Long Shaves Poems
Long Shaves Poems. Below are the most popular long Shaves by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shaves poems by poem length and keyword.
Why?
The interrogation of my terrain remains united with the departure of my illicit rout.
Unanswered;
It remains unanswered.
Every neglected weep of desolation seems to surrender into a twisted sense of homecoming.
As if I sought for it.
As if I craved for it.
As if I was such a deceiving fool to find comfort in the con of my own coiled hatred.
Every huff of laughter blooms in the scored rage of my cruel consciousness.
Every wretched scald for logic cuts through my stripped armour of malice.
Every beseeched gouge for a way out ignites the contamination of my polluted isolation.
Why?
The secluded sagacity of my sadistic void fades with the shaves of my skin.
As if an answer would demolish the fences of my enclosure.
As if an answer would kiss my wreckage back together.
As if an answer would dim the conceited lights of a blinded stage; a theatre dedicated to the amusement of my liberated decay.
I ask you a question.
Yet perhaps, all this time…
The answer has been inked onto the rot of my revolting ruin.
I am my own void.
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
1. there's a time for bacon
and a time for eggs
I didn't know the Pope
shaves his legs
2. there's a time for hippies
and a time for cops
did you know Nazis
are eating our crops?
3. there's a time for day
and a time for night
eat a double bacon cheeseburger
dropped from a great height
4. there's a time for this
and a time for that
I didn't know surfing
would make me fat
5. there's a time for sickness
and a time for health
getting likes on Facebook
increases my wealth
6. there's a time for life
and a time for death
just so long as we
eliminate bad breath
7. there's a time for moon
and a time for sun
I drink Donald Duck orange juice
when the day is done
Once I'm gone
I'll only be remembered a small while
I'm a tiny tick on a large dial
The words I breathe will stretch about a mile
Even those who are in history books
the Kings writers and famous cooks
The gorgeous people with talent and looks
They too in the end fade away
Don't get me wrong it's all okay
We might try to hold on but none of us can stay
All have a bit part
on this watery ball of granite and clay
Some are calm others make waves
One smooth skinned another shaves
She loves him while he's attracted to Dave
They both pretend because they have to behave
Each in their own prison living like a slave
The preacher too plays his part
trying to find people to save
Some couples love from the start till death
She breathes in he exhales her breath
Their children thrive Bobby and Beth
While some mothers go it alone
Daddies leave and are never known
Children left to learn life from a smart phone
Some chase riches when other just want to eat
Walking on pretty shoes while poor men have cracked feet
The music plays so clearly yet we fail to hear the beat
So I wonder what's it all for
This wanting more and more
Is that really God knocking at our door
Yes it is I believe it at my core
So why do we leave it closed
Maybe because we fear our sins will be exposed
a life manicured and posed
could be unfroze
Freedom from each prison chose
Instead why not drink from the garden hose
Wear our humanity
discard these labeled clothes
Count down the future with fingers and toes
Within a momentary breath each spirit goes
As minds open each heart then grows
What happens next only God knows!
Discovered a new friend, he lives in B.C.
Nicknamed him West Coast Richard
Most days he's up at the crack of dawn
Like me, but he shaves off his whiskers
His poetry's creative, exceptional bar none
He's just about to publish a book
Wish him luck he's certainly gonna need it
Watch for it at your local book nook
Sometimes friends just happen on the scene
Unexpectedly enriching our lives
Richard most definitely is one of those souls
Like me he's enjoying the ride
Strange how friendships suddenly develop
Without prior notice or warning
A sincere young fellow without an agenda
Wakes up with a smile each morning
Without getting sloppy or overly verbose
I'll end this with a wish that you all
Find a good friend like West Coast Richard
Enjoy life and just have a ball!
© Jack Ellison 2012
POSITIVELY THROUGH HELL
They say: Nothing's new on this surface of mother earth.
The mouth that speaks life must have tasted death.
