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Sia Jane Feb 2014
I get home, to a hand crafted
note, one you wrote, with
the old calligraphy pen, that
sits at grandfathers writing desk.

You even used the envelope,
sealed by candle wax, stamped
a red wax, my initial, touching,
folded paper, a kiss of brass.

The art of, manliness, unforgotten
left on the pillow, of this grandiose
four poster bed, mahogany homemade,
the resting place, for weekend affairs.

You refuse to kiss, ruby covered lips,
as I remember the calling card, you
used as a formal introduction, perfectly
groomed, you entered my life, unregrettably.

You, a man learned from his, grandfather
his own father passing away, whilst
away at sea, that cold and distant war,
my tears fell as you pursued his path.

You looked so debonair, a
tuxedo, measured to fit, all alignments
and as I stare at you, eyes connecting
all I wish for, are sweet kisses.

I want your arms around me,
softly whispering, of how you
will gently caress, each
and every curve, kissing my thigh.

The letter, quite simply,
hand typed, reads;
Florence Rose, will you do me the honor of marrying me?

I flush my arms around your neck,
tears fall, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.

He embraces me, kisses those lips,
lifts me to the bed,
******* me for minutes
moments and hours,
he makes love to me,
and I know, I know he,
is the only man I will ever need,
or even know.

© Sia Jane
LS Jul 2015
My most favorite thing
Is when they still have long hair
And dress like guys do now
Not super baggy pants
But not form fitting either

And you take them to bed,
Or, knowing stems,
They take you to bed.
And all that manliness
About them is still
Just barely there,
In the ***** of their shoulders
And the way their hands touch you

But then they get undressed
And it's the most beautiful
Combination
Of boy and girl.
They're so fresh and confident
But not cocky

They're respectful and talented
And it's like they try to only
Show the manly side

But then you get into bed
And it's like unwrapping
A present
That only gets better
Every time you unwrap it

A little piece of their femininity
Uncovered just for you,
In that moment only.
I miss girls.
VIII. TO ARES (17 lines)

(ll. 1-17) Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-
helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities,
harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the
spear, O defence of Olympus, father of warlike Victory, ally of
Themis, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of righteous
men, sceptred King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere
among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aether
wherein your blazing steeds ever bear you above the third
firmament of heaven; hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless
youth!  Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life, and
strength of war, that I may be able to drive away bitter
cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of
my soul.  Restrain also the keen fury of my heart which provokes
me to tread the ways of blood-curdling strife.  Rather, O blessed
one, give you me boldness to abide within the harmless laws of
peace, avoiding strife and hatred and the violent fiends of
death.
Arisa Mar 2019
To be a gentleman in a Chatroom,
One must always introduce themselves as a number.
As an age.
To inform the fine maidens of the Chatroom that,
'Yes! I am legal.'
So that way they feel obliged to tell you:
'Why, I am too!'

You must also accompany such a number with your gender.
Just so that they won't get confused,
And know that you are a
masculine
manly man
of manliness.

It is of the Gentleman's Etiquette to note your existence afterwards.
A simple 'Here' would suit.
Or spice it up with a
'You?'
Afterwards.

Make sure you always ask how your possible future **** partner is feeling, it's only polite. If they say
'I'm feeling wonderful, how about you?'
or
'My day's been ghastly. How about yours?'
- No matter what the answer, make sure to reply with a steady:
'Nothing much', or if you're feeling impatient, 'nm'
Just to show that no, you don't really care
and want to get straight into business.

- Which shows that you are a man with a clear goal in mind, and as we all know, women adore men with confidence!

The next step is the bargain.
You need to sell yourself to the feline with flair,
Ferocity,
Wit, style, charisma.

'Wanna ****?'

And if they reject your courteous advances, all you can do is tip your hat and carry on to the next lady in waiting.
"21, M here."
Chatrooms are hellholes full of people who want to ******* and nothing more.
Andrew Parker Nov 2017
Written on 11/20/2017

That awkward moment when someone flirts with you on a dating app and says "I like that you look masculine."

You see,
I never saw masculinity as a part of me.

My identity was always flamboyant,
wearing pink shirts and sashes,
crop tops with styling gelled eyelashes,
sparkling headbands and dazzling bandannas,
snapback hats featuring giant bananas,
I dressed with the raging flamboyance of flamingos!
Sporting a certain type of femininity that only a gay man knows.

All the trimming and cutting, and shaving and nairing,
for hours,
as time and body hair intertwined in the showers,
washed masculinity off my body down the drain,
Experienced electrolysis burns, but the pain
had infected my thoughts,
like each hair is unnatural.  

Purge it all,
Scorch and torch it all,
Leave nothing at all!
No trace
of evolution's flawed attempt to grace
me with an adaptive advantage to take on the world's harsh climate.  
I admit,
this hair entangles me and strangles me,
it also oozes out of me like pimples from a pore,
a ***** to testosterone,
poor me - a victim of nature's masculinity.
What a hairy situation I've gotten myself in.

--

Femininity.
Its bestowed upon me by society.
When I sashay or say hey gurl hey,
society recognizes these things as girly and gay,
not a very masculine way to walk or talk.  

Stereotypes about *** and gender are so easily manipulated.
Like a circus performer on the tight rope,
the suspense keeps people wondering where will I fall?

But hold me under a microscope and you will see it all,
a million molecules that makeup my femininity.
I wear skinny jeans and tank tops,
then get complimented on them by dude bros,
like yo that's tight- where'd you get it boss?

I bought it in the girl's section at Ross.

My toe nails painted and displayed for public view,
flip flops emboldened with matching turquoise hues,
Femininity is worn on me like a fabulous armor plate.

--

Fast forward to a fateful date during No-Shave November.
I remember,
growing out my ****** hair for the very first time,
I wore it like a mask,
portraying a fictional character who was masc-uline.
Bathing in manliness at this masquerade.
It was through this charade,
that I grew
... temporary happiness for me from all of you.

The compliments they poured in.
My once smooth canvas of a face,
waiting to be crafted into the Mona Lisa,
had been turned into an artistic masterpiece,
'Gay Man with Amnesia',
of who he used to be.
A painting of someone society wanted,
someone whose masculinity was outwardly flaunted.
But inside, I felt taunted,
each time they complimented
me and my newfound masculinity.

--

Then, it happened on Grindr,
a gay dating app.
This masculine mishap.

A stranger's message read, "I like that you look masculine."
It sounded even stranger in my head.
Their profile description read,

"Masc 4 Masc
Masculine man seeking other masculine men to hangout with."

That's when I felt it.
My mask had made me masc.

This particularly manic morning brought me to ask
myself in the bathroom mirror,
"Who the hell am I looking at?"

In sheer terror, I teared-up,
scanned the portrait of 'Gay Man with Amnesia',
and then decided to tear it up!

I grabbed my electric razor,
grum grum grummm
as these blades grazed my face and chin,
I was offered sweet, soft, porcelain skin - my absolution.

pause

heh heh
When I came to and snapped out of the amnesia,
eager to see results of this restorative procedure,
the mirror was fogged with steam and slop.

I tried logging in to my laptop's webcam,  
for naught.  
The ****** recognition feature -- didn't recognize me
... but finally, I did.

