What Is Your Favorite "Manly" Poem?

[gamzultovah]

Has anyone mentioned Wilfred Owen? He was an officer in the British military during WWI and died there, and wrote some of the most devastating war poetry. Here are a couple

Extremely dark and profound with the biting truth of war, and the lies of war. Thank you for posting.

 

[scrumpyjack]

We toast our faithful comrades
Now fallen from the sky
And gently caught by God’s own hand
To be with him on high.

To dwell among the soaring clouds
They knew so well before
From dawn patrol and victory roll
At heaven’s very door

And as we fly among them there
We’re sure to hear their plea-
“Take care my friend; watch your six,
and do one more roll… just for me.”

 

[gamzultovah]

The Bear Hunt

A wild-bear chace, didst never see?
A wild-bear chace, didst never see?
Then hast thou lived in vain.
Thy richest bump of glorious glee,
Lies desert in thy brain.

When first my father settled here,
’Twas then the frontier line:
The panther’s scream, filled night with fear
And bears preyed on the swine.

But woe for Bruin’s short lived fun,
When rose the squealing cry;
Now man and horse, with dog and gun,
For vengeance, at him fly.

A sound of danger strikes his ear;
He gives the breeze a snuff;
Away he bounds, with little fear,
And seeks the tangled rough.

On press his foes, and reach the ground,
Where’s left his half munched meal;
The dogs, in circles, scent around,
And find his fresh made trail.

With instant cry, away they dash,
And men as fast pursue;
O’er logs they leap, through water splash,
And shout the brisk halloo.

Now to elude the eager pack,
Bear shuns the open ground;
Through matted vines, he shapes his track
And runs it, round and round.

The tall fleet cur, with deep-mouthed voice,
Now speeds him, as the wind;
While half-grown pup, and short-legged fice,
Are yelping far behind.

And fresh recruits are dropping in
To join the merry corps:
With yelp and yell,—a mingled din—
The woods are in a roar.

And round, and round the chace now goes,
The world’s alive with fun;
Nick Carter’s horse, his rider throws,
And more, Hill drops his gun.

Now sorely pressed, bear glances back,
And lolls his tired tongue;
When as, to force him from his track,
An ambush on him sprung.

Across the glade he sweeps for flight,
And fully is in view.
The dogs, new-fired, by the sight,
Their cry, and speed, renew.

The foremost ones, now reach his rear,
He turns, they dash away;
And circling now, the wrathful bear,
They have him full at bay.

At top of speed, the horse-men come,
All screaming in a row,
“Whoop! Take him Tiger. Seize him Drum.”
Bang,—bang—the rifles go.

And furious now, the dogs he tears,
And crushes in his ire,
Wheels right and left, and upward rears,
With eyes of burning fire.

But leaden death is at his heart,
Vain all the strength he plies.
And, spouting blood from every part,
He reels, and sinks, and dies.

And now a dinsome clamor rose,
’Bout who should have his skin;
Who first draws blood, each hunter knows,
This prize must always win.

But who did this, and how to trace
What’s true from what’s a lie,
Like lawyers, in a murder case
They stoutly argufy.

Aforesaid fice, of blustering mood,
Behind, and quite forgot,
Just now emerging from the wood,
Arrives upon the spot.

With grinning teeth, and up-turned hair—
Brim full of spunk and wrath,
He growls, and seizes on dead bear,
And shakes for life and death.

And swells as if his skin would tear,
And growls and shakes again;
And swears, as plain as dog can swear,
That he has won the skin.

Conceited whelp! we laugh at thee—
Nor mind, that now a few
Of pompous, two-legged dogs there be,
Conceited quite as you. ~ Abraham Lincoln

 

[alaskanpiper]

The Genius of the Crowd

There is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
Human being to supply any given army on any given day

And the best at murder are those who preach against it
And the best at hate are those who preach love
And the best at war finally are those who preach peace

Those who preach god, need god
Those who preach peace do not have peace
Those who preach love do not have love

Beware the preachers
Beware the knowers
Beware those who are always reading books
Beware those who either detest poverty
Or are proud of it
Beware those quick to praise
For they need praise in return
Beware those who are quick to censor
They are afraid of what they do not know
Beware those who seek constant crowds for
They are nothing alone
Beware the average man the average woman
Beware their love, their love is average
Seeks average

But there is genius in their hatred
There is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
To kill anybody
Not wanting solitude
Not understanding solitude
They will attempt to destroy anything
That differs from their own
Not being able to create art
They will not understand art
They will consider their failure as creators
Only as a failure of the world
Not being able to love fully
They will believe your love incomplete
And then they will hate you
And their hatred will be perfect

Like a shining diamond
Like a knife
Like a mountain
Like a tiger
Like hemlock

Their finest art

——Charles Bukowski

 

[alaskanpiper]

That or this one:

 

[alaskanpiper]

Or perhaps this gem?

