Best Lathering Poems
Me barber’s still one of them blokes who lives the school of old,
using methods quite old fashioned to what modern trends unfold,
so with scissors, clippers, hot towel, then lathered with a brush,
he’ll shave you with a cutthroat, though never in a rush.
And he offers further benefits, if you’re that way inclined,
for just a couple of extra bob, you get your shoes well shined,
and while waiting for your turn, you can read a magazine,
or tune in on conversation, while his razors shaving clean.
He sells those huge cigars as well. I think the Cuban brand!
And there’s Californian Poppy that the young won’t understand.
Wafting through his barber shop is the smell of after shave…
And today there is one customer, who wants to misbehave.
He’ll be in the chair before me; I have to put up with his rot,
his voice is loud and won’t shut up, intimidating all us lot,
so when his time had come, we hoped he’d give us all a spell,
then he demands a shave and haircut and to shine his shoes as well.
I watched the barber lathering, before he beckoned with a call…
then this beautiful young woman came and stood in front of all.
The barber mentioned “Here’s a customer, wanting you to shine his shoes”
and when she bent down to do the job she gave some awesome views.
The loudmouth couldn’t help himself; he had to open up his gob.
He mentioned to the pretty lass, that when she finishes her job,
they ought to sneak away together, and book themselves a motel room,
but from the lass who shone his shoes, a shock’s about to loom!
She smiled into his soaped up face, and gave his shoe a pat,
“I’m sorry sir, I’m married and my husband wouldn’t like that.”
“Your husband!” Scoffed the loudmouth, “Use your commonsense!
Tell him you’re working overtime and I’ll pay you the difference.”
The lass raised her brow and gave a grin, then his shoe a final wipe.
She stood up and took a deep breath before replying to his hype,
“Your offers pretty good” she said, “I’ll go and get my hat and coat,
but you can tell him if you like… he’s got the razor at your throat.”
©2005 Lindsay Laurie
I studied him, just as he studied me
I in disgust, confusion, and he in angry fantasy
His eyes, black, and yet still blackening
He embraced me with a terrible fit in his mind
Those piercing eyes, saturated in obsession,
Moving up and down my steady body
He watched as I drew in resolved breaths
Sensing my growing antipathy
Beyond the ease in my tone
He shook with want
He shook with angst
“Your dark thoughts are not hidden in my sight
This you will know by my piercing stare
There is power in words,
Just as there is power in your glare”
“Then breathe with me,” He sung with sting,
“And free all of your wants and cares…
Be the master of your own destiny,
And with your straying light, impair
Me, just as you impair your faith,
Against all but your own breast,
Penetrate
Seize our moments with pursed desire
Dress me in your sweet sung fire
Darling dear, our message is clear
Among this fight we share
Take a sip of my saccharine whip
And consume the inviting dare
Be my temp as I lure you
Deceive me as I floor you
Damask me, shock me, piss on my pride,
I dare your soul to take these reigns and ride”
In my ears he sung,
“Let us be lost together…”
Like a roaring sea trapped in a restricted bowl
Ready to overflow the moment my lips consent
“Hellbent you are,” I sadly sung
“Hellbent, and dragging all the lonely with you,
How strange we have come to these crossroads,
To test our patience with lusts unspent
Hellbent, you are, hellbent!
And yet you would croak to crush all heaven-sent
Give me into your darkness, never see the day
Follow me into the light, and never be the same!
You are my lovely enticement, oh Devil, oh Prince,
Your claws clutch in my knowing heart,
And I thrash in diffidence
Emboldening me, your lure,
The stone in you has fled
Grow in this desire, sweet wings
Your light is yet not dead”
Holding me, I felt his darkness lathering me
My eyes, my nostrils, blurred in his scent
“Your light is yet not dead…” I whispered again
Fainting, eyes struggling to stay awake,
I clasped his shoulder and shook my head
For in his eyes he realized,
That his light was yet not dead
As I listen to the lark’s surreal melody to her mate.
I wonder does she ever feel there’s too much on her plate?