Once again, I see the man behind the masc-ulinity.
Jenn Coke Feb 2016
Its length is known as “one year” by realists,
Also referred to as “anniversary” by idealists,
But “four seasons” is how I would like to call it
As with the passing of time I learn him bit by bit.

We met in front of Record Hall
On a rainy night and boy did I fall
For this one man named Timothy
Who approached me differently.

We first found each other online
But he was unlike the other swine
Looking for a body and easy ***,
Trying to buy me with their checks.

Plus, he did not follow the ordinary formula
Like “coffee sometime?” which is just so blah;
Rather, he proved that he had read my profile
Attentively, so I imagined he must not be vile.

He did not mention or imply anything ******,
So I started to credit him some trust accrual;
He opened us up by relating to my stories
And spoke smoothly with sarcastic ease.

I fell for his chivalry and charm
As well as his unstinted smarm,
His passion for engines and parts,
Never giving up until it all starts.

He won me over with his corny memes,
Matching weirdness, and future schemes;
His unfaltering boldness and fearlessness,
Manliness, and, in due course, closeness.

A spontaneous boy who does puzzles with me,
A romantic gentleman who invites me to the sea,
A free-spirited dude who is a spirits connoisseur,
An audacious chap who is a cooking amateur –

He has a nerdy side as he likes to figure things out.
He has a masculine side as he enjoys working out.
He has a brave side as he goes off-roading in his Jeep.
He has a sweet side as he pulls me closer in his sleep.

He slyly squeezes out my personal info
From myself and makes me go “Woah,”
As he discreetly plans adventurous trips
Which makes me want to ****** his lips.  

He is not afraid or disinclined to reveal his worries.
He is not abashed to update me on his **** stories.
He was not nervous about exposing his cover letter.
He was not anxious about taking me to his mother.

Weight? He does not ask me to gain any or lose.
Change? He needs not fix or loosen my screws.
He takes me as I am, not as a mechanical robot.
He finds sufficiency in all that I do and have got.

He does not care that I wear makeup or look like a dude.
He does not complain that I take long to finish my food.
He disregards that I do not adhere to societal standards.
He discounts that I occasionally think and act backwards.

He makes me relax and loosen up in his presence;
He emits a homely atmosphere and is my defense.  
Hell, we even start doing ***** lovey-dovey acts
Such as calling each other’s names in several packs.

He uses his witty senses to title my works,
Which, to other people, may stir up smirks,
But he does not give two ***** about them;
As long as we represent to each other, a gem.

We are compatible and agree in many manners;
We are avid Android users, not iOS supporters,
We take pleasure in dallying under the covers,
We enjoy mysteries and psychological thrillers.

We follow a handful of seasonal anime together
And we tend to swiftly marathon them altogether.
We even have our own convenient organization
In times when we watch anime together in elation.

He asks, “wanna watch” when there is an update
And picks a title; I agree and say “ready” and wait;
He says “go,” I thumb him, we watch simultaneously;
Then, whoever finishes first sends a thumb amiably.

He tries to pass time with me after work so demanding
So he sometimes falls asleep and leaves me hanging.
However, he impresses me in still choosing to be dutiful
All the while exhibiting humanness, which is beautiful.

I am pleased that we have similar likes and interests,
Glad that both tally with “real love will stand any tests,”
Blessed that both are open to expressing affection,
Thankful that we are looking in the same direction.

Even apart, I admire his strong patience,
Extending over many hours and nations!
Oh, I almost forgot – he is also tall and fit;
The more I think, he has it all – you name it!

The list of what I love about him keeps growing,
With things to cherish constantly overflowing;
I cannot expect more or imagine anyone better,
So I find myself dedicating to him this love letter.

Gosh, how I miss our sessions of wine and cheese,
Cinematic baths and interlacing, candlelit bodies,
Our woolgathering moaning and perspiring mess,
Many nameless moments and silent togetherness!

April 6, 2015, on OkCupid, he gave me a look;
April 11, 2015, he “friended” me on Facebook;
April 15, 2015, he suggested meeting up to study;
April 18, 2015, he dated me and became cuddly.

All this from last year… one year forward, today,
We are still together and have not gone astray –
As long-term and long-distance partners, we are
In the hardest, yet happiest, relationship by far!
I miss him, my other half, my home, very dearly.
I am thankful for his being, loving, and waiting for me.
Salmabanu Hatim Jun 2019
Manliness is not being macho,
It is not having twelve packs,
It is not being He-Man,
Manliness is someone who is in continuous service to others.
5/6/2019
Keda Kanye Mar 2017
You
Don't touch my lips
So softly
Just try
not to let the blood flow

I know when you touch me
you want to believe
you do it to enhance your manliness
that it is your essence

But I know
That you touch me
Because you love me
                I know
That you adore me
                That you dream of me
That you want us to be
                 Forever

So
    Don't brush my lips
                 Kiss them hard
                               Bite them
              Passion like yours
              Should never be quenched
                               No matter
If I break your heart
               If I don't feel the same
If we don't last
                          All of this is nothing
Compared to the momentous force
             Of your love
Your love
        Is not about me
   It's not about value
Or children           Or time spent together
                Or Biology
Or even God
                It's about you
                                                             You
Steve Page Jul 2016
Father is a verb.
- Let me explain:

Father's Day; and
Father Christmas 
have tried to convince us,
but don't be fooled:
You can, may or will father, 
depending on your mood.
For father is a verb.

It only works in the transitive;
you can't father alone,
only in relationship.
It doesn't resent hospital trips,
and offers wrap-around comfort
when a partnership splits.
It's touch-line volume
drowns out all rivals.
And belly laughs come standard
with jokes on recycle.

[insert joke here]

Yes, father is a verb.

It's something we each do,
despite the hour,
it drives right on through
the night when life’s gone sour.
It'll hammer ten finger nails
to get the job done.
It will dance, heedless of decorum
forgetting reputation. 

It turns manliness
into awesome-men-ness,
It tempers strength 
with a dose of gentleness, yes
father is a verb.

Be sure, whoever you are, 
it works in the singular:
I can father;
You can father
    (I'm not talking *** here;
     that takes a partner.)
But also, 
-  it works in the plural -
we can father;
and they can father,
because, you see, in this village
it's an joint activity:
we father (and we mother) 
collaboratively.

It works best in the present tense,
happening now, not "LATER!".

It can be said in a gentle voice
or something - even - quieter;

sometimes active:
directive, protecting;
but often responsive:
just sitting, listening;
...holding, and, hugging;

it responds to need, you see,
but works best proactively,
works great 
sacrificially.

For example, 
though it cost him dearly,
God Fathers us
and through us daily.
And one day, suit pressed, 
He'll proudly walk 
with the bride of Christ.
And as Father of the bride, 
He'll host the party and blow the price;
(- BIGGEST - bar-bill - EVER)
And we'll be sure to save at least one dance
for Father.