I am perfectly happy, with a stroll in Union Square,

or morning coffee in Brighton, in my favorite easy chair,

There are very few things better, than a dash of Christmas cheer,

or a friendly game of Blackjack, paired with a latticed meer,



I sure do like to sail the seas, with my favorite Salty Dogs,

or Mr. Heinrich’s Curly Block, rolled up into logs,

I do not fear a Firestorm, on a morning lunt,

and love to hear the Hal o the Wynd, on an evening hunt,



Enjoying a dram in Tilbury, is a pleasure all it’s own,

and when one has a Briar Fox, they are never truly alone,

there is plenty contemplation, in a Dark Flake without scent,

not to mention Happy Bogie, for the odd straightforward gent,



It’s hard to beat the aroma, of a Hunter’s Labrador,

and the misty morning Trout Stream, may leave one yearning for more,

The richness of a Crème Brulee, can put a man to sleep,

and if he dreams an Angler’s Dream, it’s one he’ll want to keep,



Pleasurable simplicity, can be found in Carter Hall,

and the inimitable Sir Walter, may be simplest of them all,

Let’s not forget the pointer, in it’s very large blue can,

and of course the old Prince Albert, the favorite of many a man,



But while all these things are lovely, and surely aim to please,

There is but one aroma, that turns my nose to the breeze,

a great and powerful flavor, that will not ever fail,

and supersedes all others, when paired with an evening’s ale,



Whether one needs a Nightcap, or an Early Morning Pipe,

or maybe just a Quiet Night, that lives up to the hype,

perhaps an Exotique experience, to get you through the day,

or often just a Shepherd’s Pie, a country squire might say,



Even with your head held high, to view the Star of the East,

one can find a perfect moment, an Odyssey at least,

Or walking near Westminster, on a foggy day,

with thoughts of rich Plum Pudding, guiding along the way,



Yes, the fields of Virginia, have much to offer indeed,

and the Oriental spices, can often take the lead,

The dark fires of Kentucky, I do appreciate,

and the parish of St. James, leaves little to debate,



The strong and simple Burley, satisfies no doubt,

and a sweet and rich aroma, cannot be left out,

the easygoing classic codger, has a lot to give as well,

and even a wild mixture, often has much to tell,



but when it comes to the ultimate blend, sure to satisfy,

the one that never disappoints, the apple of my eye,

I’ll always return without fail, to my best and greatest friend,

for there is nothing better in this world than the English/Balkan Blend.

 

[jpmcwjr]

Author, author!!

 

[mso489]

Hemingway was a short-short and novel author, but for delving into the outer reaches of "manly" from a very war hawkish guy, I like the passages from "A Farewell to Arms," where the soldier is under threat from his own comrades who don't know which men are on their side and which might be impersonators, so they are shooting them arbitrarily. So he gets his girlfriend, a combat nurse, and steals a rowboat, and rows across from the combat zone to Switzerland, which is the only rational response to always irrational war. That is an existential insight that is a prose poem to me from an author who had to dig deep for that understanding. It's manly, I guess, but also deeply human.

 

[gamzultovah]

Or perhaps this gem?