Ever beside him juggling, tediously feathering the nest,
in her discomfort struggling, incubating without rest.
I wonder if in her daydreams does she laze as her mind lingers
in bygone days pursued by teams, of young and gallant singers?
Or does she occupy her days with tending her small brood
not entertaining winsome ways as gaping nibs crave food?
Does he while out a’gathering, squirming tidbits for their young,
ever give way to lathering ‘cause his work is never done?
Does his keen eye ever wander over lighter creamy breasts
allowing himself to ponder his days of youthful quests,
or does his steadfast honor seek but to gather and bring home
supper for each tiny beak never thinking once to roam?
As I hear the song bird warble, with expectancy to her mate
I’m thankful for each morsel placed in love upon my plate.
And listening to the lark refrain his bride’s devoted call,
I find being called a birdbrain the best compliment of all.
Roaring torrents go tumbling down
Splashing beads of clear tiny crowns.
Sparkling tears from heaven above,
Lathering pools of cleansing love.
Frothy white, like a snowy dove,
Rushing waters that push and shove.
Prism rainbows gleaming above,
God's handiwork for his beloved.
Cascading falls, deafening sound,
Earth's paradise, beauty unbound.
© 07-10-2012
Revised: 02-27-2013
100% Nature Contest
Almonds encased in hard red candy
Brandy from snow white walnuts
Collateral damage to the left front bumper of the sled
Dietary restrictions on anything considered a spice
Everything more often wins the day
Francesca left her pie though (no one will eat that)
Gluwein, go get it, we need it now
Hysterical colors spin all around me
Illicit behavior may well be tolerated though only after 10pm
Jellybeans are being shoved into orifices now
Knives are being put away for the safety of everyone here (especially Dwayde)
Lathering up all the kid's faces now to resemble tiny maniac Santas
My mother is making tea
No one will drink
Octopussy is playing in the background
Phantasmagoria bread pudding
Quickly tell me who ate all the bread pudding
Round them up and shoot them
Seriously
The only thing I ever eat is the bread pudding and everyone knows it
Unusual cravings now
Vertical with help from the wall
Waiting for someone named Misty to return from her car with her white elephant
Xenon purple body
Yuletide clopping going on inside my head
Zesty reds streak across the insides of my eyelids
LATHERING A COFFEE DAY
. . . . . .
wispy threads fall like crystal glass
frothy eyes drenched with slits
icy bubbles lathering soft giggles
snugly bugs flirt with moist grass
~ ~ ~
boat bathing on a rippled ballet sway
coat of rain perfumed nude flesh
note sings the aftermath of suds
roast coffee brews a pillowed day
::::::::::::::::::
Rick Parise’s ‘ Lento Poetry’
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....
Lathering her pink moist lips..
Enjoying the cream of my love.
on Earth’s circumvallate
he would be laid,
lifeless upon the lap
of his Mother
and on that day would be named
now and forevermore,
God’s Gether… for in that day
are all tears gathered
look at them, and fear
the things to come, think
ever deeper now, and greet
this mourning, hear nature asking
where, oh where, is he, who
as our companion, travelled(3)
all space-time freed of human form
and feminine traits, and he
self-named his essence, I-EAGLE-TWO…
in memory of his father
mystery of womb, wind, sky, and
slaughter; held in that “eye” of awe
as the sunflower’ diurnal motion
laying openly upon the roof
of this world, ever watching down
calling gently to those “friends”
and his enemies, laughing hauntingly
at the latter’ lathering fear filled sweats
as this “(????????)”,
have you yet guessed this guest?
at day’s dusk, and then again
by dawn’s redeeming draw
his reach is long, and into and through
your minds he roams, teasing your thoughts
twisting your faux beliefs
as does Loki shift from witch to fly
and consumes your roasted heart
he, is that warrior’ bathed
master of that “Fifth Discipline”
“fostering aspiration” in the minds that seek
developing “reflective conversation”
between the strong and meek
and through a universal rapport
promotes “understanding complexity”
“Systems thinking”
this is his drinking water’ brine
at his stand beyond,
as “Keeper of the Western Gate”,
within this universal bourse,
upon those “circles of causality”
he lends his hand to those who can
to those who cannot, his whist
he scends upon their brows,
and boy! is it ever steamy!
