Best Sideburns Poems
Have you heard about my renowned uncle, Gladys
Who by sexual makeup had an Aunt’s status.
Well, he or she, you can use whatever you want;
Like I just said, this uncle is loosely an aunt.
Anyways, she had to remove all her mirrors,
Since she said, each of them made too many errors.
She claimed that they never reflected her splendor;
While we thought, they couldn’t decide on a gender.
In any case, she seemed a hallucination,
But Aunty was more of an amalgamation.
And if you dared to ask most people’s opinion,
They’d say she was pieced from the animal kingdom.
She smiled like a jackal and grinned like a badger,
And her lips resembled those of a fly catcher.
Her frizzy head of hair, was pin-striped like a skunk’s,
And her mammoth nose swung like an elephant’s trunk.
Her eyes were as piercing as that of a boa,
Or any old reptile collected by Noah.
We played with her sideburns that were like Wolverines’,
Although our moms made sure we got extra vaccines
See, Gladys had kindness in a strong manly way,
With her big old bear hug that could crush a Steinway.
We must admit, Gladys had some fine attributes,
That may show up some day in oddball film tributes.
To be shown nationwide for the weird and plucky,
But my cousins and I would still think it’s yucky.
Anyhow, it’s time to stop picking on Gladys,
By switching over to her only son, Alice.
David Fisher, 11/22/14, iambic hexameter,
For Giorgio's contest
Categories:
sideburns, family, funny,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
remember these rich kids
who moved from downtown
Manhattan,
after the towers fell,
out into the uncharted territories of
Bushwick & those regions of
Brooklyn, which had once been
lined with 3 story houses (or fewer)
& whose skyline one could
see over,
when stores, music venues &
cheeseball clubs were
closer to the exception than the rule,
when there were genuine poor people
who dressed the way that they could
afford,
when these mungo hipsters
didn’t plague the land like the
rats that come squealing out from
beneath the garbage bags piled up
outside their loft buildings,
remade factories, which now serve
as high income palaces
with the guise of low income &
the sprawl of fake-poor in the land of
the
cool.
these hipsters would bump from
thrift store to thrift store,
shopping with mommy & daddy’s money
(now safe from the downtown “terrorist
threats”)
in order to look like they were straight from
the 1970’s, like corduroy everything
was somehow a part of the 21st century,
like sideburns were the way of the
future---
parading with pocketbooks full of cash
which would allow them to frequent the
sushi bars that had sprung up or
pop from expensive café to expensive café
without a second thought
about the same exact dream that they all had
followed,
from the white picket fences in the suburbs of
bumble**** wherever,
to transplant themselves into the
dumpster diving
“soul” searching
snot nosed brats
that lit the fuse for gentrification
all over what used to be
Brooklyn.
Categories:
sideburns, life,
Form:
Free verse
My childhood memories of the 1970s in England
Flared trousers
Platform shoes
Long hair, sideburns, beards
Abba and beautiful Agnetha
Raleigh Chopper
The Exorcist
Open shirts
Lava lamps
John Travolta and Olivia Newton John
Starsky and Hutch and Charlie’s Angels
Star Wars
Decimal currency
Three piece suits, long collared blouses
Hendrix, Callas, Elvis and Bolan die
Carry on films with Sid James
Brut and Hai Karate
David and Angie Bowie
Margaret Thatcher
Workers strikes
Jack Horne for Nette's TwentyNet contest
Categories:
sideburns, nostalgia
Form:
Verse
Flower children
colors galore
summer concerts- screaming crowds
warm beaches - California girls
surfin boys
music- noise
long hair
colored skirts
sideburns long- shirts off
blue jeans - bare feet
people power
world peace
swirling psychedelic colors- smoking magic mushrooms
the power of love- world message
entranced by the magical journey
musical bands- rock and roll hot
crowds screaming- English invasion
girls swooning- songs rockin'
flower power
sixties blast
twentynet-60's
Phyllis Babcock
Categories:
sideburns, social, world, flower, flower,
Form:
Verse
The 50’s are special to me
Started High School in ‘52
Wore shrink tight jeans and cowboy boots
Long hair ducktails and sideburns too
Rock and Roll music was “the thing”
Meet your buddies with a high five
The girls started looking good to me
That’s when bop dancing came alive
Buddy Holly, Little Richard
Elvis Presley and the rest
I’d listened to them all the time
Soon Bebop music was the best
Got a job at the Trading Post
Learned to drive and got my first car
Fender skirts and a necking knob
And a muffler that sounded bazaar
Then girls suddenly caught my eye
Double dates to the drive-in movies
Smooching when parked on lover’s lane
A French kiss was something groovy
Out of college in ‘59
And from then right up to today
When I think about the 50’s
I just grin, what else can I say?
Categories:
sideburns, nostalgia, music, music, high
Form:
Quatrain
My life's been fine without you -- really has.
A Belgian bar has opened in the square,
and weekends, we do beer and tapas there,
then Malcolm and Elaine's place, for some jazz
and Jamieson's. May in Cortes -- what a blast!
Right now, I'm growing sideburns! Summer hols,
we'll all dress up as bandits and their molls!
