Men get ideas.
They grow braided beards, brew beer.
Who can say what's next?
oh no
what is that caught in my beard?
a chocolate chip and some salsa dip
winter woolly coats and a herd of goats
seaside rocks and a pair of stripy socks
a large corn husk and a double decker bus
a day oh a day feeling very very weird
but how did all that get caught in my beard?
If only I could grow a beard
I would stroke it and appear wise
but I'm a'feared it's not to be
no matter how hard I tries
and I hate to think about it
as it always fouls my mood
on me the only hair which sprouts
is due to additives in U.S. food
tho' some are destined to be hirsute
my facial hair issues forth then fades
yet after all if nothing else
it saves on razor blades
I kinda suspect that this will sound weird,
but my favored body part is my beard!
My salt-and-pepper face
never looks out of place!
It's been twenty years since it premiered!
The old man spoke with clearly grand drama,
“One rooster, four starlings—not a comma,
Two strange owls’ brigade,
One finch in cascade,
Built a nest in my beard—it’s a panorama!”
The original by Edward Lear:
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared! --
Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard.
The man who a Pharaoh would be
Must dress for success to the T.
The hair 'neath his chin
Must wrap round his shin:
It cannot be just to the knee!
you probably will think i'm totally weird
but-- i like Fr. Kolbe's long gray beard :)
.
Though i grunt
your latch
both yourn mitts
mine mane
yourn grip
'Tiz
the lift uv
mine goose'z
bumps
His smile is amazing
even though hidden beneath
a red tinted beard
I once sported a manly beard,
a beastly beard had I.
But then on the farm, at the crack of dawn,
while my lady cheered,
she chopped it off, and while the cows mockingly mooed,
I quietly cried.
And with that, a little something inside of me died.
I would venture to guess it was my manly pride.
She brushed and whispered into my tickled ear
"Brian, how I pined for your lovely face,
and your youthful countenance.
You don't need a mane to rival a lion in ferocity
-you're sensitive and wise,
I can see it in your eyes,
and your words they always seem to make sense."
Who was I to debate with her?
Her words would lose weight
if I failed to concur.
is it just my age?
increasingly I value
winter’s soft decay
those last few leaves
revealing tree branches
decorated with lichen
rays of the low sun
penetrating morning mist
shining in hoar frost
in the hedgerows
remnants of summer’s blooms
ragged robin and old man’s beard
gulls and crows picking
at the dead fields, harbingers
of a time of lack
oak leaves are the last
to fall, pallid brown, clinging
to summer’s false hopes
even at midday
mist persists, permeating
tired fields, sad bare woods
a time of quiet
decay and rebirth: I watch
disconsolately
Santa dyed his beard black
The reindeers thought he was lack
Of his luster and zing
He even took off his ring
So, they decided to take up the slack
Some call me looney, some call me weird
Some wonder what I'd look like without a beard
You don't want to know
It's a horrible show
Can easily turn accolades into resounding jeers
Who is that soma
with no beard
where is his moustache ?
Where is his masculine fuzz ?
did he ever had it once
or did he not...?
Is he a flesh
or a etch ware of mere ingenuity ,
for in the world of poetry
anything can conduct ,
anyone can go without a beard,
anyone can live without being lived .
I want to grow a giant woman’s beard
That way I would have a fun but glorious secret
As I smirk at you peons who would never guess
What I know that you do not.
Behind my pandemic mask I would feel superior
Maybe for just a tiny short hour or fifteen minutes
But it would be a start.
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