Oh yes, you heard,
Father is a verb.
This is written with thanks to all the men who have fathered me over the last 50 odd years and as a salute to those of you who father without borders.
With thanks to Godfrey Rust and his poem, Church is a Verb.  Go on, search for it.
Sunlight, sunlight, you are my eternal sunlight,
whilst all but tender and benign is the night.
And you shine on me like the collapsing moon
but lurk away as morn greets our humanity too soon.
You can sometimes be obscure but real;
and your soul is the ring my poet's heart wants to steal.
Your love is too frequently demanded
Yet as you gaze into me it might just be finally authenticated.
Run, run, as I did once from your thin figure
with flashes of anger and loath but unsure.
How when you are mad you look but tiresome and timid
Odd as it is, as to your very liveliness and inborn wit.
But you are simply too genuine and weak and true
and with your smile you often touch my heart
just like our nature's undying morning dew.

Oh, my secret love-just as it is now and again,
tell me now how to cure this deafening pain.
I might have never told you I love you,
but inside am sure that you love me too.
Probably it is just my longing that is too shy
but how it can ever be please never ask me why.
For in your name I wish never to tell a lie
But whenever dusk comes my secret will be gone
as to truly embrace only the meaning of your sun.
In my dear heart you are somehow mine,
just like I might already be within thine
But how the world will blacken and wrong us
if we give way and surrender to this lust.
Look, my love, at how the trees and birds sing!
With peace at heart they form one loyal lavish string
On this country's honest farms and soil
So that their own joy they shall never spoil.
Hark, darling, hark how they dance throughout the foliage!
Ah! Just like the melodies buried far down in your cleavage
You are now and again my very own vivid shadow,
that trusts my poems and be with me
as I overcome the bleeding tomorrow.

And be with me and the chorus in my dear heart
Although this world seems cruel and is but to tear us apart
As at only your breath my womanhood raves;
and for only your veins my delight and soliloquy craves.
In your manliness my whole solitude shall rejoice
meanwhile my dimmed heart brightens at your grand voice.
Oh! How I want to leave you not-to my destined sphere!
How my blood is stained by and reeks of fear,
and as mischievous like springs are towards bitter snow,
whenst they are to warm off its whining skin
and so scornfully send away whose glow.

O my love, my love! Then tell me just fervently once more
before I needst to leave and walk outside the door.
Release me from this sinister unloved hell
and free me from my single nutshell.
Tell me how you love me, and long to age with me
within the rustic village behind the maple tree.
Amongst the loveliness of the old church and parish
Next to the brown grass and green pond of fish.
And at night, how shall we sit amidst those witty bushes
with two cups of tea and due pairs of romantic torches.
But please, please be with me, and be mine-mine, only-
o my love, thus leave me not within this dire uncertainty
as long as I breathe still and my heart beats within me
but make me stay here and forever crave for thee,
as far as love can go, and as deep as eyes can see.
Paul Morgana Feb 2013
Steamy hot lazy summer day,
Layin' around, not much to say.

No surprise and not by chance,
Is the thought of you in skintight pants.

Is it midday? It got real warm,
No, just a reaction to the upcoming storm.

Not here are you, but it matters little,
I will play my member, just like a fiddle.

My thoughts of you burning desire,
My manliness climbs higher and higher.

Sensual lips pressed up against mine,
Tasting better than a classic wine.

Your southern lips they burn like fire,
As I stroke them, soon we will sire.

I place my lips to the burning mound,
And kiss and tease, you fall to the ground.

I climb upon you and hear you say,
"Wait a minute, I have a better way."

You climb upon me and rock and ******,
Until my body turns to powdered dust.

We lay together and fall a sleep,
Secret is our *** I can keep.

The next thing I know I open my eyes,
And you are before me, to my surprise.

"Hi honey, how was your day?"
I grab you and tell you, "it went this way."

Visit poemsbypaul.com
Damaré M Apr 2014
It's getting late 
Why don't you want to be here 
Beside me, for me to watch you 
I need you 
I want you 
If you afraid... Don't be 
If you afraid... Don't be 
Don't be scared, I won't hurt you 
Like he did... Twice babe.
I want you to like the method to my manliness 
See I hope that you make an exception for my friendliness, because my tenderness is splendiferous 
I am quite a gentlemen, however it do not stop my urge to dive deep into your sediments and kiss all over your floetry... Is that alright? 

All you gotta do is say yes 
Set aside your stress 
Undress 
Rest 
Stretch
As I flex 
And I caress 
...Apex
We make a mess
I whisper, close to your year 
"There's is only one for me, you have made that possibility" 
So I don't mind taking that step to "sea"
Your wavy shore 
Before I walk along it all you have to do is say yes 
You sure? 
Then you say "right there"
Followed by how I "make you so, so, so" 
Open up your mind, because it's getting later
Don't deny if I'm making you wetter 

It's almost late 
You're here for a reason 
Beside me 
Watching me watch you 
Knowing I'm needing you 
Feeling me wanting you 
I can see that you're afraid... Don't be 
I can see that you're afraid... Don't be 
Because I'm cautious about hurting you 
Twice is more than enough 
My method of manliness 
Is the reason why we're breathless 
Why do I question? 
The clock? 
Because my big hand and your little hand has attracted 
After we latched it 
We traded keys 
Your trembling knees 
My laughter 
Is assurance 
That I plan to be here happily after 
Just say yes 
And i'll be here until the morning 
Then i'll be here for the excitement, and I'll be around when it's boring 
Not only appearing when I'm ***** 
I can taste the lineage because your family is supportive of my decisions 

It's really late 
For you to be afraid 
The lights is out 
But trust that I'm right here 
Wiping your tears 
Afraid of losing you 
We're both scared 
For you it's being hurt twice
For me it's hurting a woman again 

It's too late 
You basically said yes 
By wearing my shirt as your dress 
By not denying your head to my chest 
Your temple to my peck 
You finally mumble I'm the best 
And only thing I had left to say is "yes"
"You make me so, so , so ... "
Legendary RnB Musical Group: **Floetry** "It's Getting Late" and "Say Yes". I combined the two and added my twists to it
Clara Romero Aug 2014
I hate you when you catcall her
I feel the anger rise, tightly coiled in my stomach
Clench my fists and feel my blood pound,
Because I know what you do to her,
Reducing her to her body, just for your pleasure.
To you she is only a body, just another opportunity to prove
your manliness, your superiority.
Just another girl to humiliate.
I know this and my rage roars, a dragon, untamable
ready to tear into you the second you try it with me.

But then as I walk pass, the voices are silent.
No calls, no whistles,
I don't exist.
The dragon within me becomes confused,
am I really so ugly, so unwanted, so plain,
that the **** on the streets, the ******* who harass girls as they walk,
won't even look at me?
What's wrong with me?
The dragon fades and a new type of hate arises.
I hate myself, my stupid hair, my ******* up jaw, my plain appearance.
I should feel lucky for the blessed silence, the peaceful walk,
but instead I feel a nauseating sense of shame and hate for myself,
As I tuck my head down like a good girl and hurry home,
Trying not to cry.

Society has turned being harassed as a goal to reach for.
Keep telling us "it's a compliment"
And sooner or later we'll start to believe it.
But that doesn't make it true.

So I sit sharping my nails, not sure whose throat to rip out,
Yours? Or mine?
Because you've told me,
It's not ladylike for me to hate anyone,
Except myself.
Àŧùl Apr 2013
Let me continue the story about a guy named Akshant,
Who belonged to Mathura in India, once the city of Krishna.

