Best Shaven Poems
I grew a beard
while waiting for you
it looks more and more
like I'll never get through
My left ear was aching
I switched to my right
This perpetual holding
has no end in sight
I wish I'd have noticed
before such great cost
that your phone number spells out
800-GET-LOST
Though I pressed '1' for English
I am thinking now
pressing '12' for Braille
might work better somehow
My friends have all passed on
my children have grown
while I have been sitting here
holding this phone
Your toll-free number
is anything but
with pulse-pounding migraine
and a pain in my butt
Yes, I was clean shaven
when this number I called
but now I'm all wrinkled
and dammit I'm bald!
My bones they will find
still sitting right here
the telephone clenched
where once was my ear
And your endless recording
monotonous, dull
will be amplified through
my cold empty skull
Categories:
shaven, funny, humorous, parody, technology,
Form:
Rhyme
August wind, glass moon,serendipity...
two chairs gazing at each other in tender flow.
Hundred miles away, clouds gather
to fondle the opening and closing
of after- midnight refrains,
both trespassing a continental divide
to awaken upon scrolls of ramblings
united by the sorcery of mystic spaces
between humid lenses.
On such lit evenings, I will surrender
to the maleness of a trembling heart ;
your cheeks swollen like yeast…a shaven head,
the blue of your shirt buried in my cellar
unbuttoning the heaving pauses
between the nearness of our skin…
Chairs grind in wanton anticipation of palms
touching my hair… you whisper,
“ I adore you beyond words.”... and I; I falter
while a glint climbs into the almond of my Oreo eyes…
The scent of hours lingers as we wrap our fingers
into morn, owning a body language in play of charades…
Your mouth hushed, searching the curves of my spine
glazed by soft bites of an August wind
brushing our lips…until the slide screen fades off,
and we are dissolved into a paradise inhabiting
unborn stars. In raw enchantment, our warmed glances
wait for a next time, as if a tarot of angels
had known about serendipity.
PD's Best Love Poem # 3
Categories:
shaven, magic, romance,
Form:
Free verse
Sitting with her now
Watching
How did she get so old?
How did I get so old?
So many pills
Green, blue, white, red, yellow, orange
All kinds of shapes
Round, oval, oblong – big and small
A tackle box with markings
Monday through Sunday
We talk and laugh . . . then
A knock on the door!
I’ll get it
A police officer – young, clean shaven
As I open the door
I jokingly yell . . . He’s here to arrest you mom!
Sir, I do need to speak with your mother. . .
What, Oh . . . come in
Mrs. Meade, did you hit another car?
Her face showed confusion, concern . . . fear
With a trembling voice . . . No officer, I dd i d not
I followed the young man to the garage
A scrape, red paint, a missing mirror
My heart sank
Thinking to myself – is she lying?
Or does she not realize what she has done?
Does it matter?
The time has come . . .
As I hug this frail old woman
Shoulders shaking, tears soaking my shirt
I whisper in her ear
Do not fear . . . everything will be OK . . . . I love you
Standing there I realized
Our roles had changed
Come my darling
It is time for you to live with us
Happy Mother’s day
I do love you!
David Meade
May 10, 2015
Love Generously
Categories:
shaven, car, fear, love, mother,
Form:
At last, in the mute of twilight hums
I am possessed with silence shaven,
whiteness of peace touches the breath
melting the morsels of earth’s flesh
from soiled, weary shirts: my unzipped body
dehydrated from needles of toil, soil, boil.
Dear time, be my friend in these hours;
the linens of cells are bathed in morning’s sweat
and raging howls of a day ache for an ounce
honeyed by the balm of a tearing mind...
along blades of sky coasting, faint light
brushes my dreary lips cradled
on a nest like tattered notes unsung.
At last, losing the self to the din
of night half-dark half-light, I cling
to the lingering octave of solitude;
the oneness with my crawling skin
as I release all the pining from the womb,
that in stillness, I taste fresh pulp of life.
For Celebrate Life Contest
Sponsor: Christy Teas Reposted 5/16/2016
Categories:
shaven, change, life,
Form:
Free verse
Stepping Through Time
I
find that
I’m dancing
with a tall man.
Joy floods my soul, for
I am with my hero!
He’s awkward and lanky, but
his arm is strong around my waist.
As he smiles down at me, I recall
people had called him homely. Could they not
see - emanating from his dark eyes -
integrity’s beauty? I dare
touch his shaven face, longing
to tell him how special
he is and how one
day, he will be
wearing a
handsome
beard!
