It’s Hard To Watch A Man Sing

Its Hard To Watch A Man Sing short poem

Photo by Owlyn

It’s hard to watch a man sing.
Soon it becomes awkward.
Watching him stand there
Beginning to sway.
Without a single use for his hands
they are just there.
Forced to make eye contact 
Not knowing which way to go
Anxious of each second that passes.
Watching a part of him we never knew existed.
Deep emotion shown in fixed facial features.
The peak of a raspy voice
Held without grudge.
Who cares it’s all so boring.
Watching a man sing.
With next to little emotion
It’s hard to watch a man sing
In a world so judgemental.
Still he tries,
Lip singing the words from his heart.
To the woman he loves.
Without fear of laughter
For if she disapproves he’ll
Laugh it off as a joke

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

Man And God

Man And God short poem

When man mortal with a title Becomes vile and self righteous He walks around with the Bible Holy acts and all sacrilegious Carrying LBGQT rainbow banners Hailing the devil’s temporal empire Accomplished false pretenders Adorned in bright priestly attire Those

The Man In The Balloon

The Man In The Balloon long poem

Up went the man in a balloon. Back from the earth and up to the mighty lord. But as he went he sang and sang. As his voice to heaven rang. The people of earth heard the song. And they

Playing Hard To Get

Playing Hard To Get long poem

She started to shake inside. Felt sick with anger and distrust. Now that the culprit that broke her heart was back in town. The past memories where clouding his judgement. Neither do I care. As a far I am concerned

A Conventional Man

A Conventional Man short poem

A foggy atmosphere everywhere, Some vendors on street; Few buyers moving here and there, There,a Man returning lonely after sumptuous eat. No gusto , No sorrow, A complete mannequin face; Nothing to throw, But to just grab everything and race

A Hybrid Of Man

A Hybrid Of Man short poem

Confessional truth is not my aggressive ego, it is my fault. The resolution of my conflicts with time, the smell of the broken limbs, my head in hoisted fever, my eyes searching for a cloud. The ultimate otherness, of an