Rough And Tumble Poems

I Know Why

I know why you follow him. 

Dolls can never admit a rough and tumble 
bad boy is what they want. In your stainless
 steel world? There is no room for graffiti.  
It simply isn’t okay for something to feel so 
deliciously dirty. I promise you, I get it. 

I know why you follow him.

Dolls never want the ones who are polished. 
Until they are cracked in half by the guys
 with unholy rough edges. Even then?
 Nothing else but their blood can fill the 
cracks. It’s a hell of a glitch of the mind. 

I know why you follow him. 

Baby doll, stalking is so much fun isn’t it? 
Just imagine finding one exactly like him.
Honesty will lead you to the promise land.
But you’re content with a cuss and crush 
session every time you read his poetry. 

I know why you follow him. 

Dolls get addicted to a fantasy so fast.
It’s a living breathing romance novel. 
Will he? Could he? Does he really like that?
A twin flame and he’s so safely away. 
But you get with his head every single day. 

Baby doll I know why you follow him
because I follow him too.

The Two Little Leopard Cubs: A Quest for Identity

The Two Little Cubs: A Quest for identity.
(A Cautionary Tale)


Two little leopard cubs
One shy, one bold,
went out to play
in the wild wide world.
Bold so bright -
Life a big adventure.
Shy so quiet-
Life a no go venture.
Played games together-
Shy learnt from Bold,  
Rough and tumble
Not always gentle. 

Which one do you think escapes
the focus of real danger? 

Hidden out of sight... 





Aqua Marine Musing again... 
31 March, 2025.

True story captured by a wildlife photographer. 
Lions are the fiercest of enemies for leopards. They attack and kill leopards without hesitation. The more adventurous cub, not yet  
fully experienced in life was killed by lions. The "shy" cub escaped... To live another day. 
Reminds me of Proverbs 22:3 
"The shrewd one sees the danger and conceals himself. 
But the I experienced keep right on going and suffer the consequences..."

Where's The Men

WHERE ARE THE MEN

Where are the men that once lived here
few men remain of yesteryear,
Beautiful masculinity, 
Artfully carved of dignity

The command and gruff within his voice,
The rough and tumble is his choice,
His love for femininity,
choosing the woman he'll wed to bear his seed

First a crown to his own mother's head,
Adjoined in the authority of his father's stead.
Takes his place within the world,
Only leaving his mother when he finds his girl.

Where are the men braving the fight for truth,
for the branding of mankind from his youth.
Where are the men, the way men were meant to be
God is calling his creation, "Come back to me!"

Hanky Panky

Waves slapping me all over my body
rocked by the riptide of your embrace;
Rough and tumble hanky panky,
there is nothing left to chase.

Joyful Noise

I get a little bolder
getting older
since my unravel,
voice travels
to my Beholder.

Rough and tumble, rolls along,
but you’re not wrong
if you are shrinking,
not thinking
lyrics to a song…

————

A Streambed Quintet: 7a:4a:5b:3b:5a

Her Identity

She was never a girly girl
did not care about wearing her
mother’s high heel shoes,
or painting her nails.
Wasn’t interested in putting on lipstick,
or smearing makeup on her face.
Had no attraction to the color pink
like most girls do,
nor did she fancy pretty dresses
carefully selected for her.
When she was permitted to make decisions for herself,
and choose what style she wanted to wear,
she wore clothes the same as her brother and
liked to rough and tumble with his friends.
No one in the family felt the need to ask "the question”.
Her identity she chose by herself.
She matured to be phenomenal
despite a world so cruel at times.
The belief in the person she had become
helped to make her strong.
She is intelligent, kind and caring,
lives by great values
she gathered on her journey through life.
A person more than enough
for Those who love her.
This is how God made her
born the way she is.

Old Age

Dawn seeps soundlessly in to scatter the darkness.
Around is silence and quiet and calm.
From my lofty balcony, I can admire the serenity
Of the vast immensity of the ocean, all smell of balm.

Let tranquillity invade my lonely soul, O Lord.
The arduous day will soon be full of all its pains.
And I am old, too old to face the vexatious turmoil
That surrounds me, for I am all aches and sprains.

How can I face the rough and tumble of this misery?
I need wisdom to discern all that is foolish and vain,
I need peace to avoid worries and other upsets.
I need love to forgive others’ injuries and bane.

Life is short and I’m much too old to bear pains.
Death will be a relief from all that troubles me.
However life is precious and I will live it through,
Only with your genial grace that comes from Thee.

What Lies Ahead

What lies ahead, I do not know,
But I will confidently go
Along this rough and tumble trail
O’er mountain pass, dank, boggy swales,
To scale the heights, be brought down low.

Though ‘twas ordained so long ago,
I find there is no cause for woe;
Nay, joyfully I look to scale
                         what lies ahead.