I am perfectly happy, with a stroll in Union Square,

or morning coffee in Brighton, in my favorite easy chair,

There are very few things better, than a dash of Christmas cheer,

or a friendly game of Blackjack, paired with a latticed meer,



I sure do like to sail the seas, with my favorite Salty Dogs,

or Mr. Heinrich’s Curly Block, rolled up into logs,

I do not fear a Firestorm, on a morning lunt,

and love to hear the Hal o the Wynd, on an evening hunt,



Enjoying a dram in Tilbury, is a pleasure all it’s own,

and when one has a Briar Fox, they are never truly alone,

there is plenty contemplation, in a Dark Flake without scent,

not to mention Happy Bogie, for the odd straightforward gent,



It’s hard to beat the aroma, of a Hunter’s Labrador,

and the misty morning Trout Stream, may leave one yearning for more,

The richness of a Crème Brulee, can put a man to sleep,

and if he dreams an Angler’s Dream, it’s one he’ll want to keep,



Pleasurable simplicity, can be found in Carter Hall,

and the inimitable Sir Walter, may be simplest of them all,

Let’s not forget the pointer, in it’s very large blue can,

and of course the old Prince Albert, the favorite of many a man,



But while all these things are lovely, and surely aim to please,

There is but one aroma, that turns my nose to the breeze,

a great and powerful flavor, that will not ever fail,

and supersedes all others, when paired with an evening’s ale,



Whether one needs a Nightcap, or an Early Morning Pipe,

or maybe just a Quiet Night, that lives up to the hype,

perhaps an Exotique experience, to get you through the day,

or often just a Shepherd’s Pie, a country squire might say,



Even with your head held high, to view the Star of the East,

one can find a perfect moment, an Odyssey at least,

Or walking near Westminster, on a foggy day,

with thoughts of rich Plum Pudding, guiding along the way,



Yes, the fields of Virginia, have much to offer indeed,

and the Oriental spices, can often take the lead,

The dark fires of Kentucky, I do appreciate,

and the parish of St. James, leaves little to debate,



The strong and simple Burley, satisfies no doubt,

and a sweet and rich aroma, cannot be left out,

the easygoing classic codger, has a lot to give as well,

and even a wild mixture, often has much to tell,



but when it comes to the ultimate blend, sure to satisfy,

the one that never disappoints, the apple of my eye,

I’ll always return without fail, to my best and greatest friend,

for there is nothing better in this world than the English/Balkan Blend.

I LOVE this poem! Bravo!...and Charles Bukowski is always a favorite. What a true individual he was. Thanks for posting.

 

[alaskanpiper]

Hemingway was a short-short and novel author, but for delving into the outer reaches of "manly" from a very war hawkish guy, I like the passages from "A Farewell to Arms," where the soldier is under threat from his own comrades who don't know which men are on their side and which might be impersonators, so they are shooting them arbitrarily. So he gets his girlfriend, a combat nurse, and steals a rowboat, and rows across from the combat zone to Switzerland, which is the only rational response to always irrational war. That is an existential insight that is a prose poem to me from an author who had to dig deep for that understanding. It's manly, I guess, but also deeply human.

A Farewell to Arms is great, my favorite Hemingway

 

[alaskanpiper]

I LOVE this poem! Bravo!...and Charles Bukowski is always a favorite. What a true individual he was. Thanks for posting.

Yes indeed. The poet laureate of bar fights in dark alleys and unapologetic human depravity, but an absolute master of last line poignancy. There will never be another like him.

To quote him yet again "An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way, an artist says a hard thing in a simple way." Or something like that. I think he himself resembled that remark quite perfectly.

 

[gamzultovah]

Hemingway was a short-short and novel author, but for delving into the outer reaches of "manly" from a very war hawkish guy, I like the passages from "A Farewell to Arms," where the soldier is under threat from his own comrades who don't know which men are on their side and which might be impersonators, so they are shooting them arbitrarily. So he gets his girlfriend, a combat nurse, and steals a rowboat, and rows across from the combat zone to Switzerland, which is the only rational response to always irrational war. That is an existential insight that is a prose poem to me from an author who had to dig deep for that understanding. It's manly, I guess, but also deeply human.

I have to get back to reading Hemingway. I haven’t had much time for reading lately, mostly Jack London short stories or Bible verses; but a cool night, a single malt Scotch and a pipe filled with Aperitif all cry out for a good book this evening.

 

[alaskanpiper]

I'll post one more, by everyone's favorite poet "Anonymous" haha.

when the time comes


searing salt spews forth from the mouth of the madonna’s babe

condescending clouds roil in the fetid sky

above mona lisa’s secret smile

and the worm takes what is given to him

burning great men into soil and ash





there is a fear looming

a faceless groan

lurking



under the whispers of the common man



one cannot simply jut forth his chin

take up arms

and quell such creatures



for it is in the bowels of the people that revolution festers

and it will bring the beauty of this world

to its knees

maddened and sick

screaming for death

vomiting blood into its callused hands



it is in this moment



when the child’s tears burn holes into her dress

as she stands amidst the rubble

her face layered with grey dust

that someone will see her tears streak through the ash on her cheeks



and find a better way



when the last drop stirs the soil

and the first break in the ceiling appears

a small glint of heaven’s flame will ripple into the souls of the oppressed



the tempest will pass

and hope will spread across the landscape

like wind across wheatfields

stirring life back into the grist of the earth



a rhythmic breeze will dance with the trees

washing away the stench of war

stars will shine brighter in the starry night

and a mother will look over her sleeping child

and smile at innocence preserved

 