Akshant rejoined college and scored acceptably well this time,
He had realized his mistakes while he was to stay at home.
Repentance on committing mistakes intentionally was ripe,
He barely controlled the regret from flowing through his eyes.

Anamika was the only friend who was by his side in this time,
Giving him relief from loneliness which rang as the door chime.
Akshant had a poor memory so not much could stay on his mind,
Stressing his memory too much would only make his brain to grind.

Akshant then studied cautiously holding onto Anamika's hand,
Cautious he was not to crush it as he had formerly done to others.
He brightened up his professional life along with the romantic life,
And he scored brilliantly given his mental health was really affected.

The dried clots inside his brain were still an issue two years later,
But he controlled himself to not harm others from his anger.
The clots used to come out through as tears and ear wax,
Almost all was physically well after three more years.

Akshant went Kodaikanal after his bachelor's degree college,
He was an eligible bachelor when he had a job confirmation.
This happened when he was drifting away in the Kodai lake,
Anamika who sat next to him in the boat congratulated him.

Now Anamika confessed her feelings for Akshant in the boat,
Akshant couldn't find any words & found himself quite quiet.
This made Anamika challenge and taunt about his manliness,
Which caused Akshant get enraged & kiss his reply on her lips.

The boat swayed terribly in the star-shaped lake's still waters,
Anamika ogled & felt her hair get wet & this made her ****** Akshant.
She started kissing him back now & her eyes were coming back to normal,
These had been wide ogling when Akshant had started kissing hard and so it was.
Read part I here:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/7-seconds-part-i-of-a-poem-based-on-my-unpublished-novel/
My HP Poem #176
© Atul Kaushal
Le 17 Avril, 2013.
Kyle Reeves May 2020
since you don't know me
here's something to help

I leave wood splinters in my hands
so I can brag about not crying
when I clench my first

manly, yes I know
because you told me

the scales slithering
through my spinal cord
tell me many things

like when you
bit my long hair
and said it was gay

I spent years dislodging your teeth
but I think I learned my lesson

build cradles from rusted nails
sew them to your skin
so you never have to leave

I forgot the next lesson though
and was caught swallowing pencil shavings

sneers rattle from the tail in my ribcage
hissing that I'm too skinny to be a boy
the jokes hard to get at first
so I l graffitied the punchline on my mirror

my heartchambers gasping for breath
is the sound they make from
draining blood for gun powder

a strong proverb really
I'm glad I learned how
to blow up ghost sailing to my head

now my shadow walks to the store for me
because
I'm still learning how to crawl on my belly
Shirlee Shelley Oct 2010
I entered the room and there you were..
Sitting at a table with friends..
Your eyes dancing with laughter...
Your smile full of child like amusement...
I was instantly attracted to the ease with which you held your space in time...
Comfortable within your manliness..
Yet a little vulnerable within your beingness...
I felt the need to connect with you...
To share our ideas, experiences, desires and our passions...
As I allowed my mind to fantasize...I could feel you lying beside me..
Cradling my body, protecting and shielding me with your strength and wisdom...
Should I go and introduce myself?
Should I allow my fears and uncertainties keep me from allowing the.. per chance encounter?
Could this be love sitting across the room from me?
Or just an illusion...
Do I take a risk or let it pass out of my life...
The moment gone forever...
Taking a sip of wine..enjoying the flavor and sensation entering my body...I slowly rise..
Our eyes meet and we smile..
Excitement running through my veins...
and then..
I walk out the door
Shibesh Mehrotra Jun 2012
Shame befall a man
Whose eyes do no tear
Whose lips do not utter
A word of comfort
For his fellow brother

What use is such manliness?
What end does this bravado meet?
When at the end of the day
By swallowing his tears
He allows his life to be consumed by grief?

Away with manliness, then
That shallow, heartless monster
That one-eyed, judge of men
Who cannot look beyond the tears
To the heart that lies within

The heart that is brave
The heart that has the courage
To stand in his court and say
I will cry for I have been hurt
You may do unto me what you may!
ShowYouLove Apr 2015
Prayer of St. Joseph

Dear St. Joseph most chaste spouse of the Blessed ****** Mary and earthly father to our Lord Jesus let your soft and strong spirit be upon us this day. You were a quiet and reflective man. You were humble and modest. In a world that in this day does not place a high value on such virtues that you portray, we look to you St. Joseph as a shining example of what fatherhood and manliness can truly be. You were a carpenter, a builder, a worker. Yours were strong hands; rough and calloused from work, but they were also gentle and loving hands. Surely each piece you built was a work of love and crafted with great care. The hugs you must have given Jesus were so strong and gentle. You taught your son how to build as well. It is of little wonder then that the cross he would suffer and die on would become a great bridge connecting us to each other and to your son in heaven. Yours were warm loving eyes. Eyes full of sadness, pain, and incredible joy. Was there a time when it was revealed to you what your son must endure? I can’t image what that would’ve felt like knowing what was going to happen, desperately wanting it not to, and still knowing it was God’s will. Even with all of that you said “Yes Lord. Okay. Let your will be done. I trust in you”. I only hope we might have the smallest bit of the faith, the peace, and the quiet strength that you had. Be with us St. Joseph that we might learn how to better love, better serve, and better protect the sanctity of marriage and of the family. Be with us St. Joseph in our jobs that we may remain humble in the good work that we do. Let all the work that we do, be done with great love. Bless us St. Joseph and especially those that work with their hands. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our eyes so that we may see and love others in a more profound light and that our vision would not be clouded by pain and sadness. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our minds and our hearts that we might have the grace and strength to be pure and chaste as you were. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our souls that we might obtain some of the peace, the quiet strength, the faith to say “Yes” to your son and “No” to the wiles of this Earth. Bless us oh Most Holy St. Joseph that one day we may come to know you and be with you and the Holy Family in Heaven for all eternity.

Amen
Jordan Frances Jan 2014
It started with a game.
She was innocent, but she wanted to be older.
Grow up too fast.
Be a "big kid".
After all, they have all the fun, don't they?
All her cousins were older, and she was always the one tagging along.

She hung out with an older cousin.
About seven years older than her.
Alone, in a room
A bedroom.
Just them two, and so he says
"Let's play a game."

This sounded intriguing to her seven year-old ears.
So she responds:
"Game?"

"Yes, truth or dare."
Is his reply.
They play.
Several questions in, he says:
"Crawl on top of me and kiss me."
He motions to his crotch.

The girl is horrified.
"No!  That's icky!"
She says.
He lies, tells her it is what all the big kids do.
Her seven year-old brain is confused.
"Really?"

"Yes, don't you want to be a big kid?  Oh come on."
She considers.  Considers.  Considers.
He taps into her emotions one more time.
"Fine, I'll get someone else to play then."

This child does not want to be seen as a coward.  A loser.  A little kid.
The rest is a blur.

The factors:
A bed
Asperger's Syndrome
A teen on his back
A terrified child climbing on top of him

The actions:
Hands, his on her torso
Kissing, her on his crotch
Touching, him.  Her.  Both players find fault.

