Long Shaves Poems
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Warmly dedicated to SMJ
Three Sonnets Inspired by my
Reigning Ex
Part 0
Sitting at the edge of the universe
like a man atop a modern skyscraper
who might look down to see the manic street
full of yellow taxis and distant peers,
the first thing I notice on a backwards
glance is my snake-skin mortality
shed and skipping across the flattened ether,
a luminous orb on a linear course
like a puddle-hopping pebble, eager
to sink a lily-pad a child targets
for the hell of it. I realize then - either
I’m dead as a god should be, or just a pet
project of a German ghost, his meager
objective merely my way to forget.
Part I
Before you bed me, I assume the herpes
risk you ignored so many turn-style clicks
so many thick-like quick-strike Rolodex entries
not so long ago made that cavalry slicks
and right-swept Tinder mounts dutifully
saddled have begun their bountiful itch.
A testament, truly, of how beautifully
done was every each one, each surgical stitch
precisely sewn to salvage squeeze-box juice
of battle-field strewn, the red zest of life
a dead soldier blew, is once more, for you,
stalling to flow; knowing your rusty knife
has yet to slice temptation sterilized;
knowing your scalpel’s cut keeps cancer canonized.
Part II
All around you, this kelp-wall compartment
appears an ocean bloomed with room enough
for early light to shuffle halfway bent,
like time’s unpolished hedge, across the rough
field where too young have men gone to die.
Someone is responsible for all of it:
The ghostlike fish who grimly swim upstream;
the crunchy autumn leaves all creased and clustered;
and this, the box you loathe in sleepless dream
of birthday cakes and candles your grandfather
fed the wish-away lawn using mustered
strength from tears his daughter leaked, sprung to lie,
who now only cries at her daughter’s grave,
complaining of stubble when Pawpaw shaves.
Greetings!
Are you well? Stuck in hell with a life to run through? With a shell covering your secrets and a mask over your feelings??? You can change if you want to and it is my duty to tell you the truth. This truth forgives with an unforgiving forgiveness that leaps at each chance to advance itself ahead of what we think are our priorities. What is important to you? In the middle of nothing using a dormant view?? That will negate the greed with which an informant sees??? To live as a minority in a society that tells us "It's ok to be who you are. Just...Don't...Be...who you are" can lead to conflicting circumstances. And tendencies that worship sand can push hands to grab ministries that land feet on thin ice. Thin ice breaks, feet get frostbit but wings...by God...wings float us away from troubled outcomes. So to be afraid of what the world gave us shaves trust by the handfuls. And those palms sprinkle palms along the crooked smiling flow of the Euphrates river...upstream toward the center of your design let each line change your mind. Why not? What more is there? Turn with sordid warfare course stares and sliced lots...how can we share and not care for the right spot? Then the door taps with a light knock. Long winded admonishing opens the minds of socioeconomic close minded polishing...shining blind guidance through upchucked science leading you towards the light. Can we walk there together?
Sincerely. Your Conscience
PS
Sharpened cloud covering raining
altered speckles of redemption
that claims our man made tendencies
glides over sin fatigued flesh
Seeping into each pore
that redeemer strips us of plagued habits
redefining our appearance
Sound visits an inaudible eardrum
The melody is clear of imperfection.
Your eyes open to a world free of immorality
As the clouds disappear...
In the early morning hours, he puts on shoes, socks, jeans, shirt and hat.
Shaves after reading morning paper, puts out old, mean, grumpy, fat cat.
Read his bible, finishes his eggs, drinks his orange juice, and stretches legs.
Drops to his knees, prays Oh God, Please send me someone to love today...
Gets into his old Ford pick-up truck, and is on his way...
to work a job he hates all day long, but keeps remembering a simple little song,
that ushers him into the presence of a King...so he breathes more deeply,
more serene... more peaceful as the day drifts by..a few memories pass by...
When to his amazement, an elegant lady of about fifty something, comes inside,
and smiles at him, and he is so suprised that he gives no reply...
And she won't quit staring at him...she powders her nose, smiles, winks,
and pretends to drop her purse, and looks at him as if knowing what he thinks...
He picks up her purse, gently puts it in her hands, and then realized that
he was still a man...and asks her out for dinner...tonight.
She replys, "That would be wonderful, come by my place at nine.
Here is my address." and we know that time tells the rest...
For now in the early mornings when he puts on shoes, socks, jeans, shirt
and hat, and shaves after reading morning paper, and tries to put out the cat...
The elegant lady of about fifty-something, refuses the cat to be thrown outside...
prefers the cats company, likes him to be by her side.
And the two of them shared their life together, simple pleasures have become
a treasure...