[gamzultovah]

I'll post one more, by everyone's favorite poet "Anonymous" haha.

when the time comes


searing salt spews forth from the mouth of the madonna’s babe

condescending clouds roil in the fetid sky

above mona lisa’s secret smile

and the worm takes what is given to him

burning great men into soil and ash





there is a fear looming

a faceless groan

lurking



under the whispers of the common man



one cannot simply jut forth his chin

take up arms

and quell such creatures



for it is in the bowels of the people that revolution festers

and it will bring the beauty of this world

to its knees

maddened and sick

screaming for death

vomiting blood into its callused hands



it is in this moment



when the child’s tears burn holes into her dress

as she stands amidst the rubble

her face layered with grey dust

that someone will see her tears streak through the ash on her cheeks



and find a better way



when the last drop stirs the soil

and the first break in the ceiling appears

a small glint of heaven’s flame will ripple into the souls of the oppressed



the tempest will pass

and hope will spread across the landscape

like wind across wheatfields

stirring life back into the grist of the earth



a rhythmic breeze will dance with the trees

washing away the stench of war

stars will shine brighter in the starry night

and a mother will look over her sleeping child

and smile at innocence preserved

Bravo, my friend...bravo.

 

[condorlover1]

Here is a picture from the 'Manly Poem' weekly recital meeting!

 

[gamzultovah]

I'll post one more, by everyone's favorite poet "Anonymous" haha.

when the time comes


searing salt spews forth from the mouth of the madonna’s babe

condescending clouds roil in the fetid sky

above mona lisa’s secret smile

and the worm takes what is given to him

burning great men into soil and ash





there is a fear looming

a faceless groan

lurking



under the whispers of the common man



one cannot simply jut forth his chin

take up arms

and quell such creatures



for it is in the bowels of the people that revolution festers

and it will bring the beauty of this world

to its knees

maddened and sick

screaming for death

vomiting blood into its callused hands



it is in this moment



when the child’s tears burn holes into her dress

as she stands amidst the rubble

her face layered with grey dust

that someone will see her tears streak through the ash on her cheeks



and find a better way



when the last drop stirs the soil

and the first break in the ceiling appears

a small glint of heaven’s flame will ripple into the souls of the oppressed



the tempest will pass

and hope will spread across the landscape

like wind across wheatfields

stirring life back into the grist of the earth



a rhythmic breeze will dance with the trees

washing away the stench of war

stars will shine brighter in the starry night

and a mother will look over her sleeping child

and smile at innocence preserved

Here another one from Anon about the infinite struggle:

Men Not Men

If only one man would draw his sword And fight along me side by side,

The fight would be it's own reward,
In battles long night I'd then abide.

But men – not men – come to my aid,
Not one of them of true renown,

On the battlefield my blood is bade,
While they stand by on safer ground.

Fearful to do that which is their right,
To stand and fight for what they claim,

To stand and fight with me this night,
As I for them once did the same.

But this is not to be…..

So... as Judas kiss now sears my mind,
While I fight on in misery,

An arrow strikes me from behind,
And as I turn it's you I see.

 

[gamzultovah]

Here is a picture from the 'Manly Poem' weekly recital meeting!

View attachment 7142

Pretty buff...poets.

 

[brian64]

Great scene from Barfly, based on Bukowski:

Here is a picture from the 'Manly Poem' weekly recital meeting!

Oops, wrong thread.

 

[mikey517]

Two of this noob's favorites...

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
– the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
e.e. cummings

and also from e.e.


Buffalo Bill ’s
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus

he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blue-eyed boy
Mister Death

e.e. cummings


****The original alignment of Buffalo Bill will not show when posted! It keeps making a normal alignment. Apologies...

 

[mso489]

Bukowski lived a mighty hard life. Surprising he survived as long as he did, retained a job with the post office, and managed not only to write but to publish widely. Perhaps the writing kept him alive.