Best Unshaven Poems
The cares of the world waft away like
the vague images of a forgotten dream
when he climbs into bed beside me.
And my comfort is found in the warmth
of a slight up-curved smile relaxing across
an unshaven face tickling me with a
hundred kisses as I squeal to his delight.
A calloused hand urges the small of
my back gently forward as I fuss in
mock protest of his boyish game.
His eyes gleam indulgently making my
heart swell with such regard I
choke back joyful tears and throw
my arms possessively around him.
With a knowing sigh he draws me in,
cradling me in his capable arms
sworn to provide and protect.
Then he buries his face in my copper-red
hair breathing its henna scent, and
holding me tight, he whispers my name,
swearing love that will never relent.
Categories:
unshaven, husband, love, me, romance,
Form:
Free verse
Perhaps I was half asleep.
I always felt drowsy at night.
I sensed her warm body snuggling near me.
She put her head on my shoulders.
Her cuddles sent me to seventh heaven.
I only hoped she did not mind
The stubble on my unshaven face.
Still I was elated when as I felt
Her smooth downy face next to mine.
How fragrant was her exquisite hair,
I guessed it resembled a Soleil Neige,
An elegant and mesmerising perfume.
I took a deep breath, indulging
In its fruity nectar…so I opened my eyes.
Only to see an empty bed and a lumpy pillow.
Categories:
unshaven, love,
Form:
Free verse
Grandpa
a kind face
skin leathery and creased from years of working in the sun
long jowls like a basset hounds
sad droplet eyes
always a slight aroma of beer
brown wrinkled callous palms
dirt-stained fingernails were evidence of an old man’s toil
a blue plaid shirt now ashen from wear
a tall man
always unshaven with scrapes of gray hair that would scratch you un-mercifully if he asked for a hug
he walked with shoulders hung and bowed over as if broken
that of a man who had known the burdens of inequality all his life
the kindness in his eyes reflected a graceful acceptance of his fate
his tears masked a rage and unforgiveness for the destiny of his children
late afternoons he would sit out yonder under a huge black gum tree
a blackened wood briar pipe a pack of red man chewing tobacco and a can of snuff beside him
one jaw always popped out as the tobacco had to sit just long enough before it was time to spit
he would sit in that shaded spot for hours on end
up till sunset most days
always staring intently at something out there
was it memories from his past
or perhaps the dreams of a past that someone stole
eventually, grandma would call out to him
Henry where you be?
he would always reply
after awhile
I’m just there…
I never understood what that meant before
Until now
Categories:
unshaven, grandfather, grandmother, memory,
Form:
Free verse
The little imp bawled lustily
as it lay in its perambulator
there by the water fountain
in a secluded garden
right in the middle of a concrete jungle,
disturbing my elevated thoughts
that churned and churned inside my mind
on how to kill those pesky flies
that infested my rundown abode.
It was no use for me
to kick any brilliant idea around,
so long as that pesky brat
disturbed the silence all around.
Why even the doves stopped cooing
and other birds stopped chirping,
whilst most decided that 'twas best
to search for a quieter place.
So I walked up to his comely nurse
sitting contentedly on a bench
and scratching my unshaven face
I quite politely asked
why the little cherub cry so much!
She looked me up and down
and down and up, no doubt
disgusted by what she discerned.
"Maybe he's seeing a devil,"
she replied, cooing at the cherub
that made its bright new pram
quiver with yelping wails.
"Or maybe he's thirsty,"
scathingly I replied.
Cherub my foot, I thought.
And sighing I slowly repaired
back to my solitary bench
and thought and thought on
how I could kill those parasites
that bothered me as much
as that little cherub in the pram.
Categories:
unshaven, child, cry,
Form:
Free verse
Its the arthritic loving hands round the stubborn slipper
a dry kiss in the morn an unshaven face touching mine
the window seat with a view that makes the heart stir
love is many things to many people and that is fine
It can be a single rose, placed gently on the sham
or a smile on the lips that says " I know where you live "
its friends its strangers its blood line members and fam
love is many things to many people and that is fine
Years of belonging to the one that sprinkles the sun
a little cereal, a cup of tea, or so much of his shine
love is an emotion an action, its never on the run
love is many things to many people and that is fine
Two souls that skate around each other for a lifetime
Two hearts that bind together in the solvency of time.
