Best Mustaches Poems
A collaborative poem, written in renga format, or "linked-verse", by Timothy Hicks and Jesse Whitehead.
Verses in normal font are by me.
Verses in italic are by Jesse Whitehead.
January jest
drawing mustaches
in the newspaper
coffee to warm the hands
walking the railroad
refusing
to stay put
a child's balloon
spring in her step
red moon overhead
has dusk come already?
the field of tulips
seem to say
unwavering and gentle
strong as stone
mountain peaks
wind through summer meadows
a tender caress
lying there still
a heart-shaped mark
steady rhythm
ebb of the tide
broken shells
spiraling earthward
the last golden leaf
fading in and out
memories sweetly touched
a dancing flame
burning through pages
another x on the calendar
NOTE: This was my first attempt at a Renga poem, written in collaboration, with one of my best friends from Idaho, Jesse Whitehead. He's one of the few friends of mine whom I could discuss writing with. Though he typically writes fiction and stories, rather than poetry, he was willing to give this poetry format a go; and to my knowledge this was his first time writing poetry. It's a fun little challenge that I hope you all will give a try!
Categories:
mustaches, autumn, beach, change, nature,
Form:
Rengay
The Stone Story
Authored by Chuck Keys
I was staring at a stone today,
it didn't move, it just sat, resting,
relaxed in the warm mid-day sun.
The wind moved around it and it's lazy motionless nearby friends,
effortlessly.
They all looked alike,
maybe they were all family
on vacation
without a worry on their minds
if they had minds.
They didn't or couldn't smile or frown,
no beards or mustaches were visible, clean shaven.
They didn't look hungry or thirsty.
Of course how does a hungry or thirsty stone look?
I could have brought them water or food.
After much further intense thought,
I realized they don't have to worry about clothes
or lack of ...
Do they need clothes? Do they need anything?
Nothing. Nothing, is what they need.
I am envious.
Categories:
mustaches, inspirational, introspection, life
Form:
Free verse
As the rooster crows:
A look in the pool mirrored a perfect mop
At times of frizzy hair or defiant shaggy tresses
Ohhh the satisfaction at the sight
And yabba, dabba, doo!! echoed loud and clear
Triumphant male ego at its best!
A man’s crowning glory
Pulled, cut, brushed, curled, straightened, shaved
Lathered, gelled, creamed and pasted
Soaked in fragrant Makassar oil
Invigorator, conditioning both groom and style.
Macho, gentle, sweet, daring tastes
Side-partings, medium, undercut and long
Sporting pony-tails, short back and sides
Elvis and James Dean quiffs curled kiss-me-quicks,
Punk, Mohawk, flamboyant fringes
Highlights and lowlights, sprays and blow-dries!
All part and parcel of male vanity and crowning glory.
Heckles from the henhouse:
As some men grow older they shed hair.
Each day they seek strands that were once there,
But skin patches widen --
Just check out Joe Biden.
Prepare to shut eyes in the bright glare.
A comb-over seems like a good plan,
But ladies don’t flock to a con man.
With 10 hairs remaining,
A “crown” they are feigning.
What happens when strands face a wind fan?
No reason for men to grow manic;
Mustaches and beards can work magic,
Diverting attention
Without the pretension
That balding is simply too tragic.
The “rug” method’s just too expensive,
Espec’ly when loss is extensive.
Like Telly Savalas,
The outcome’s not callous --
Few women find baldness offensive!
*Many thanks to Paul Callus for inviting me to join in this co-write.
Categories:
mustaches, hair, humor,
Form:
Verse
Impetuous stems
Reaching out early in a quest for sun
Impatient to reveal their lavender glory
Spring harbingers
Emanate golden mustaches on cheerful faces
Showing a sense of humor
*Entry for Carol's "Flowers of Spring" contest
Categories:
mustaches, nature, seasons
Form:
Acrostic
.
frosted mustaches----
ICE blanketing miles of lake
drilling fishing holes
.
Categories:
mustaches, seasons
Form:
Haiku
Remembering in my Parents’ Prime
========================
Ah! This snowy still night, at bedtime;
Reminds me of the picnic pictures,
I as a boy would imagine,
Dad and mom must have had a great time
In icy Gulmarg.
Raising her veil, slightly smiling and awfully shy,
A classic Kashmiri countrywoman.
He as a sixties-seventies Bollywood actor,
Clean-shaven, twirled his mustaches,
Dresses in a long woolen coat and tie.
And I in her lap with a scowly face
Seeing at the photographer,
With my finger in my mouth
And, belly half-naked.
Categories:
mustaches, parents,
Form:
Free verse
What child is this?
Stepping down to a semi dark tavern
with an empty bottle at the age of five
to be filled with ruby red wine,
fascinated by farmers sitting
at a rustic table, darkened by time
laughing and eating through
thick mustaches, perfect teeth,
smelling of garlic and wine?
Sitting in a bus and being startled
by a woman gone berserk
on hearing little traveler was alone
on her way to visit grandma
on the Trevico mountain.
Little did she know smarty was a regular!
And the locked farm gate, little spider climbed
and opened from inside?
What child is this? A much loved child
by a lioness mother and a father who,
when teacher said she couldn’t handle English,
he answered: “She can do anything!”