The results:
Molestation.
Guilt.
Fear.
Promiscuity.
Shame.
Silence.

­Suddenly this game isn't fun anymore.
He doesn't do it again, never even threatens her.
They see each other plenty and act perfectly fine.
It accumulates in her for seven years, until she tells a guidance counselor.
Freshman year, fourteen, tender age.
She lets go of her secret, and by the end of sophomore year has become very confident.
Junior year she is flying, and that is where the story leaves off

My story, my (somewhat) happy ending.
I still struggle every day.
When society teaches girls not to be abused instead of boys not to abuse,
I cringe.
How was I supposed to know what was right and what was not at age seven?
I was not at fault.

What I would like to know is
When men are going to step up and take accountability
When men are going to say enough is enough
When men are going to stand up with their *****, molested and assaulted
Sisters, girlfriends, mothers, and friends

Guys, most likely a female you are in close accordance with has been abused
Whether you know it or not
According to some insane one in three statistic
I am asking you, begging you, pleading with you
Stand up and speak out

Educate each other
Create a new definition of "manliness"
Not just who can get laid the most
But who is the most respectful

Considering most ****** assaulters are men
Please stand up for me.
From every sexually abused woman, child and man on this planet
Wrote this a while ago. I'm not exactly still flying, I've been dug into a hole over the course of this year. Hopefully, I can get out of it.
Austin Young Jun 2011
"...In the young man's bedroom
police found disturbing
poetry, drawings, and writings.
The boy's father said he
knew about these
and encouraged the
boy to stop them."

The television droned on.
A school shooting.
Numbers, irrelevant.
The boy took his own
life along with his
classmate's.

"His father, the model of
manliness, told him to stop
the only way he knew how to
express himself."
said the decrepit octogenarian
to his squat, plump nurse.

"Yes, Mr. Smith. You shouldn't
be watching that stuff...
it gets you all excited then
I have to come in here
and check your pulse,
and heart, and oxygen."

Would hate
to make you get up...
He thought.

"The anger can't be bottled
up forever. It will come out.
It could have come out
in a therapeutic and peaceful
way, but it came out in
a violent and brutal way."

"Yes, Mr. Smith, the world
is a terrible place."

"That's not what I said.
What stands between
a murderer and an Einstein
is the ability to express
oneself. This boy
was taught that his
expression was wrong, therefore
he was wrong."

"The youth are troubled."

"The youth are perfect.
They haven't had the weight
and burden of time ****** on them.
They are the only ones free
from the ******* story
we all buy of the way things
are. They can
express themselves and
change the world, but
we have to stop telling them
they're wrong."

"Oh of course Mr. Smith, the
children are our future..."

Stupid *****, she's not even
listening. She can't wait to
get back to her one
handed novel she's got
at the reception desk.

The man closed his eyes
and dreamed of what could be
if he were young again.
shireliiy Sep 2015
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Àŧùl Apr 2013
It positively affects my mood.

I become more independent of the society, I help people with their stuff and entertain them with my poems, stories, couplets, jokes, essays, songs & guitar.

I also take to first-hand social service whenever possible and I've also taught some underprivileged children & imparted elementary education to them.

I get my poetry ideas from this activity.

I think & feel differently about the world.

I look the others into their eyes with piercing confidence and I think you never had that confidence.

I feel stronger & more in control.

My appetite has greatly improved from being a poor eater in my childhood to a healthy eater in my adulthood.

My virility isn't affected at all and instead, I gain more stamina and manliness; my tool is strengthened.

My imagination power, IQ and hence smartness is also increased - believe me these have actually increased.

I cleared 9 & 10 examinations in my engineering degree two different times at one attempt each and my response time is greatly improved.

I become more confident.

My strength isn't reduced, but I go to the gym and I exercise as good as others.

My power & force are perfectly normal.

My eyes are shining bright, dark black in the middle of pure white.

I have never got any dark circles.

It takes me no more than 10 minutes to recover completely, it depends on the body about how it performs.

Over-use of anything - even oxygen as it oxidizes body & mind - is utterly harmful.

Quality has become thicker & brighter each day I exercise.

So keep hands on your tools than some ****** books blaspheming against the new-found rage.

Consult an expert instead of developing your own stories or believing the same old ****** stories.

Everything has a limit and within that limit, it is extremely enjoyable.

Just one last tip: Keep yourself humane with yourself & don't become a dumb & helpless addict to get embarrassed in front of your family one day.

Now if you feel that I'm spreading blasphemy & bad thoughts, you may please stop reading my poems instead of cursing me in vain.
Though not all people are known to have these positive effects of the new-age rage.
My HP Poem #157
© Atul Kaushal
Poet B Lee Apr 2010
don't open your eyes
don't let it dissolve
smell the baking bread, bacon and eggs
feel the ache in your center from when he broke you off...


roll over in the covers
savor the scent of manliness mixed with cologne
open your eyes, breathe deep and smell nothing
let it all fade away cuz you're alone...
Queen Poetess B © Copyright 2010  All Rights Reserved
SG Holter Jul 2014
It's one of those days.
One of those days
Where my mind punches
Everything I pass.

Where the thought of
Her not being anywhere near
Feels a little like the way I
Found it hard to breathe when

She wasn't, then. Only worse by a
World's width.
It's one of those days.
One of those days when the

Manliest of my
Innermost manliness wants to
Place its head on a chest,
Where naked ******* say nothing

Other than: *"Cry ahead, little boy.
All you are is welcome.
All I am
Is here."
Fizza Abbas May 2015
In a frenzy
of exultation,
I found my submissive
prostrating before your
dominance,
considering you a master
entwining under the spirals
of your manliness.
I feel that I should
sing the psalms of
your manhood
to dangle my soul
to your body and
your soul to mine
prairie of captivity
welcoming me via
an orifice of your
supremacy.
I am the carnage
dripping with emoluments
reeking of duplicity
occupier of cities
torturer of insurgents
ruler by decree of tweets

A grand vision of myself
is forever fixed
in my mind’s eye

I am the zeitgeist
my murmuration
reverberates
through every
media channel
dazzling the
dizzy digerati
diligently tweeting
my precious
prescient
predilections

I descended from
my gilded 5th Ave tower
conveyed by a downward escalator
to save the common mass
from devastation and destruction

sweeping across
magnificent porticos
making grand entrances
through marine guarded gates
the glint of a rising sun
highlights the halo
of my golden coiff
and the fortitude of
my deep red power tie

I survey the global landscape
that fellow elites and I
have assiduously crafted
to loot unfathomable wealth
to indulge our idiosyncratic whims

The perpetual war
Toppled soverns
The viral terrors
The blighted cities
Ineffectual schools
Strangling bureaucracies
Egregious taxation
Omnipotent corporations
Offshored industries
Meager wages
Balooning wealth gap
Industrial stasis
Imminent domaine
Deteriorating health
Withering private life
Fractured families
Ubiquitous addictions
Disempowerment
Disenfranchisement
Stultifying work
Environmental degradation
Consuming violence
Government  spying
Police State repression
All was created by me
For the benefit of me

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created for our sole benefit


I understand the peril of
The Forgotten Man
He is under siege  
Hiding in the bowels
Of violent cities
He is foreclosed in
Shuttering suburbia
He is lost in the changing
Ethnicity of our homeland
He's been abandoned
By the perpetually elected
Politicians beholden to the
Monied interests
He is set adrift    
To wander among
the tombstones
Of a dying America

We are under siege
By Illegals stealing jobs
Victimized by their crime sprees
They live off the public dole
They undermine America
aided and abetted by the liberals
Who like the terrorists
Are waiting to pounce
with blood dripping fangs
to further their
UnAmerican agenda

I am the corruptor
I bought the politicians
Skidded the regulations
evaded taxes
cut corners
pushed every
envelop to
advance the
cause of me
-the devoted profiteer-
the dissolution
of Atlantic City
is the hallmark
of my handiwork

I gorged myself
at the public troughs
Reaping tax abatements
my skilled hand
always extracting
concessions and coinage
from the public purse
a clever businessman indeed

I am the art of the deal
the bankrupter of businesses
prince of crooked commerce
Defaulter on debts
Whelsher on payments
to workers for service due
I am the darling of the
double dealing derring-do

I am drawn to the beautiful
I am enamoured with me
My favorite pastime,
Watching Celebrity
Apprentice reruns
-the highest rated show
of all time… (a curious alt fact)-
more people attended and
watched my inaugural address
then any other president
throughout history….
PERIOD!

I have a proud collection
of trophy wives ….
the purpose of my family
is to affirm and flatter me
I agree with Howard Stern
that Ivanka is a piece of ***
I wish I could date her

As I walk the fantastic
performance stages of my life
I am radically entitled
to gleefully grab *****
insult disgusting subordinates
castigate uppity females
like Rosie and Megyn
while remaining
a titillated ******
visiting teenage
beauty pageant
dressing rooms

I am a committed
serial adulterer
that staunchly upholds
the sanctity of family values

I made my fortune
Extracting rent
trafficking in vice...
gambling and circuses
For the masses
These are my specialties
and I ***** my name
to all licensees
willing to pay me
to brand any
faux luxerient

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created
for our personal benefit

Tax me with requests
for insights to whom
I am and with whom
I do business
I will offer nothing but
the impenetrable
opaqueness

Look into the mirror
Every base impulse
Every fear, prejudice
Resent you discover
You will find me

I am settled into
every ****** crag
Every worry line
searing your brow
Skillfully plained by me

I am a paradox
wrapped in the
enigma of self
aggrandizing deals

I am the
daring deconstructor
of public schools
Rent seeking
holy privatization
will enrich fellow elites
together we shall
gleefully grease the slide
of the dumb down ride
abhorring facts
ideology, opinions
and optics rule

I cultivate a
suspicion of science
Preferring the superiority
of suspicion in service to
A bloated gut feel
as the ultimate arbiter of
The course to pursue

I pledge allegiance
to the ruthless exploitation
Of Mother Earth
Like a juggernaut
I will roll over the
Standing Rock Protectors
And any opposition
to the extraction
And distribution
of fossil fuels
I'll Frack
the republic to pieces
Direct my armies
To conquest oil rich nations
to quench my insatiable thirst
For the fuel of all capitalist tools

health care is not
a universal right
I care only for
The health of my own
and the welfare of
the privileged few
I promise to *******
Many with my Trumpcare

I am the defiler
of sanctuary cities
Disruption is my pleasure
the route of humanity
Tramping through
this burning world
Is welcomed to my hell

I distrust unity
I slice through cohesion
At ribbon cutting ceremonies

I drain The Swamp
And fill it with quicksand
I Enable anger
It's a sign of manliness

I collaborate with
a rising Confederacy
The Altright promises
To undermine the Union
With assault and battery…

My pout crowns
a cunning heart
My scowl is
the router of joy

Purple bunting
Perpetually hangs
On my heart

The blue line
Is not blue enough
the lawless half
Must be cowed
Into submission

I vow to scrub
The institutional memory
Of the Federal system
and all democratic tradition

I exalt  the fantasies
Of the forgotten man
I will fill his long memory
With fables of his foibles
And litanies of my
next great conquest

My Scepter of deception
Anoint the fictions of me
Attesting to my greatness
My craft is vanity

Putin is my model
I empathize with
How he deals with
dishonest journalists

I am empowered by the
Apartheid of Zion
I too am a builder of walls
Celebrant of separatism
Suspicious of the other
I burn the bridges
Severing all connections to them

Duplicity is our new national religion
My thumbs are bloodied by furtive tweets
My mind is pinched by anguish
The weight of myself
Strides across our
denigrated landscape
like Goya's Colossus
I am the carnage  

Music; Led Zeppelin
When the Levee Breaks

Lavallette
1/29/17
jbm
composed after the Women's March
to honor ****** Hair,
the 45th President of the US
Emily Pidduck Nov 2013
Do you see that girl? Hideous.
Her face is an abomination.
It's no wonder no one loves
that false replica of creation.

And that other one's a *******,
you can tell by her low V
flaunting double D's
like a sign flashing "I'm ******".

Now Ugly she's unlucky; to hook a boy
she needs a trap,
and *****'s got personality
but no one gives a crap.

Both are swimming desperately,
but waves are crashing endlessly.
And our tidal words that lacerate
drown them in a pool of hate.

You could of stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.

See that ****? He's handsome: a body that all crave.
But he's into art and stylish dress
Rumor says he's gay.

That other boy's pathetic, weak
and never takes a stand.
Little birdy told me
he's missing proof that he's a man.

Now Stupid's got it all - the very hottest dates,
but for all his charm and manliness, no one calls him straight.

Loser's slowly speaking up,
proving he gives a ****,
but all his pleas are over-looked as him on crack again.

Both are slowly burning,
flames licking at their heels,
and they let the hurt devour them
to stop the pain they feel.

You could have stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.

I've heard the spiteful rumors
that I'm deformed, somehow grotesque.
Standing at cliff's edge, I wonder
is it worth it?

Yes.

I'll take that step and free myself
from this world of misery.
All this time just waiting for your kindness that could save me.
I am not encouraging suicide. Please don't think that. This is more of a wake-up call for every time you let cutting words slip, because even "friendly *******" can be taken to heart.
Jayanta Feb 2016
There is a transect from colour to colourless,
There is a traversing from sunup to sunset!
A track from vividness to lifelessness!
*
Morning brings colour to life
Birds sign and fly, hark back splendour of work,
Butterfly invigorate redden of existence
Existence of life in the doodle nature
Every one blossom for breathing!
*

But we are waiting for dusk
Becoming everything murky
Than eliminate nature from life
Carnage everything with our manliness
and swollen with pride!
Its been written in the stars that I will be
Starstruck by your personality, and your
clenched fists
Supergiant of manliness that strikes soft
flesh, sparks bruises, causes pain.
Leave, people say, but I can't, love is a giant supernova.
Sparse is the love for me, infinite is the universe.
The stars I see now are not of distant galaxies though,
but rather the start of a concussion
© JLB
Debra A Baugh Jul 2013
I remember the first time I laid eyes on him, that
emotive whirlwind within at the sight of him