Feb. 5, 2017
for the Stepping Through Time Poetry Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Categories:
shaven, hero,
Form:
Etheree
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:
shaven, inspirational, introspection, life
Form:
Free verse
...She is a ten year old girl.
Her mother?...
...A fine example
for her daughter.
...He is a father a husband.
He was a soldier...
...sent in harms way.
They are a family proud....
...What happened
is everyone's nightmare....
...This brave man
was badly wounded...
while defending his country....
...He survived,
the worse...
a head injury.
Did he give up...
...lie in a bed,
expect to be spoon fed?
No one would of blamed him...
...certainly not me.
He did not give up!
...The heavy fog that now
lays inside his brain...
...is just another battle.
He wins....
...Was he the hero?
Yes most definitely.
Ah but his daughter,
...ten years of wisdom
says this...
"When my daddy walks
he uses my shoulders."
...Her father,
the soldier...head shaven
walks using his daughter young...
...in front of him, to walk
to where he needs to go.
Ah but his daughter...
...ten years of wisdom
says this...
"I love my daddy
he is my hero!"
I see more than
one hero, that young girl
just oozing with love,
that little girl is my hero!
Still in my heart
I hear
"i love my daddy
he is my hero!"
I just want to hug her.
At ten years young
she is a soldiers rock!
12~11~2014
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Contest Name: The Good News Paper
Categories:
shaven, courage,
Form:
Narrative
Perhaps I’m facing pogonophobes?
Apparently wore the wrong face.
Age-hardened wiry wisps forge
post-pubescent platemail -
protect strangers
from my truest fleshy pores, protect me
from the xenophobes of the Winter Conference.
It’s all pitching and coffee breaks
In a hall too grand for these meager mergers
Silent hecklers - likely clean-shaven -
likely Twitter-blasting about
an awkward pitch
and bitterness.
A beard grows opacity over my ebullient disinterest,
feigns sophistication amidst sophists,
and harbors microbes – an entire ecosystem –
Bored, I wonder;
Do they hold conferences as well?
Share stories around a follicle?
How uncomfortable
the itch of capitalism,
This profit pilgrimage
huddles us together
for that sickness to spread.
Free meals, networking with the estranged -
connect vacuously over downed drinks
and political action.
Shallow words spread thick
on the biological superhighway
bacterium feast freely.
The Winter Conference;
a microscopic windfall.
CONTEST ANNOTATION:
I’ve attempted to employ alliteration (‘post-pubescent platemale’), ambiguity (‘…for that sickness to spread’), double entendre (‘free meals’ and ‘bacterium feast freely’), imagery (‘my truest fleshy pores’, ‘Age-hardened wiry wisps’), paradox (‘ebullient disinterest’, ‘networking with the estranged’), and parallelism (‘likely clean-shaven – likely Twitter-blasting’). Not sure I’ve nailed every aspect of these devices - love the contest format as a way to force us in new directions!
Categories:
shaven, business, people, sick, society,
Form:
Free verse
It is the evening I have waited for,
stiletto heels three inches high adorned my feet,
real nylons hung from garters beneath a
skin tight, leather skirt of maraschino cherry-red.
A blouse of white silk, with a cascade of ruffles,
played peek-a-boo with my décolletage.
Outdoors, the rain pounded the asphalt
making the reality of his arrival even more bizarre.
A Harley barrels into the driveway.
Apparently, he thinks
he is Marlon Brando
and I am Stella?
I stand on the porch, a black umbrella
covering my new do, and watch as he
saunters through the puddles on the concrete walk.
The color of the umbrella my only
non-incongruent element in the frame, the scene made.
His smile was like a box of Chiclet's
on his clean shaven face.
He kisses me.
I lick the raindrop
from the tip of his Roman nose
and take hold of his Russian fingers.
He tosses my umbrella on the porch,
throws his black leather jacket over my shoulders,
lifts me off my feet, and carries me to the bike.
The sun breaks through the clouds and the rain stops,
just in time for the neighbors to glare at the sight of my legs
reflecting on the bikes chrome work.
Shake their respective heads
and donate a few wolf whistles.
Categories:
shaven, lust,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I brew sunsets in teapots
I drink the dawn from a mug
and in my bicycle basket I have seduction in a jug
so now and then I take someone clean shaven home to my obliging bed
when I guess I should sit quietly pristine,
with my legs crossed instead
but each day is so fragile
they black out every evening in the west
and all I got is these frail minutes
and I only want to live them, as if they were a fest.
© Gry W Christensen
Categories:
shaven, celebration, freedom, happiness, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Not a true Choka...but uses a 5,7,7,5,7,7 format
-------------------------------------------------
Chill, steaming vapour;
Silence over pale water;
Faded, thin wisps of ribboned
Pink
Above the east gate;
I dip oars...and silence
Breaks.
