Poems about men

My parents kept me from children who were rough and who threw words like stones and who wore torn clothes.

Their thighs showed through rags. They ran in the street And climbed cliffs and stripped by the country streams. I feared more than tigers their muscles like iron

And their jerking hands and their knees tight on my arms. I feared the salt coarse pointing of those boys

Who copied my lisp behind me on the road. They were lithe, they sprang out behind hedges Like dogs to bark at our world. They threw mud

And I looked another way, pretending to smile, I longed to forgive them, yet they never smiled.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines by Pablo Neruda

For men everywhere who have found and lost love. It begins with denial, then anger and then acceptance. In the end move on …

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

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Write, for example,’The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

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What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

*Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses *before. Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

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Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.

“This Is Just To Say” by William Carlos Williams

For all those men who long to say what they think but cannot find the time.

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox

and which you were probably saving for breakfast

Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

“Lazybones” by Pablo Neruda

This poem conjures up the lazy days of summer, the comfort of a warm bed, good food, music and the pursuit of happiness. Why on earth are we at work?

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