I swooned inwardly, blinking...

overtaken by the moment, a radiance connected us;
his visage emanated strength beyond his brawny
physique and his handsomeness

our dawning...

love awakened at the sight of him; keeping bedroom eyes
mentally closed, but, longing to feel him against me
became a resting place in my heart

his eyes were so, tender, I wanted to finger trace his lips,
slowly, allowing him to taste the first breath of our moment

one moonlit night...

he approached, another swoon moment, I melted in his
arms as he whispered in the arch of sultry heat uncovering
the fabric of my being

love aroused...

and our essence melded; one breath...ours mingled,
became precious as wet stained kisses rained
upon upturned pout

taste of him left me adorned, in naked shadows of midnight,
love found; bound by blushed sighs, in demureness I lean
into manliness breathing shades of his love

lost...

in syllabic whispers, drenched in poetry of us, where want
dawdles at the door of need as desire entwines igniting our
flame and I melt between the folds of Him and I

evolving...

in the archway of love at first sight
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
I think that a Bar-B-Q is an extension of a guys manliness.
Or manhood.
Now before all of you start disagreeing with me,
listen to this blondes logic.

When a man goes to purchase a grill
There are many factors a man has to take into consideration.
And they are, in this order, as follow:

1. Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid

2. The size of the grill

3. Rotisserie?

4. Accessories

5. Bar-B-Q covers


Let us take each consideration in turn.

Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid.

Propane men:

Some men want instant gratification.  Twist a **** or two, push a button here and instant heat.  Give it a few minutes to build to the right temperature and BAM!  In with the meat.  Once done, turn a **** or two and walk away.  No muss.  No fuss.

Charcoal men:

Other men are more inclined to take their time.  savor the experience.  They enjoy watching the flames build and turn into a glowing bed of meat searing heat.  When everything is just right, they gently place the meat.  They stand gaurd over it.  Tending to it.  Every once in a while poking it to test if it's ready.  These same men will sometimes sit snuggled around the glowing embers afterwards.  Watching the heat fade and cool.  Then they will ask their woman they had served  "How'd you like your steak babe?"

Charcoal Fluid And Men:

Some men should never be allowed near a Bar-B-Q that requires something to stimulate the flames.  It always ends in disaster and or injury.

Size Of The Bar-B-Q:

O.K.  Now this is a touchy subject for most men.  It has been known to cause envy, jealousy and has broken up a marriage or two.  Men think bigger is better.

When buying a Bar-B-Q , a man thinks about; cooking area, the possible need for side burners, portability, and the all important factor of presentation.  That's right.  How will it look to the neighbors and guests?  Will they be properly impressed with it? Also, can it handle the extra meat when company comes over?  Heaven forbid it should let him down and make him look foolish.

Rotisserie:

This is an important decision.  Does having your meat spin make it better?  I think that this is more of an individual decision.

Accessories:

Now we have reached a critical point.  How to accessorize.  Of course, every man needs the right equipment to ensure success.  And all of the tools need to have a long reach and be durable.
Tongs, fork, knife, spatula, basting brush.
Some men even splurge and go for a flavor injector.  Now that's a man who cares about his meat.

Bar-B-Q Cover:

Finally we reach the last consideration a man has to make.  To cover or not to cover?

Men!  Always, with out fail, should cover.  It is for their own protection.  And it shows you care.

Thank you.
Just in time for the summer
Travis Green May 2023
I can’t keep my cool when I am around him
Everything about him exhilarates my gayness
His magical mocha brown manliness
His radiant entrancing stance

The way he gazes at me
With his playful penetrating eyes
Makes me so attached to his ****** attractiveness
He got me smoldering out of control

Wanting to hold and stroke his swollen pole
Feel it throb in my palm, solace my heart
******* it like a sweet sensual superstar
**** his massive juicy *******

Rap with his submerged mind
Tantalize his tight thighs
Lick his manhood so good
Rule his sumptuous pulchritudinous hoodness

Be at the dreamy center of his tender dimension
Continue to invite his hardness into my mouth and throat
Lose sight of time while he strikes me
With his bang-up electric lightning

Taste his smooth, fragrant manbush
Tease his hot coffee shop with my tongue
Finger **** him, eat it up like maple bourbon candied bacon
Like a gin and tonic drizzle cake, love on him to infinity

Smack his luscious masculine backside
Make his **** quake as I take
His tasteful amorous manliness
Let him ****** my jouncing jaunty jugs

Rub his clever titillators on my bare engorged crests
Make his long solid legs shake
Dominate his entire sensational space
Knock him sideways

Make him crave me like ecstasy
Watch me bob on his brick-solid formidable ****
Change his life with my top-flight ****-******* game
Show him how much I am wild about his fiery spicy delight

Stare deep into his commanding, brandy brown eyes
While he throat ***** me ungovernably
I slobber all over his matchless mantastic package
As he explodes a boatload of thick, milky, and sticky nut in my mouth
Universal Thrum Nov 2014
I am going to try speaking some reckless words, and I want you to listen to them recklessly.

Burning Man is an invitation to a collective art experience, similar to that of the Jew’s mass revelation at Sinai, to be converted into little children and enter the gates of heaven together.

In Black Rock City, There is no money, no commercialization, only a gift economy of free cooperation, supported by the radical ethos of self-reliance, self-actualization, and radical inclusion.  

One friend, who happened to live the life of a hobo artist, commented that she felt that burners were paying to experience life as a hobo. I understand the experience as a way to live openly without attachment and give freely without attachment, and as the saying goes, the playa provides.

In Black Rock City, There is no us and them, because as one citizen so aptly put it to me as I thanked him for the gift of some unknown chemical, “We’re all ravers here man.” And We we’re and are all raving mad, dancing to the song of the desert, everything everything everything, yet no one died there, no children were harmed.

Socio-Economic status indicators are less apparent at Black Rock City, dress is both shabby and marvelous, as many are in the hippy Mad Max apocalyptic desert tribal grindhouse gear of their choosing, or naked as the day they were born, covered in dust.  

The happiest man I witnessed, sat naked in full lotus, serenely smiling to himself, dreadlocks draped over his shoulders rocking back and forth at a woman’s wedding where she married her self.  He knew the open secret.

This strikes at the heart of the matter, there in the desert, there is an awareness, that every citizen is in an act of participatory art happening in the now, you may wear your body without shame, without scorn or derision, or even a second glance, you may simply be in all your human glory, in whatever mode of conscious, whatever identity or avatar you choose.

Comfort of touch arises in this open, relaxed atmosphere of non-repression, Hugs are standard greeting, and last a deliciously long time compared to our society. Cathartic emotional release arises, encouraged by freedom from social conditioning, laws, and traditional mores. There is a fervent, accepted development of comradeship, the beautiful, sane affection of man for man, latent in all the young fellows, north south east and west.

Rumi’s quote on Zoroastrian’s wheel reads, “Come, come, whoever you are, Wanderer, idolator, worshipper of fire, even though you have broken your vows, a thousand times, Come, and come yet again. Ours is not a caravan of despair.”

In this living environment of artful community empowerment new social standards arise, more equivalent to private desire, as there is increased ****** illumination, new social codes made manifest that rid us of fear of our own nakedness, rejection of our own body.

