desire flowing
Like the swelling of Rio Cobra River
The sweet incense of your masculinity
Pervading the diminished confines of the room
And I bask in its aromatic seduction
The blazing of two embers
Where ashes once had covered
Revealing the flare waiting to shine fair
Who can take your place my love?
No substitute can be found
Your charm and grace
Stretches way across the hills and vale
Touching me even as I wait
In feverish, anticipation
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
In a universe of glass and steel, where fluorescent light dances on cold walls,
We have lost ourselves, men of the age, caught in the trap of a paper dream,
Where the tie becomes a noose, suffocating any impulse of freedom,
And each day is an absurd play, performed under the gaze of relentless shadows.
Here, in the cages of concrete, masculinity breaks like a reed in the storm,
Adorned with trivial, illusory tasks that reduce us to the silence of an unheard whisper,
And our souls, like dried-up rivers, seek salvation in the memory of freedom,
In a world where paper hierarchies are sandcastles, built to bury us.
The divorce between spirit and body began in windowless offices,
Where personality crumbles under the weight of forced smiles and false courtesies,
And in this space, toxic femininity carves its path, a serpent with sharp-worded scales,
Leaving behind a trail of ruined reputations, wounded souls, and shattered dreams.
But we, lost in this labyrinth of futility, know that beyond these walls,
There is a horizon where we are still free to rediscover our essence,
For true masculinity is never lost, it merely awaits the moment to be reborn,
Like a sun hidden behind the heavy clouds of a world that refuses to see it.
I’m a man who knows nothing of manhood,
Never taught initiative and action to wield.
Ducked away from my call, chose inaction’s shield
I wish to be that man, I know I could.
I’m a man who knows nothing of manhood,
Never taught to strive to be the best.
Accepted mediocrity, letting go of the quest,
I wish to be that man, I know I should.
I’m a man who knows nothing of manhood,
Never taught to respect my desires and needs.
Told to beg for wants, as my worth recedes,
I yearn to be that man, I know I would.
I’m a man who knows nothing of manhood,
Never taught to give love to others’ hearts.
Believed love was limited, torn apart,
I beg to be that man, one never misunderstood.
I’m a man who knows nothing of manhood,
I know not more than most boys.
Focused on grades, girls, and fleeting joys,
Can I be that man? Is there even a likelihood?
Every waking moment, I ponder,
In the dawn of adulthood, my soul is urged.
To look at me and ask,
Am I that man, who emerged?
As time flows as it should,
My wisdom grows long,
I strive to be the man I could,
I can change. That is good.
Exalt femininity
in its all diverse beauty,
if kisses are roses thrown at her immovable feet;
all the whispered promises you must keep...
then be ready to enter that ecstatic state,
which every faithless one envies and can't defeat!
And the extremes you can reach loving her,
are limitless and unimaginable; caressing her lustrous hair
and feeling the external expression of contentment,
to bring her closer to the breath-taking Firmament!
Lovely as light, perfumed as flowers and delicate as a dove;
fair-haired or dark-haired: a real woman can give off
her grace...fulfilling a wish enrapturing you with charm,
to enforce her silence and turn it into enthusiasm!
Exalt femininity,
to entice your own masculinity
by trusting those vibes of tenderness;
enrich your words with a poetic voice,
to lead her to an endless night and treat her with esteem:
listen to her need and give her a pleasant dream!
While champagne is bubbling in tall glasses,
and hands approach with an anticipated tremor,
let intense passion and curiosity traverse
those bridges of limitation with radiant smiles;
and can they last a lifetime without cunning lies?
No ocean is too wide to let love cross a distant shore!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Some folks say that you’re toxic,
and destroying all the world.
Some folks say that you’re reckless,
and just want to feel up girls.
I think you’re like a fire,
a great tool in the right hands,
but able to turn quickly
and sear the foolish man.
Once upon a time we knew
what boys would be trained to be.
We taught them to wield the flame
that is masculinity.
Those who would do without it,
are brainless, spineless clods;
Life is not a therapy session,
it’s a fight against long odds!
To fight that fight without it
never ends all that well.
The vicious kill the peaceable types,
or corrupt them into their hell.
Without a strong mind standing
on lines drawn in the dirt,
we'd lose our lives or lose our souls
to the monsters of the Earth.
And let’s not forget the home life,
the one that we know best.
We’ve got young boys playing gangster,
or becoming men without chests.
Going hard to both extremes,
unaware of the middle path,
without the old code’s guidance,
they’re either lazy or full of wrath.
And men who once built things,
now sit home and get cash,
not ashamed at getting handouts,
their souls atrophy quite fast.
Other ‘men’ still make money,
spreading buzzwords, lies, and fear.
They feel no shame because honor
to them is dumb and weird.
So to you I am asking this,
though the softer types may squeal,
your presence is requested,
your fury, passion, zeal.
Your role here is important,
without you we cannot be.
I’ll teach my kids to now your name,
to know masculinity.