March 15, 2019
Categories:
unshaven, appreciation,
Form:
Sonnet
The Secret
Blood red eyes
Tears flowing down unshaven cheeks
Lungs straining for breath
Holding in words that should be spoken
The pain becomes unbearable
As the darkness gathers around
The loneliness fills the soul
No one to talk to
No one to share a secret with
Senses die in the dark
Unaware of what is around
Smiles are nonexistent
Even with the good news of the secret
There is nothing but black
Someday the secret will be known
The smiles will come with the light
But for now it remains hidden in the dark
Not shared with loved ones
Just a secret waiting to be told
Categories:
unshaven, angst, confusion, depression
Form:
Free verse
On a train going south on business
For what seemed an eternity,
I chanced upon a memorable man
Who changed the path of my destiny
He was itinerant to look at
With tatty coat and shabby shoes,
An unshaven face, his hair unkempt
And string, as a belt on his ‘trews’
He boarded the train, peoples heads dropped
For fear that his gaze they’d meet
He walked down the aisle, disappointed,
As no-one would give up a seat
I offered the seat beside me
He thanked me for making the space
I replied with a sincere ‘you’re welcome’
And a smile warmed his weathered face
He asked me about my journey
And I asked of his in return
I felt in my heart, that by talking to him
There was much about life I could learn
I bought us both refreshments
As he told of his life’s history,
Once in a while I would interject
With a small anecdote about me
Behind the shabby persona,
Was a man of intelligent mind
He’d lived on the edge in finance,
Made his fortune, left it behind
As his bank account grew he’d lost everything
His family, his friends, his wife
He’d found out, too late, and at great cost
That there was so much more to life
‘You have to stop and smell the roses,
Make some time for those you hold dear’
And as he spoke, down his rugged cheek
I saw the track of a small, salty tear
As we reached the end of our journey
He clasped my hand at our time to part,
He thanked me for my company
And told me I had a good heart
When I got to my lonely hotel room,
I called my daughters on the phone
And told them ‘we’ll be together soon
I’m taking some time off when I get home.’
Sometimes it takes a chance meeting
To give your whole life a shake
I felt I had met my ‘Hermes’
And now had decisions to make
When I got home, I made a decision
The missed years with my girls I’d amend,
My life took a different direction
All down to my indigent friend
You can’t judge a man on appearance
But if you look in their eyes you can,
I knew in the instant I gave up the seat
I had met a remarkable man.
Categories:
unshaven, life, peoplelife, me, time,
Form:
Narrative
Staring in the mirror when I'm down with these scissors I found.
With my wrists out and prescription lids littered around.
I've scribbled out a bitter letter in wicked accounts and written down twisted sentences in crimson.
I drown in no bounds it got me tripping out grouchy for outlets.
Now my hound pulls at my trousers.
When I'm face down drowsy with a mouth full of downers.
I'm pale looking clownish.
I ain't clowning around, see my self esteem floundering.
Out for the count as hells demons seen prowling around me proudly twisting and dancing entrancing.
Slipping away fast last vision left glancing enhanced with a mixture of doubt.
Knowing there's no one to laugh with and be found here alone with a sinister frown.
I've got to get out.
Haunted in this mysterious house that time forgot.
A place where damp rises and shrouded in all types of moss and lichen, rotting with the slime from condensation.
A sodden formed Forrest where I'm under sedation.
A clock work decision I watch myself gazing transfixed on my mission across amazing mazes.
As dreams fade into sight I stay silently praying.
Embracing the night watching day light escaping.
Remain in this safe haven I'm taken away safely remaining unshaken, grey and unshaven, eight shades of my aura shadows the ravens.
The creature with talons and the beak of eagle seen clutching a talisman to defeat it's evil.
I see through people. Phycic and tight lipped.
Leaving hindsight to guide you through life is wisest.