This stands in stark contrast to the present condition of life for American Person, which is one of deathly public solitude and mass commercialization.
We’ve built a technological Tower of Babel around ourselves, and are literally reaching into heaven to escape the planet. The stupendous machinery surrounding us conditions our thoughts, feelings, and reinforces our mental slavery to the material universe we’ve invested in, the separation and tension this creates can be felt walking down the street avoiding stranger’s eyes.

I say all this tremendous and dominant play of solely materialist bearings upon current life in the US, with the results already seen, accumulating, and reaching far into the future, that they must either be confronted and met by at least an equally subtle force infusion for purposes of spiritualization, for the pure conscience, for genuine esthetics, and for absolute and primal manliness and womanliness – or else our modern civilization, with all its improvements is in vain, and we are on the road to a destiny, to that of the fabled ******.


How can we Americans make our minds change theme? For unless the theme changes-encrustation of the planet with machinery, inorganic metal smog, violent outrage and mass ****** will take place. We witness these horrors already.

Abruptly then, I will make a first proposal: on one level symbolic, but to be taken as literally as possible, it may shock some and delight others – that everybody who hears my voice, directly or indirectly, try the chemical LSD at least once; every man woman and child American in good health over the age of 14, find a kindly teacher or guru guide and assay their consciousness with LSD – that if necessary, we have a mass emotional nervous breakdown in these States once and for all.  

Then I prophecy, we will all have seen some ray of glory or vastness beyond our conditioned social selves, beyond our government, beyond America even, that will unite us into a peaceable community.  I hope this will be understood not as the solution, but a typical and spiritually revolutionary catalyst, where many varieties of spiritual revolution are necessary to transcend specifically the political Hobbesian cold war we are all involved in.

I would invite you to step away from your rational mind
Seek inner space awareness
May the long time sun shine upon you
And all love surround you, and the pure light within you, shine your way on
I gave this speech as part of a Pecha Kucha presentation at the Columbus Musuem of Art on 11/13/14
S D S Apr 2013
I feel inadequate
in the department of manliness
in the sector of occupation
in the division of romance
in the office of sanity

I feel abundant
in the regiment of weakness
in the foundation of lazy
in the organization of loneliness
in the ministry of madness
Devon Uy Feb 2011
I am a man.
I am one of two sexes, I am made with Y’s and X’s.
I have two hands, and two shoes
My skin is a shade of tan,
against two eyes, a little darker than most,
to see right through.
I am a man.  I am destined to like the colour blue. and I do.
Black hair, thick frame, brown eyes
My ***** is average sized, or so Google has told me,
defining and aligning my masculinity to the length of a certain body ***** that almost no ones sees,
It only makes sense.

I am a man, after all.
And I understand the part of the debt that I owe.
I pay my attention to the fighters who guard things I fought to know.
With that knowledge they hold in the throes of their quotes
take note.
And beware,
because creatively,  I will so rudely steal away ideas you’ve owned.
Seeing that feeling reeling in your frontal lobe,
gripping it and IV dripping it into my bones.
And then I will break them, seam after seam
sprinting through dusty rocks and skipping stones in my bloodstream.
Eroding my veins with it’s electricity.
****, I am a man.
I walk, like I lead with my chest and
I talk, like I lead with my head
but my lips lead with what I’ve already said
So I, dust off the dirt of another loss
like I’m coming back from the dead.
I can speak. I speak like you are my foundation, that I am building my words against your brains
training myself to speak in beauty
and praying not to speak in vain.
But I am only a man.

and I am a hypocrite,
I’ve fallen victim to ripping images from television
and I can feel them chipping the paint,
as if stripping my brain was the ultimatum in my struggle to self sustain.
I am a hypocrite.
Because I tell myself that I am better. that I am so different.
but I guess I, pay too much attention to this hipster ****
and taking too much time to find that my tragic flaw was my indifference.
cause everything I’ve tried to hold on to so tightly, was rubbing away at my fingerprints.

I will atone for my ignorance.
I am atoning for my ignorance.
Every thought I taste
Every day I waste is a prayer of sincerity
Not a prayer of repentance, No.
not just yet

and I am a man with a chant, with a mantra
sounding like

I wanna be somebody, I wanna be somebody, I want to be somebody
Honest
Because honesty
I just want to engage it...
putting a 3 carat ring on it’s finger,
committing myself to its promises, and marrying it wild
i want to puke truth like a child
Or rather
I want to nurse the truth back to health make it fall in love with me,
and when it runs away
i want it to return like a dove to me.
like 40 days, running deep as a flood to me,
I want it to sing to me
Because then you can hear God understand who you are, and she hears me perfectly
defining and aligning my masculinity to the strength of my heart,
which almost no one sees
it’s only making sense.

and you have to understand, my personalities ***** is...huge.
like, that rumour about Asians is just so untrue.
because in the lyrical bedroom my rhythms are smoother than chocolate fondue
and I’ll make love to our intellect in positions that are considered taboo
until neither of our mind’s bodies can become unglued
but I digress

I am something more potent than my style of prose
I fill out more body than I have in my clothes
so don’t talk until you walked in the tread of my soul
I am a man that is far too much for a social role
I am a man, I am a man, I am a man, I am a

Man, I want to give back my manliness, in exchange for godliness
and i’ll go ahead and give up a pretentious thought, or maybe even two
and i guess i’ll toss in that childhood too
in goes those high school years I faked my way through
and i’ll go ahead and give up my skewed world view
because in lieu
of every limit I set on myself and what I can do

I must repeat the mantra out loud
If you would please look into me, I’d be pleased to look into you.
Anyone Sep 2018
.                         I was born with a defect.
It has a great impact.
One testacle, one less
Than everyone else.

I can't tell my partner.
She'll think less of me then.
Aren't they supposed to be a symbol
Of manliness? One less thimble

Of mass, results in a loss
Of ounces of courage,
And a weight of tonnes
On my shoulders.

I've been led into
Believing manhood is paramount.
Without it, I'm less of a person,
Less of a reason

To be whom I should; to be desired.

It's hard to stop thinking it
When it's you yourself telling it.
External influences become internal doctrine.
Inescapably real, incessantly there.

Loss of masculinity,
Yet retaining functionality.
It seems people never notice something's wrong
As long as you appear to act 'normally'.
This isn't my story to tell. I am still on the fence as to whether I should have written it.  But it helps me to understand the people close to me when I use their perspectives in poems I write. Either way, here it is.
Temperature rising high,
body's clammy upon touch,
all from your eye contact,
it all feels so much,

You walk towards me,
my legs turn to jelly,
you whisper of pleasure,
a lit fire in my belly,

Finally alone we lay,
i caress your manliness,
tongue trickling 'o' my *******,
feeling pure bliss,

My body shaking with ecstasy,
wanting, needing, waiting,
your hardness pushing against me,
I taste your stiff being,

Holding back the urge of explosion,
you enter my warm, creamy secret,
sliding, teasing, thrusting,
our bodies shake as we feel it,

Tipping to the top,
Don't stop 'please' don't stop,
rushing, burning, throbbing,
warm, wet, oh so hot.

— The End —