Trace of flame in lilac sky.
Raise, lean, dip and pull;
Sculling forward little
Twirls
Swirl away from dripping
Blades;
Uplifted soul -- soaring!
Remembering how, when young...
Each new day would bring
New hope.
Extends the shoreline --
Sweeping inwards at the
Point;
Green bulrushes in the bay;
A bittern booming:-
Rising up like slow thunder
Drifting out of jade mountains.
My busied childhood,
Hidden pate not yet shaven;
Shrimping with a fine mesh
Net;
Loud, boyish laughter;
Brimming jars crammed with
Sunbeams --
The golden, darting minnows.
Horizon widens,
Shadow retreats from low
Hills;
Gathering orb comforts me;
Selfsame warm comfort
When held by sleepy women
In cold grey of early dawn.
The vaguest murmur,
Faint as drowsy breathe,
Of the soundings of dim chimes...
A call to prayer?
Hands hard-clenched on the
Staid oars;
Restrained by yesteryear.
Categories:
shaven, fate, life, loneliness, longing,
Form:
Choka
A wind, sharp and cold
Leaves the trees shaven,
Of such colors bold
Yet, in my mind are graven
Come November days
Less sunlight remains,
Where it stayed and plays
Filtering, as it drains
Through amber waves
Leaving my heart warm,
In my memory saves
Before the first snowstorm
Be it white by morning
No more gold and red,
Be it winter's warning
That autumn is almost dead
Come November nights
Stiffened by the chill,
The dappled sunlights
Cling to my soul still.
Categories:
shaven, autumn, light, nature, november,
Form:
Rhyme
My Marie, wasted so much time watching
Sat behind your image, I always wondered
Type me another picture, so I can look inside your head
Reach the final thread
When all the words are said and done
And times we have no longer fun
Please remember how it all begun
Cause no one won, no one won
My Marie, did you really think I’d change
Become your love, rearrange my life to suit your soul
Could we really be such fools
Expect to change the rules forever
When all the words are said and done
And times we have no longer fun
Please remember how it all begun
Cause no one won, no one won
My Marie, another picture in another place
Dirty talk, dirty sleaze
Lousy love that didn’t please
High class b****h , f*****g tease
When all the words are said and done
And times we have no longer fun
Please remember how it all begun
Cause no one won, no one won
My Marie, dressed to thrill, stocking tops where guys would kill
Pink champagne upon your breasts
Trickling down your shaven nest
Sighs to screams, frenzied pace
Champagne and love, the sultry taste
When all the words are said and done
And times we have no longer fun
Please remember how it all begun
Cause no one won, no one won
My Marie, we fight goodbye
Mocking insults, tears to cry
Words like daggers deep inside
Daggers deep inside
Goodbye, Marie, our time has come
The pictures running dry
Sat behind your image, I always wondered why
One day I was feeling all alone
Felt so really down
Remembered a pair of lacy pants
And put them to my brow
Champagne and scent came flooding back, and time began to clear
For a fleeting moment I had you
And then you weren't there.
Categories:
shaven, desire, drug, sensual, woman,
Form:
Free verse
shaven upstart girl
tongue moving around,quivers
lipping her essence
Categories:
shaven, passion,
Form:
Haiku
There are those who heedlessly follow the crowd
There are also a few who singularly continually do not
Some of these do it to be different, while some just are
They dance to their own voice, hear a different drummer
It is not at all easy to be different, it has its price
Some think the journey worth it, others soon capitulate
Now when you are different, if you are a deep thinker
Then sometimes you may even question your own reasoning
For some through life, it is a continual questioning why
Why am I so different, why do I always have to do what I do
Others don’t not give a stuff, they simply do what they want
For some, life makes them different, without even asking
Some different in looks, in circumstance, mind or body
Others so unique, making discoveries conquering the unknown
Some even take their difference and turn them into sheer evil
They take our world and fill it with non- conforming haters
They are people who believe that all must sing to their tune
They want to sway the populace to their ways of non-conformity
And in their non -conformity to the norm, it turns into conformity
Sub-cultures are formed to get away from the traditional values
Goth, Metal head, pieced tongues, shaven heads, and dread hawks
All eventually without even realizing it living in total compliance
The non- conformist therefore has to be a loner not a group culture
To be different is to be true to oneself and stand there out on a limb
This is a hard road to travel, and certainly not one that is easy to tread.
Categories:
shaven, introspection,
Form:
Free verse