Poems Submitted by Our Readers

The guys who make up my particular gender
Pursue living in terms if a common agenda.
We strive to appease the demands of our genitals
While trying to make sense of the cosmos in general.

The men of my sex are a pitiful group,
Tormented and vexed in primordial soup,
Confounded, perplexed, and left out of the loop
While stepping on eggshells and jumping through hoops.

The boys of my class have a problem involving
A fortress of glass and a kingdom dissolving,
While stuck in the past in a world that’s revolving
Uncomfortably fast, and no chance of evolving.

For all that I know, guys are all obsolescent.
We go with the flow and take antidepressants.
We keep to our roles and deny our tumescence
And grieve to our souls for our lost adolescence.


Phillip Tindall (© Copyright 1999)