Am I dying or buying my time in this crises like I'm finally deep in abyss.
Analysing my past thinking did I even exist.
Forever with bliss since I slipped away tearful
Surviving myself I won't ever be fearfully trapped in this labyrinth with Pan and he knows me ghostly he came close cosey and held me closely through apocalypse start dropping atom bombs not stopping Babylon.
God got him banished like exhiled angels deep into faranheit heat like my minds a scotch bonnet.
The child of the scorch trials in the maze at night.
Was made strict then was bitten by count
Dracula.
Come the blood sucker parasite cancerous spanning round my brain like the legs of a tarantula.
Tendrils gargantuan.
Attaching the canula straight from the ambulance.
Inserting the catheter.
Wired like capacitors.
Body kept alive with 240 volt adaptors.
Categories:
unshaven, anger, best friend, brother,
Form:
Rhyme
for F. A.
You, in going a little way from yourself
Have gone a long way from my gullible ilk.
« I’m trying hard not to like you, » you said
The breaths of several men surging in your nostrils
And the stench abraded in your flesh :
« You are unshaven. »
You took proper care to remember the right words :
« Why are you so far away, I cannot reach you. »
The ****** you probably tried to fake –
Thanks for the repeated protestations -
Blew all the other exhausted noises through.
« I think it’s all this lack of sleep and all that, » you said
Trapping me with your alien scents.
You have gone away more than a little from yourself.
I have felt and avoided the humiliation in your voice :
« Turn out the lights. I’m afraid
You’d never like me again. »
These are bothersome words.
Only constant repetition make them less wearisome.
One whole week you waited and watched.
One by one you chalked us down.
We fled, not so much from you
As from ourselves, not knowing which
You or the condemned flower to take :
« Why don’t you tell me something about yourself.
I’ve said enough, » you said and came closer
Wraithed in your trapper's overflying airs.
Now that you have prospected a little
Confiscated my intimate thoughts, coaxed my ego
Applied the guileful balms which embolden
A man in bed and made of the future a promise
And turned and sighed like the unwanted thing
Now that you have preyed in my sanctuary
Gazed long in wistful silence my empty shrine
How can I let you go – take my scent
And mix it till it roots in other flesh
And wandering, I’ll not know why someday
I might fret in the company of familiar strangers.
« What about the lad ? » Alone and wishfully loitering
« Oh, let him toss and turn. Why shouldn’t he ?
He’ll write better then, » you said, for once
Rippling the nimble calm embossed on feigning face
That poised flutter of your lips when words you wield
Assume a dextrous innocence
Little wonder then the sensually provoked blushes
Cross-fertilise the loping lurk of your poems.
You in going a little way towards me
Have gone a long way from yourself.
Before you go a little way prospecting
Leave leave a little of yourself in your safe.
©: T. Wignesan, 1965 (from the collection: tell them i'm gone, 1983, rev. 2012)
Categories:
unshaven, girlfriend-boyfriend, words, me, me,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Sadness weeps not for itself
rather from broken windows of a child
where each piece lay by the tracks of despair
where unshaven shadowed men slept in bushes...waiting
to board tomorrow in their continuous circle of failure
it is the broken sidewalk
felt by little feet, through the holes of shoes
one step at a time
the water fountain of white's only
that dripped constantly with hate
the scorched eyes that pierced cotton armor
sewed by a Mother's hand
worn on the body of the bowed head of embarrassment
that walked by pointed fingers of laughter
never accepted, never welcomed
it is the tears that make night longer
the rush of blood following a wounded trail
it is the soldier that fought a hundred fights of respect
and the pounding fist breaking walls
the lonely cry of empty nights
on narrow bridges with a sad moon
counting ripples lapping stones
on the banks of tomorrow
wondering about fate...listening to crows
as they call out the name of darkness
wanting death to appear, without regret
to find a planted stone in an empty field
without footprints...where grass grew
to cover any reason that someone lived
2/12/18
Categories:
unshaven, pain, sad,
Form:
Free verse
He walked slowly by my house,
His face unshaven, expression cold,
It sent chills up my spine to look at him,
And then he turned and gazed at me with eyes so bold.