I may befriend a would-be foe
To sanctify and flourish, grow,
Or stumble over some travail,
Cry out in need, or badly fail,
But I know all is apropos,
                         what lies ahead…

—————

For the Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Written on 06/06/2022

A Bare-Knuckle Fight

Politics has always been rough and tumble
  a bare-knuckle fight in a concrete jungle

Those who preach togetherness and unity
  flail their arms at windmills uselessly

Just For Being Me

Was not a rough and tumble kid
A sissy boy they said
As I recall, I even took 
                        a Teddy Bear to bed

With countless tears of wondering
What is it that they see?
Why am I so hated
                           just for being me?

I preferred some crayons
or games on city streets
and chores to earn some pennies
                    to buy a bag of sweets 

Dismissed by words of parents
“Kids can be so cruel”
I still felt the sting of constant 
               torment all through school

But I survived and yes, I even
learned to love myself
I had my mom, a friend or two
                my books up on the shelf
 
I worry for the ones, perhaps 
         not strong enough to see
to know the worth of being loved
                          “just for being me”

Oscar

I thank the heavens for this darling boy 
who's given my life new purpose, joy. 
This little scrap of humanity, who sits 
on my knee and expounds my vanity 
and completely disarms me with his 
'Hello, granddad' and infuriates when 
he misbehaves then saves himself with 
a smile and a hug and I give a shrug 
and beckon him near, this grandson 
so dear, who melts my heart and leaves 
a gap when we are apart. Who angers 
and pleases in equal measure yet gives 
my memory so much to treasure. Our 
knowing looks, the story books, the 
afternoon naps, the selfie snaps. 
The rough and tumble when you don't 
really want to, but you oblige for the smiles 
and the giggles and then you collapse in 
a heap of wriggles and try to be straight - 
laced whilst he probes your face to see how 
your eye works and plays with your lip 
then, off he'll skip on some other ploy 
and ask you to play with some other toy 
or else bombard you with imaginary snowballs, 
until, tuckered out, sleep finally calls and he kisses 
goodnight and lazily crawls into the land of dreams 
and childhood schemes and I'm left, bereft, aching 
and sore and anticipating more in the dawns early light.

The Composing Creativity of Humankind

The BBS has the tracks of how your gestations condescend,
your keyboard is where your fingers time and again stumble.
Numb and dumb, short-winded nib despairs of the scutwork's end;
In regard to your mumpsimus, succumbing to ink inundation, prostrate paper ceases to mumble.


Once arises the idea of an art creation, ineffably blent
or the one free from the rough-and-tumble,
pristine pulchritude, original mindscapes' most faithful fere, 
shrinks and shrivels the way Venus dodges factitious smear.

18 Whiskeys

18 Whiskeys

Tribute to Dylan Thomas

I raged at 11th and Hudson Streets
Conjuring a White Horse resurrection
Mirage hunter especially in the October Winds
Listening for the raven's cough.
Is the light breaking where no sun shines
Or is the dying light swallowed by darkness.
The prisoner of happiness knowing love's first fever
Craving women with lips like Morphine
Drinking death under the table.
Last bastion of life's fragile gift
So here I toast my tribute of proof
Quite early this Winter Morning
To the rough and tumble poet from Wales
Now in Country Sleep.

Brothers

Rough and tumble
Playing tricks and having fun
Picking on pig-tailed girls while
Tromping through the snow.

Boys are like that, yes they are,
Full of vinegar and mischief too.
Climbing trees and falling down
On unsuspecting human beings.

Picking green apples all day long
To munch until their bellies cry,
Rolling in the dirt with laughter while
Finding bugs to chase the girly-girls.

Rough and tumble they may be,
But when harvested men full grown;
Brothers are loving, loyal and protective 
Turned into strong good men through and through.


Previously Published: Shattered Moonbeams 2016

Election Time, Fun Time

It’s fun time
Election time
Don’t say
I don’t care a dime
If this is so
You’ll miss 
The highs and the lows
Some call it
Dance of Democracy
But you see
It’s no graceful dance
But Shiva's ‘Tandav'
Pulls, pushes and shoves
This is politics'
Rough and tumble
You have to screech, scream
And not just mumble
To be heard
Above the election din
Slander, abuses and accusations- no sin
Calling each other names
That’s the game
And, as for the voters
Election season’s prize catch
Those who can 
Make the leaders 
Win their poll match
For them
It’s raining freebies
They know 
They are being pleased
By something called
The party’s ‘manifesto’
They can see through
Your's 'All truth'
The other's 'All lies'
Now, let’s wait
Till May 23
To know
Which way
Rolls the dice.

• Short Rough And Tumble Poems
• Famous Rough And Tumble Poems
• Best Rough And Tumble Poems
• Read Rough And Tumble Poems
• Long Rough And Tumble Poems
• Rough And Tumble Quotes