I've never laughed so much. Who needs the past?
Yet sometimes, when the lake frowns in the rain,
or April squalls tug blossoms from the trees,
I think of you. This sadness preordained,
like plane trees pollarded, proud amputees
shorn of their plumes, emerges, stark and strange:
and I know then. Some things will never change.
Categories:
sideburns, romantic,
Form:
Sonnet
Peace and love lots of slang man
I'm feeling groovy tonight
I was a flower child still stand
wishing we could all unite
although they protested
in their maxi dresses
and were getting arrested
I would've avoided those messes
mag wheels and jacked up cars
green shaggy carpet
matching kitchen appliances with bars
long hair and sideburns artists
silver trees color wheels
did glow with their stacks
mini-skirts flashing appeals
burning bras with bare backs
just to experience how it feels
custom vans with daisies
parents with wigs toupees
rose colored glasses not crazies
an era that never went out fun days
Categories:
sideburns, change, history, identity, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
There once was a crooner with sideburns
Whose lips howled and hips churned as he turned
His first name was Elvis
They called him "The Pelvis"
Until the day he flamed out, crashed and burned
Jimi Hendrix sure wowed 'em at Woodstock
Created a new form of acid-rock
He performed Purple Haze
In a drug-induced daze
Star-Spangled Banner in permanent shock
And lest we forget Janis Joplin
Whose songs really kept her fans hoppin'
She went on a spree
With Bobby McGee
Then she OD'd, which ended her boppin'
These three heroes all met similar fates
Thinking themselves immortally great
They took liberties
With their minds and bodies
Canceling their remaining concert dates
Categories:
sideburns, addiction, death, drug, music,
Form:
Limerick
Reserved
By Feo.
In a bar on Avenue A, on the television screen a woman is giving head,
There's couples everywhere, affectionate couples, kissing and drinking together,
I'm at the bar alone waiting for someone who never shows up,
Standing out, cause I'm a writer,
2 minutes I'm told,
Drinking alone, might as well drink at home,
The **** on the screen is old vaudeville and sideburns,
Anarchy in the jukebox, anarchy in my drink,
The bartenders night was made by a regular and company,
I write poems at bars and wait for no company,
Surrounded on the weekend, doing what I could have done alone,
I can't write alone, it's a habit not yet developed,
I'm a habit who tips well.
Categories:
sideburns, desire, emotions, imagination, poetry,
Form:
Verse
He was a rugged looking fellow, black hair cropped a little shorter than most under his
dirty skull cap. His hair graying a little at the sideburns of his beard, betraying his unknown
age. No matter how many times he walked these hills Simon was always awed by their
beauty. This occasion coming back from helping his brother's family in the hill country of
Cyrene with their herd of sheep, was no different. It was usually a quiet and peaceful walk,
accompanied by the sounds of nature and the occasional distant sounds of bells tingling from
the necks of wayward sheep.
This time as he neared the city, it was different. There was noise and lots of it. A crowd
of people slowly making their way up a worn dusty trail , disturbing the usual peace with
jeering, crying , cursing and drunken yelling. He could hear it echoing across the rock strewn
hills. This certainly had a feeling of impending doom about it. His curiosity peaking, he
veered his course in that direction and broke his way through the chaos of the crowd to see
what it was all about.
It was as he feared...an execution…Roman style. The man bent in travail under the
heavy cross beam was a bloody mess. They must have really hated this one! It was hard to
imagine what he could have done to deserve this. His clothes were torn and bloody. You
couldn’t see the features of his face because of too much blood oozing from the basket
looking mesh of thorns jabbed into his skull and tangled in his hair.
Apparently this poor culprit couldn’t take it any more and fell.. hard ..into the dust and
rocks of the path with the cross beam pinning him down. Simon was struck dumb with all the
hate and sorrow concentrated here so close to the holy city. He turned quickly in disgust to
leave this man made hell when an armored guard poked the handle of a spear into his ribs
and yelled at him to help the convict! He hurriedly picked up the beam allowing the poor man
to get to his feet and continue with the morbid procession.
----- continued in part 2
Categories:
sideburns, faith, historyhair,
Form:
Narrative
Then the guns roared!! and it was hard to distinguish the
Hush from the roaring; the two seemed almost
Indistinguishable.
Was it the roaring, I wondered, or was it the hush that was
The more fragile?
In truthfulness I was disappointed when I got home and
Watched more of the same on the telly.
The British army is not what it was I have to say; the
Gun-Salutes did not appear to be well orchestrated to my way
Of thinking -- left one feeling all rather...unsatisfied.
Gone are the days of bright red tunics, golden buttons and
Tall, glossy white hats; and gone the long stylish sideburns...
How magnificent those lads must have looked on the march.
Gone also the days of the glorious campaigns. The valiant
Battles. The desperate, heroic actions defending some hopeless
Situation or some far-flung outpost that was deserving only
Of camel dung and fleas...and certainly wasn't for the lack of
Thanks we only ever got! ...same now for the Yanks I suppose.
But glory fades along with the ages...just as our long-gone
Age sank, ages back, into the fullest, mellow glow of the
Whistling scythe's last Harvest Moon.