The eyes that sees optimism must have seen dead-ends.
The smiles that accentuates must have been puffs of sighs.
The life you see is the survival of close shaves of death.
We're masters of suppression of pain beneath.
Positive peeps are not just positive enough
because they skated through tempest of life.
They're positive cause they've got stories to tell,
scales to shell-off as they've been through hell
and decided not to live there anymore.
Positive peeps are eliminators of a terrible life sore,
They are the hell survivors of a great War.
Vick Manuel Poetry
{VMP}
COPYRIGHT© 11TH NOVEMBER, 2022.
As the weather chooses its flavour for the hour,
Stubble-ended wood shaves itself on the layers of unseen ground.
Synthetic puke seeps through pores seeking to devour
Every tiny, curled hair floating in the murk around and around.
Pool party skies reside a millimeter higher than the tallest fingertip:
Leftovers infect this mass of last meals passed on.
A spindle of cloth runs out with time enough to graze my lip
And still no locks of winter-lived years could sink a single talon
Into the darkest dark of fleeting moments taken from a fork.
Shall this be all that has come from years after that first unscrewed cork?
He hones his purpose on a stone whet of spite,
Edge kissed to gleam in the dead of night.
Relentless is the echo tuned to hindsight.
Endless in the knowing his cause is right.
His grip is firm, his whetstone flat.
His purpose honed to revenge in tit-for-tat.
The axe grinder, can't ever get over that.
Old grudges are ground in, with spittle spat.
The sparks fly from grinding wheel.
Spun to remove the scars in steel.
Caught in armor on the leg and heel,
Of the foe that stood up from their kneel.
Sharper minds cut cleaner truer lines,
In wood chips, slivers, shaves and fines,
Cut deeper deeper in, to find the quick that binds,
The grinder to the hurt and pain he mines.
Double-dutch ropes slap the sidewalk -
snap - snap - snap -
braids whip air,
girls jump in, counting
uno, dos, three,
feet flick like drumsticks.
The ice cream truck jingles off-key,
icy lady shakes paper cups,
piragua man shaves ice into snow -
his knife scraping the block awake.
Pastelillos pop in hot oil -
spit, sizzle -
plastic cups clink with rum and cola,
congas crack, maracas shake salt in the air,
horns blare like chisme in heat.
Heels click-clack over concrete -
punctuating each spin,
each swirl of hips.
Whistles split the air -
one from the lifeguard at Jefferson,
two from the men on the corner,
three from abuela
when the coals are hot.
Somebody throws meat on the grill -
ssszzzz -
smoke climbs windows,
neighbors bring foil trays -
yellow rice, ribs, roasted corn -
each dish a downbeat.
Kids yell cannonball,
water smacks back,
lifeguard’s whistle cuts through splash.
Old heads tap dominoes on tabletops -
crack, slap, smack -
hands older than the stoops they sit on.
The block fills itself
the way music fills a drum -
the street hums under bare feet.
Tonight,
the moon will smell like charcoal
and sweet ice.
She walks along the stage
Looking at him
And him
And him
With her deadened eyes
He looks back at her
Every one of him
And fantasizes
Perky breasts
Milk white thighs
He feels
What’s familiar rise
Music plays
She feels the moments press
Skillfully
Removing her dress
He screams
He whistles
He wants more not less
Five dollar bills
Tossed at her feet
More from him
And him
She starts to feel the beat
Moving through her like a wave
Is she the master
him the slave?
She has her money
He’s left to crave
Dreaming of the place she closely shaves
The music stops
She puts back on her clothes
Looks at him
And him
And him
The ones she loathes
Hates who she is
Her stage name Rose
Takes a bow strikes a pose
Her act is done so off she goes
Wonders about next time
How many of him will there be?
Each with that hunger
It's not her they really see
They want pleasure
Yet inside are empty
As long as they come
she will never be free
Each practiced move
is her high heel misery!