beaming out similes and hyperboles
and itchy knees to his and hers,
theirs and those, whose noses know
the profound truth is fast approaching
critically fast, that blue
heated mass of spiritual essence
that was promised to all of earth’s children
that this “center” of the sun will come
returning “hell” to earth to render
those who earned their promised whipping
for tipping life in their favor
so, do look towards your sun,
focus in upon that inner aye
and glimpse your own future’s butcher
and do fear what was foretold to be…
Finding her staring at myself within
The shower; she looked so lovely
I could tell by her beautiful eyes
That she liked what she was seeing..
More in this, a woman always knows
When she is desired; lathering my legs
She did not gaze away, while her breast
Told me that she was mine; silken beauty.
I loathe shucking clothes,
(no matter eyes severely myopic)
in preparation for here goes
another warm shower quickly
relaxing this senescent
body ready to doze
soon after lathering
this blubbery body
most unwanted fat grows
on me, no matter healthy diet
of worms, or how I stand,
not so easy add a pose
zing losing battle – Mary Jo's
if and geeze us of bulge ill flattering
particularly quiverly, sans white
"WALL" tire tread fully goes
steely belted around lower
abdominal area like lava floes
siring unsightly expose
yore squishy Jew dish priestly
punchy,plasma paunchy, gristly...
pillow like marshmallows
fittingly, rotundly soundly
identical with other schlep
tin (tin tabulation) grungy hobos,
this lap pissed lard (lord) Who Lee
bemoaning, how ilk readily knows,
where unwanted bulky flab...
most detested - hence Corp Yule Lance
leaves noth thin to noblesse oblige,
know bull eats obese,
anorexia nervosa or chance
barking out orders reminiscent, when he
hapt tubby a caller at
weekly square and/or contra dance,
now requisitioned to insulate
and excessively enhance
body electric can be mushed
into likeness of fleshy France
or repurposed into expanse
resembling any country,
whose name Kants
be easily pronounced, and historical
events glommed together recognizable
as Ataturk with a lance
bequeathed to rule World advance
sing gluttony as his divine providence,
thus requires deep dish allegiance
(non - fiber - binding contract)
for eats and make decadent
every fleshpot gourmand
stretching cellular skein to capacitance
bestowing guaranteed deliverance
with their rolling
ballooning massive circumference
into orbit with Earthly moon officiant
eternal fondue irrelevance!
You must start moving
Get down off this hill
Maybe you should start proving
You are not intellectually ill.
This is no place to stay
It’s spooky at midnight
You must find a way
To get us out of this night.
The Zombies are gathering
The Ghouls begin to drool.
The Ghosts’ slime is lathering
The Serpents have taken the pool.
It’s time to leave
And in a hurry
Get moving Steve
Or you’ll be Monster curry.
The Concert
In a crowded concert hall musicians stir.
Coming to life, the wind slowly swings a loose screen door.
Half a mile away, the wide open door is but a dot
Diminishing the darkness from the heavens above.
Through, shines a spotlight
a single stalactite of the sun;
A note sweeps across the hall, amidst the chattering of insects.
Hearts pound, fists clench and tremble,
In the desert, heat shimmering carries a whimpering,
awaiting the breaking of drought.
Cumulous swirls. Dust. Blackened bunches of grass swept free from war hardened roots.
The orchestra tunes. A rolling clap echoing off cliff and canyon walls.
Demanding attention. The Chaotic warm-up decrescendos,
falling away and the now darkened hall waits in silence.
The conductor, lifts one hand gingerly,
mirroring the gods, lightly commanding the elements.
First violinist appears and bows dutifully.
Taking her seat in the company.
Then, slowly, painfully, music begins.
Soft as down, distant, slow.