For I am unapologetically an English man; and will die as
Lizzie died...
As English as sausage, egg, chips and peas.
And to hell with those who decry Empire and Nation Building.
We saved the best of it, and created many a Sovereign State
Out of nothing but mud and straw.
Lately I have pondered, that perhaps we sucumbed to what was
A natural culmination of too lofty an ambition?
Or maybe it was nothing more than a simple case of
Over-acheiving?
And if so, how do we arrive by the 'Grace of God' to all that?...
Could it be an inevitable fate which was pre-ordained?
But for the fact we had good glue we should have come unstuck
Many a long year ago;
But good glue we got...and still more to come I might wager.
Tomorrow, no doubt, the crowds will line the hilly miles;
And later we will have our pomp and ceremony...
But what has gone comes but once.
Then the whole world will watch, gawking, when an entire
Race holds up their hands as a hurting child reaching up
For the comforting arms of their firecely protective Mummy.
Categories:
sideburns, appreciation,
Form:
Free verse
Ghost in the living Room
This night, my abode is filled with absolute silence
And from the living room, the sound of loud banging on the floor
I am living in a neighborhood of crime and violence
So at about two am, I get out of bed; the robber and the poor
Transported, I stand in the doorway, astonishment on my face
Entire room, there is brilliant light as bright as day
In this vision, everything seem out of place
This paranormal event, leaves me astounded, nothing to say
Standing sideways in front of the fish tank, is a young man
And I wonder what brings him here
With outstretched hand and a bronze sun tan
Maybe he is from a far distance to bring me fear or cheer
About twenty-two years old; I stare at him intently still
Thin, light sideburns, mustache and curly black hair
Is this spirit trying to break my will?
He is dressed ; he is about to go to work somewhere
I look at him; he never turns to look at me
He is full of confidence and so secure
Is he an angel from a star? I never once think to set him free
Am I the one who has caused him to make this tour?
Without any fear or trembling in my soul
I just look at him and turn away
This apparition does not terrify nor make me cold
Being not afraid, I slowly move back to sleep where I stay
William Morrissey 3/04/07
Categories:
sideburns, mystery, me, light, fear,
Form:
Rhyme
orwell’s moustache: PART I
the father of big brother
whose face can be found on the cover of
animal farm or nineteen eighty-four,
his two most popular literary achievements---
he stares back at us with a moustache---
a pencil moustache that seems to be grown
thicker than a No. 2,
so, maybe we could call it a magic marker moustache
or perhaps a Sharpie moustache---
regardless, a man has to wonder what inspires other men,
most importantly,
geniuses of an age,
to sport these little rats upon their lip.
orwell must have always looked to his relatives
on the occasion of any gathering
to be constantly holding his upper lip inside his mouth
as if anxious to say something or
conversely,
wanting to keep quiet (so much so that he needed to
button it).
and though he has not been remembered for his choice in
facial hair aesthetics,
one cannot deny that the impulse to grow a little rat on the
face hasn’t ceased as the years have passed---
still amidst the men on the streets,
the chevrons move to & fro as the wind blows, the
fu manchus decorate fight clubs across the nation, the
lampshades & walruses & painter’s brushes all can be
excused for keeping some men warm during cold months,
but not many don the toothbrush anymore,
since a certain german homicidal maniac drove it out of
style
round the middle of the last century.
all these men don’t find the maintenance of a moustache to be
a problem---for if they were just lazy, letting the beard go like
the rest of us,
then they’d be able to say that they just didn’t get around to it---
but the fact remains, there are men
who make the effort to shave round that thin thin line that
traces the jaw, extending from the sideburns to the
chin (like the fat guy from smash mouth)---
and whether they are trying to attract a woman or a man,
they are making a statement to us all---
that there is something to be said for leaving a little rat
on one’s face.
Categories:
sideburns, life, men, men,
Form:
Free verse
Sassy sobriquets schooled sissy spindleshanks...
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sing,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning smartass,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
Categories:
sideburns, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Please don't say Vegas.
We're halfway between Durban and Bloem',
so don't say Vegas, okay ?
Thankfully you found a way, reluctantly,
to settle on the right answer
without saying it out loud.
All the way to the beach,
so I hopped in, and I didn't laugh.
I introduced myself
and for an awkward moment
you introduced neither
yourself nor that guy you wanted to be.
Perhaps you didn't want to introduce
yourself, anonymous as me.
And you didn't need to introduce him,
how could I possibly not know his name ?
Then, after a moment of that,
you introduced him anyways.
It would be a long, silly drive.
You said it. Your voice was not unconvincing,
you had it pretty much down.
You actually said the name,
as if you wanted us both to believe it
but knew that neither of us did.
I'd never seen sideburns so thick,
or hair so black and slick,
the sunglasses looked the part too.
The rest of it was not as flamboyant
as The King would have wanted it to be.
I was friendly and nice
and made sure not to laugh,
but we both knew the truth,
and I really wanted
to be far from Bloem' today.
16th August 2018
Categories:
sideburns, people,
Form:
Free verse