Clean Shaven Poems | Examples

Mirror Doesn't Lie

MINDSET: Clean shaven with a conscience that sleeps well through the night, 
one needs not worry about guilt or other destroying emotions that bind.

Honest 
as mirrors
who don't lie to us 
Truthful as the morning sun 
We meet our conscience face to face every day 
Engaging with heart and soul we are often tested  
and if we lie, a great feeling of unrest settles deep within us  
Honesty is a moral voice that speaks to our inner compass, please take heed!

Worldly Man of God

A huge room not denied luxury,
The rejected in it: Misery
Of fine glass up to the bookshelf:
If one was close to it saw oneself:
The weight of a thousand Christian Books
And at what the smart owner looks;
Glasses for whisky but no whisky:
To have whisky displayed risky:
"One can't defend in a voice husky
What surely makes the keeper frisky".
His callers would sit in a cushion
Owner of the room lives for true fashion:
Man can serve Lord God and some passions
And this not prompt long quizzing sessions...

The clean-shaven in a clean cassock
He had vowed he would never forsake.

The Newest Widow

Keeps trying to pull herself together:
Objects scatters and tries to them gather;
Hard to swallow his withdrawal from her world.
Clean-shaven head she’d cajoled for being bald

She should never forget the month of May,
When God in her life allowed Death a say.
Julius had promised her everything:
“All my envious feuding brothers Nothing”
Their world and lot shall, again, turn golden,
Although, all his companies are folding…

Alas! She, Stella, had got it all wrong,
Her enemies to break into a song.
She’ll have to hold on to memories:
In her mind a neatly filed series…



She knows they’ve coming for her long hair,
The scissors that shall attack it won’t care.
What they can’t take from her his mansion,
They had better not the topic mention.
She’s ready to make phone calls for a Jeep;
A full army that makes giants weeps!

Shooting Others Trouble

The best intention is still rude,
If into others’ affairs intrude:
As two hit each other over food
And you don’t over restraint brood
Nor from the drama keep away:
A begging role of a stowaway …
 
For this resent I John Jude
Whom I address as The Rude
And would maliciously exclude
From honors I should him include.

The intruder shooting others’ trouble
Could his house end in rubble,
For its rebuilding spend double,
The clean-shaven keeping a stubble.

Skeleton

the two day stubble 
helps her grasp 
my face in her hands 
and the obvious chaos
clean shaven, i’m smooth, 
hard to hold, 
providing misdirection,
and appear faster than I am
i’ve slipped away before
staring into my eyes, 
she sees my substance 
what i’m made of, the bones
how different my structure
from my words, my actions

Distant Hill

trees lined up like an army
on the side of the hill,
looking beautiful and worn,
clean-shaven for Winter
and still in the cold —
under the moonlight
this is but a little hill
they take. my eyes
see this distant sight
nary a driver will see,
eyes on silent stare.
bare, leafless trees,
lined up so perfectly,
stiff their salute, finding
no footfall in the dark.

1/6/2021

Unlikeness

I used to know a poet. His slovenly disheveled poems reminded me an alcohol-prone loser’s beard, but in person he happened to be a clean-shaven, well-tailored gentleman who hasn't had a drop since Bicentennial. And sometimes it's just the other way round: aristocratic rhymes on closer examination turn into dipsomaniacs.

poets and their poems
don't resemble each other -
poets die poems don't

The Pragmatic Sister and Seafood

All I want to know is
Do I have a distinctive voice?
Standing out in a crowd
Mic in hand, choice

Of song, how important
To hear and be heard
We must be privileged
Do you eat your scallop with beard?

This is reminding me of my ex
My brother says let him go
And I do vehemently
No emotions on show

Are you ready to meet him?
Your next potential ex
As the entropy reenters
No matter how clean shaven, hex

Upon all of us doomed
To end before we begin
Nothing to do in here
Accept, take it on the chin

Press '1' For English

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

The Snail

I was clean shaven when I
spotted a snail going by
I watched for a while
as he went half a mile
now my beard's reaching down to my thigh

Clean and Sober

So for
My mother
Here’s another
If life’s a game
Then I’m not doing well
But clean shaven
Clean shirt
Clean and sober
You can’t tell

(Excerpt from the ebook 'Mother' available on Amazon.com soon)

I Feel Spring

I see Spring's telltale touch leave
ethereal fingerprints on dripping icicles.
And I smell Her sweet scent on every warm breeze,
as Her breath fills my lungs with fresh air.

I feel Spring playfully, taunting me, ever so softly
blowing sensually upon my neck, toying with me.
And as the sun rises higher, hosting differing hues,
melted snowflakes morph into trickling streams.

I hear Spring's presence:
in the chirps of a cricket's forlorn trill.
And in the songs songbirds sing, as the buds begin to
shadow trees in green stubble,
defying Winter's clean-shaven look.

I sense Spring summoning showers
to enhance Nature's breathtaking beauty.
Every color of the rainbow inks a plethora of flowers,
as the birds build nests, and the earth renews
while Spring rains strip away Winter's white.

That Chance

Not before I saw your eyes
Had I believed that such a fey
Would come to me and liquidize
My being with what they do ray
What your sight does to me
Is not something I can explain
For there's nowhere Id rather be
Other than where you do reign
If asked, I can promise heaven
For you to give me the chance
But really, a love clean-shaven
Is going to be the balance
You'll get for being considerate
Of letting me be your mate

Halloween Delivers

She couldn't believe her luck with the knock at the door,
This day of all days, the one day she can will a way.
One can only trap with the appropriate bait laid;
She preened herself in the mirror plying red "trap set"
Winking at herself with the smack of the lipstick case.
She knows she's got one this time. (He'll make the perfect plate!)
Fine meat wrapped in brown, clean shaven and recently bathed;
The fresh scent of his flesh had her drooling already.
"How may I help you" (to myself? she thought with a smile)
"Oh hi" obviously surprised by her beauty, brash
As pheromones filled his lungs he forgot who he was
"I'm uh"... "You're here for dinner" she whispered in his ear
Taking the package and closing the door behind him.



17.10.13

Composed for Russell Sivey's
"Halloween Scare"

My Silver Captain

MY SILVER CAPTAIN

Oh his lips, at dawn
a brandished dark-brown moustache.
touché!

~

And when we’d been together
as man and wife,
for a measure of time,
the upper lip ~
a scrub brush

~

clean, shaven,
master of youth

~

time mussed up
his dark brown-hair
with lovely sprigs of silver

~

Oh, behold,
not quite yet
at the dawn of twilight,
a lovely sprinkling
of silver
dancing ‘round his chin
and lips

i celebrate,
and plant a kiss

~

season’s treasures
of misdirection,
through ups and downs.

mood’s chameleon
of jewels ~ polished,
deeper, love’s illume

once again,
with twinkling eyes,
this wife excites,
“touché!”

9/28/2017

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