All ears crane to catch the first drops lightly falling on sweltering desert stone.
A simple melody, yet boldly wrote
to saturate. Composed solely to touch the lives of those who know.
Picking up speed, loose and free, diving harmonies lifting morale, settling dreams.
Running down trunks and off limbs
dancing down canyons, pattering on tin
Lathering every pattern, every page and music stand
Note and instrument
There, for all in the dim to see
The resounding proof
of a hope that literally floats on the breeze.
Then, brass unwrap mutes and salute,
with percussive cracks, pounding the steaming ground.
Strings float in and out in torrents, near, far, wave after wave.
A thousand voices breaching and expanding beyond the horizon.
Surpassing the sun's intensity.
Then, lightning flashes coda and the final cadence booms.
Uproarious applause.
with you, i remember the moments.
i remember what you were wearing?the first time i saw your underwear?inching up your back as you bent over?your passenger seat. i remember your bed,?comforter bunched up like bath cloths?lathering the only body you knew how to feed.
i remember climbing out your bedroom window?and rolling joints on your rooftop,?pretending we were on the planes?flashing seamlessly through the night sky?like a rescue mission. i remember air?heavy with summer, smoking weed in?my underwear between breaths. i told you?it felt like i was dreaming and you laughed.
we got lost in a state park once and?we had to jump a fence in the darkness.?you tried to kiss me in front of the flowerbeds?because i didn’t take your hand coming down.?the sky swallowed the stars whole?that night, but i was too busy staring?at your eyelashes to realize that we kind of?like it when our dark smothers our light.
i remember the first hickey you sucked out?of my heart, imprinting the bruises?on my body, vodka harsh on your lungs?like thunderstorms. i remember you?held my hand, cheeks roaring like forest fires.?my hands started shaking, fists like newborns.
with you, i remember the moments–?and with him it was all him him him.?god, i loved him so much i couldn’t sleep.?i remember waking up missing him?like his lungs were attached to my breath?and smelling his scent on my skin?for three days after we met.
i remember feeling hallow. empty.?climbing through dark tunnels with?nothing to grasp onto except?for old feelings. i remember feeling?like a character in his novel that everyone?knew the title of but me, where the first?kiss goodbye felt like crumpled leaves.
but you turned my story into potpourri.?and with you, i remember the moments
Cogwheel Ballet
by Odin Roark
Hot
Humid
New York summer
Industrial commerce 24/7
Textile scents of humid wool
Acerbic edge of chemical dyes
Permeating wood and air
Thick oily lubricants
Layered enslavement
Nowhere to escape
A century’s senses imprisoned
Drawing on all he has…
One work-for-rent dreamer
Of agile body
Holds forth
Awaiting his nightly concession
His arabesque of glee
2 AM break
The precious pause for moonlight’s silver
Thrusting its presence through
Floor to ceiling windows
Refracting off bare metal frames
Arcing visual life across the radiators
Curling over his labor station
Arcing across planked floor
His rough hewn dance surface
Awaiting…
From floors below
Dissonant seduction begins
Printing presses come alive
Rhythmic noise
Machinery’s first chaotic movement
Changing its accelerated pace
Into allegro’s process
Then back to a scherzo finish
The imaginative sounds
Many dismiss as noise
Even as others hear music
This crescendo of background rumble
Joined by circular rises and falls
Sustains the dancer’s cocoon
His undaunted confidence
In iron cogs gnashing
Creaking gears kissing
Turning belts lathering
Pistons rising
Falling
Pounding energy
Echoing its creation to the imagination above
Gracefully
He moves about the floor
Contorting his body
Bending into pain
Releasing into pleasure
But
Nightly sensations end too soon
Midnight shift perks infrequent
Labor’s drudgery winning
Rendering body vapid
By morning’s sunrise
Squinting at daylight
Infused with a Spartan workout
Of fantasized dream movements
Between lifting warehouse containers
His aching arms of no-questions-asked effort
Hang limp beside legs often of steel
Now mere precarious stilts to make it home