First Place: L Milton Hankins-Story From Your Childhood-12/10/20
Second Place: Craig Cornish-What child Is This-10/18/17
Categories:
mustaches, childhood,
Form:
Free verse
With weapons in his room he cannot much stay
Alone with his decision to blow up an Embassy:
He was desperate for a last blues of the new day;
Recently known on net, a girl from Tennessee
Wrote him how politicians body floats dead in the river:
Obsessive thought and hate was ready for risky tomorrow,
Love and Tennessee whisky were ready to be delivered;
Drawing mustaches and glasses, Pravda News might grow:
Come from Damascus, they don`t know the text better than us;
Her smile and his last cigar could start the new world war:
Under stars, they move in the night of their own choice, thus
The last Czar would meet a Tennessee girl somewhere, far:
Suddenly, tenderly she entered that Embassy: I am Miss Hope…
Her peaceful eyes would keep him like tied with a magical rope.
Categories:
mustaches, education, hope, peace, violence,
Form:
Sonnet
This house
older
than the cave man
gave shelter
to five generations
of loggerheads
confederate dudes
with mustaches
out of frame
Under the staircase
the skeleton
of another Scarlet
with the skull
riddled from bullets
because she went
with the handsome miller
next door
A case for CSI
Cold case
FBI
instead
outside
the demolition
crew
and the antiquary
of course
a jew...
Categories:
mustaches, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Dark skies prevailing
Rain puddles icing over
Jack Frost clamping down
Sweaters change to coats
Canopies falling like snow
Crystals flake windshields
Arctic winds howling
Blizzard skating upon us
Prepare to shovel
Mustaches frozen
Watery eyes show the chill
Sore noses galore
August 25, 2016
Categories:
mustaches, autumn, change, winter,
Form:
Haiku
Down on one's luck
Down to my last food stamp
The luck of the draw,
As luck would have it - I have no luck at all!
Don't draw lines in the sand
Draw funny looking mustaches
On the photos of your enemies!
Comb through any and all public trashes
For better chances at finding rarer photographs
To draw even funnier looking mustaches...
...You'd be surprised to find
How quickly the time passes by...
...Protest endlessly
In the unending rain
Bundle up
- Or catch your death, again!
Cheat the odds - One more time!
Share the last laugh
With everyone else, so long as you possibly can!
Radicalize the neighborhood children,
Socialize the neighborhood wildlife
- Split with the Neighborhood Watch
Over irreconcilable differences
- Concerning children and wildlife...
...Don't throw so many stones
At all of those glass police officers
- Instead of being so violently useless:
Use those stones to build glassless homes...
...Or I doubt any of us
Will be living long enough
To see the days of a classless world!
Categories:
mustaches, anxiety, depression, history, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
I AM A HERO
BLACK
Are you my kryptonite
To battle the powers that be
Discrimination, political
Spirituals warfare
Sadly my powers that be ruled over me
I AM A HERO
WHITE Are you my kryptonite
White supremacy, skinned heads
Wounded knees
Shaved cold stoned hearts
Sadly my powers that be ruled over me
I AM A HERO
NATIVE AMERICAN what tribe am I
And where am I, Are you my kryptonite
Rich men never poor again fighting rising TAXES
What a shame
This disclaimer
Black Panthers in the jungles
Just getting stronger;
Poverty clashes
Fake rented mustaches
Seasoned hick
Country kicks
All run away, no where to stay to each his own way
Just ain’t right to be individual heroes see none are right…
Sadly my powers that be ruled over me
HERO AM I
Lo, I be creeping in the night…
I KRYPTONITE
1/30/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
January 28, 2020 Assignment
Written for class assignment (WIPS) North Omaha Writers Group (NOW)
Categories:
mustaches, analogy, anxiety, corruption, discrimination,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I see you laughing at yourself,
Mocking your own pain,
Drawing horns and mustaches
on top of your own name.
You move just like a cartoon,
Kicking up the dust behind you.
A parody of A-hole,
I want to see the play.
Hilarious in that style,
trying to look scary.
Make them smarter. Does it work?
I bet some like it anyway.
Categories:
mustaches, friend, funny, hero, humorous,
Form:
Lyric
It erosion my thought to Tyson bouts molded me to who I am today. Acid liquid rocks the precocious cockroaches disguising under the shade of table waiting to hit the night dinner. Sweeping smoke to mugs shape, water trickle wet my mustaches pointing to the sea, promising the land to germination, eggs aroma no iota of hope.
Piss shackles the thought to turkey’s luminaries; the weather hurts my feeling blood gushes in my veins to vehement. The brain rays thought to the dark wings to the rats poke sound spree ears to earthworms early in the morning to the months of rain downtown shout to the soot color.
My mind keeps crunching the sound of carapace of my feeling bleed to bulldozer exploding deplorable condition. I plant thinking to national center to sister scent, I accent bright smile to weep sad mind to minutes talk.
I hop on the tree to share it fruits, the thought canopies whole night on the face of whore to hooliganism. I eat the ripe fruits on my ribs rescinding pelvic monopoly want on the mountainous thinking wets the wrap. Cigar in the mouth of notorious King collides to the Oxygen through the follicles thrill me.
Categories:
mustaches, beautiful, blessing, change,
Form:
Ballad
we trim their hair, necks, noses, and mustaches too
They come on Saturday morning, when the mail is due
we hear their stories, they gossip about their farms and such
we like our regulars, and we hear so much!
only one gives us a tip we try to get him
Categories:
mustaches, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse