Best Unshorn Poems

The flames of the furnace (well-travelled by wind
slowly glazing the rags of gray women chagrined
at the sight of a hair fleeing tresses now thinned) 
sometimes billow like waves flooding naves through the night,
when the lightning peeks in where the tension hangs tight
while the lanterns, alarmed,...

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1—Milieu

Unique construction of body and mind
My niche in human pack not quickly found 
Raw young heart of a curious design
The empty mirrors for my soul abound

Subjectively a bit odd to myself
A jangled, disconnected kind of sense
You’d really have to feel it for yourself
Bare toes in...

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firkins and gherkins and whistles and shoes
cluster bombs, punji stakes, death in the news
choppers chattering
napalm splattering
a carpet bombed mind with asian war blues

cracked vinyl records and medals unworn
black and white photo, ex-soldier unshorn
wheeling chair
graying hair
a beaded necklace with peace sign well worn

tobacco stained fingers shake...

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In England’s pleasant pastures amid the free wild flowers
Lie pagan ways the wise ones do not mock
And one adept at harnessing these ancient rural powers
Was Oggwool Fleece, the black sheep of the flock

Oggwool was old, much older than the old oak it was said
Beneath whose...

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"Snapdragons and Dandy Lions (Part 1)"


“Don’t move,” she smiled gently,
“stay there, stop fidgeting, let me put these in your hair”,
I was sitting cross-legged 
on the lush green bluegrass lawn
it felt like 70’s Shagpile carpet, 
long and unshorn.

“I said, don’t move! There’s a Blue Tongue over...

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Rescue parties in despair,
Spot his schooner drifting there
In the coming fog.
Someone heard him shoot a flare;
Naught remains, no hide nor hair,
Of the old seadog.
Fear is etched into the air,
Frantic scribblings make them stare
At his final log:

“Miles from any port or quay,
Sailing on the glassy sea,
I...

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Haggis hype
Bagpipes bleating like unshorn sheep
Tartan theatrical - military tatoos
Scotland cloning Dolly the Sheep
National pride - Robbie Burns, poet, bard of Auld Lang Syne
Highlands of ancient rocks, rift vallies
         natural beauty, layers of worth

Loch Ness, geologic scooped,...

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#1

I am a randomling
know not of what I sing
don’t know a freakin’ thing
that’s prob’ly why I sing


#2

Perchance the cat got out the house
evicted by the realty mouse
claiming that the litter box
was grounds to change all of the locks


#3

Seven times in seven days
I checked the doors...

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Sparkling strip of silvery spray
marks a path across the bay;
downward sent from moon above,
silent stream on bouldered cove;
into these waters in unshorn skin,
she heads out on a midnight swim,
takes in the blessings given there,
rewarded peace while treading bare....

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In the swaying middle of a dangerous voyage
To climes of far sunnier look and ripening age, 
I often fight the doubts of a death-daring wreck;
Questioning the exact wisdom of my lonely trek. 

Not that I midway could my courses amend,
Nor make room for ruings and...

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i  make ready myself for an insult
and chest pain, keeping unshorn hair like nettles
on contours, to take unknown turns for restoring
the clouds on moon-blue hills, spreading the water colors
on trees; someone inside the shrine was making
turbulence: yellow room has the footprints of
a naked fakir,...

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Each galling ache with steadied prayer dispel.
Let that bland hour bleak with chilling thought
Glow with indelible joys of a yet hoping heart,
And knit such merry smiles as cute angels got. 

Hold onto that time-tested unswerving dream 
That martyrs' sorrows will just retribution find,
That her sweat...

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I have collected strange things… 
In this obscure life…

I have placed them in 
Little Black Onyx Boxes old and ornate covered 
inlaid with exotic stones, metals forged unknown

These objects are memories from an odd land 
gathered during the wages of a ruined life…

Throughs of inner...

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i  make ready myself for an insult
and chest pain, keeping unshorn hair like nettles
on contours, to take unknown turns for restoring
the clouds on moon-blue hills, spreading the water colors
on trees; someone inside the shrine was making
turbulence: yellow room has the footprints of
a naked fakir,...

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The enigma of a woman rests
  in what you’ll never know

Despite those things she gives to you,
  her secrets bide unshorn

Your eyes may taste and hands might touch,
  but to herself alone

Her power worn as though a crown,
 —her mystery, her throne

(Villanova...

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