I wanted to run but I was frozen in place,
My fingers were tingly, my head spinning,
He came slowly up the walk, mouth grinning,
His face looked like a skull as he held up a case.
I could only stand and stare at him,
Wondering what would happen next,
Slowly he came up the steps, holding out his hand,
In those long fingers was a perfect, white rose-I thought I was hexed.
Then he spoke and I thought I would faint,
His voice was like music-melodic and sweet,
"I wanted you to have this was all that he said",
I never knew his name for he was back on the street.
I often wondered if I had seen an angel unaware.
Or if he had come in answer to a prayer,
One thing I know and this is for sure,
The rose that he gave me is still sitting here.
Categories:
unshaven, adventure, confusion, imagination, mystery,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
The Minstrel
In a doorway, squatting, strumming out of tune
There sits a minstrel, gazing whilst he plays
A string of chords, discordant in their mix
Combining all his thoughts of better days.
Unshaven, threadbare, clothed as once he did
Before some unexpected fall from grace,
So now he plays life’s thoughts for all to hear
As passers-by avoid his careworn face.
A flat cap holds a few small copper coins
Reflecting those who understand his plight
And so I cross and place a token too
Acknowledged only by a nod so slight.
His eyes look through me, seemingly to say,
This could be you who's sitting here today.
Categories:
unshaven, people,
Form:
Sonnet
Watching you struggle,
With the demons you hold,
Ignoring the life’s lessons,
And all you’ve been told.
Shuffled and dank,
You appear out of sorts,
Unsteadily perched,
Rocking; back and forth.
Eyes of distain glaring about,
Moans of displeasure,
As if there was doubt.
Selfish, and subtle,
Ingesting such filth,
Silent surrender,
Of body; and will.
Fingernails blackened,
Skin ashen grey,
Unable to determine,
Night time or day.
No hope for the future,
No desire to soar,
Depleted ambition,
Nothing is more.
So sad how it started,
All in good fun,
Unshaven and dirty,
Remnants of,
My son.
Categories:
unshaven, angst, life, loss, son,
Form:
The old man gazed at the sun about to set
And its molten core soon to dissolve in the sea
Scratching his head with tremulous hands
And running his fingers on the stubble of his unshaven face
He held once more tight to his wheel chair
Casually he had a glance at his hands
Those dry, weak and shriveled hands
Gone wrinkled with passing years!
His hands once so busy are now limp
His days once brisk are now long and dull
He noticed the discolored patches on his skin
Under them the lattice of tortuous veins on the dorsum
They run down to join with the bigger ones
Like small rivulets flowing towards larger rivers
He remembered how the streams from summits
So vigorously come down with a gush
Also the noisy cataracts somersaulting down,
Leaving reverberating echoes all around
But they produce only a soft musical sound
As they join with the rivers and pass through plains
And finally end in a kind of hushed stillness
Just before merging with the sea!
The old man philosophized;
Life too is like a river:
Fierce and ferocious when one is young
Gentler and sedate after middle age
And slow and sloppy in old age
With this calm acceptance of the need to de-accelerate
Wrapping himself in the shawl against the growing cold
He turned away from the window.
Pushing his wheel chair,
He moved forward,
Knowing no haste…..
Towards his bed for another night’s tired sleep!
Categories:
unshaven, analogy, grandfather, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Earth is sleeping. It is dreaming in silent
technicolour peaceful and alone, calm and
gentle without the tragic crush of mankind
and its usual stampede. Nature noticed it
slowly - having time to stretch, to breathe,
to open its eyes wide and bright and luscious
away from smoke steam and smog. The sky is blue, clear.
Rivers are lapping, gently. Birds fly above in chorus.
The moon can be seen waving twinkling and white.
Earth is resting its patchwork body, its tissue of
grass and pores made from the exhales of trees.
Its legs are growing hairy, left wild and unshaven.
This time of solitude and watery reflection
is repairing habitats and watering oceans -
replenishing nature, whilst strengthening us.
Categories:
unshaven, analogy,
Form:
Free verse