For his whole life changed the day that she walked in...
He is now a happy man, contented within...because now he has found
someone to love...
It is said in Oregon there is a legend that is very rare
Everyone who has seen it says it is all hair
It is quiet in its suburban surroundings
This poor creature in the seventies we were constantly hounding
The eighties came and the creature disappeared like a fad
Only to resurface with a smell so rad
We have left Bigfoot several gifts including films made by producer John Woo
Recently scientists have translated some Bigfoot drawings, they reveal that
Bigfoot likes Breck Shampoo
They say Slinky is fun for a girl and a boy
But experts say it's not something Bigfoot would enjoy
We gave Bigfoot and Etch and Sketch to see if that was a hum dinger
He sent it back to us with a drawing of the middle finger
We put a food display out with a Wal Mart employee to offer samples of Dinty
Moore Beef Stew
Bigfoot gave the employee an old flyer and pointed at Breck Shampoo
The employee commented that Bigfoot had a pleasant smell
And now Bigfoot wants some DEP10 GEL
The Goverment responds with a letter that reads boo hoo hoo
The letter further stated that they are rejecting Bigfoot's request DEP10 GEL and
Breck Shampoo
The letter reads sorry, but technically you are an American, we only help those
Illegals here and offer foreign aid, so there's nothing we can do
Bigfoot demands some equality, a fair shake from the Government too
All this contreversey could have been avoided by a donation of Breck Shampoo
So he shaves himself to better fit in and learns Spanish and become an Illegal
Mexican
Now endless cases the Government will send
Now there are Bigfoots everywhere some live next door to me and you
No wonder I can't buy DEP10 GEL or Breck Shampoo
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!
Alas, never seen along highways and byways anymore,
Was some very classic poetry that has become American lore!
'Tis sad that these masterpieces have vanished from the scene.
So I want to add some Burma Shave verse from my old bean!
"Plain old soap won't do the job
What you need is a generous gob
Of good ol' foamy Burma Shave
If it's your mug you want to save!"
"If you want to impress your sweetie pie
You should have on hand a good supply
Of smooth and creamy Burma Shave
And let me tell you fellers it's all the rave!"
"If she told you to drop dead last night
And you were no longer her shining knight
Perhaps it's a smoother mug she craves
We'd recommend you try Burma Shaves!"
"She thought his stubble a disgrace
Each time it scratched her pretty face
Sorry to hear about that Dave
Shoulda used Burma Shave!"
"When rising each morn to mow your stubble
You could save yourself a heap of trouble
Before you shave give your face a healthy lave
Then slather your mug with Burma shave!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
NOTE: For the younger set and those not familiar with this bit of Americana, during the 1930s, 40s and 50s, Burma Shave signs were posted along many highways across the U.S. It was a very clever way of advertising the shaving cream. A different line of the ditty was posted on a red board about every 150 feet and they were fun to read as you sped by. The verses above I dreamed up but if you really want to see some of the old signs and the witty verse thereon, type in your search "Burma Shave Signs".
The Murray can be dangerous,
as the locals have worked out.
There has been some drowning's
plus a few close shaves about.
Some blame grog; some foolishness,
and a few don't seem to know,
but most folks that live along it,
reckon it's the undertow.
Teddy Miller often reckons,
here is where he found God,
by cleaning up the stream of carp,
and often dining on the cod.
He fishes where most fishermen
don’t rate his spot a mention,
but it’s perfect for this old bloke,
now that he's on the pension.
You see it’s beside the highway,
and a perfect picnic spot,
where the water looks inviting,
when the weathers fairly hot.
It’s on these days that Teddy hangs,
his coat across a fading sign,
and then he waits for victims,
to come near his fishing line.
A car drove in, parked on the bank
this sun drenched afternoon.
A shapely girl walked to the edge,
and Ted could see that soon,
he’d be watching her peel off her clothes
right down to her bikini.
So when she stepped into the water,
Ted's eyes were going goggly.
"Oye!" He yelled, "What are you doin?
You can't go in swimming here!"
The young lass turned her head around
and questioned Teddy’s fear.
"Look" Ted said, "This notice says,
as he removed his coat,
“There is danger of an undertow,
so I think you should take note”.
The young lady read the notice,
and then she thanked old Ted,
but after picking up her clothes,
she turned around and said
"You waited ‘til my clothes were off!"
A terse voice now expressing.
"Yeah, well,” grinned Ted “The sign
don't say nothin' 'bout undressing".
>>>>>>>>God is the mass all of the ass , and the build up of everything around us.
He is the wind and the waves.
The razor that shaves, he is the door knob to your door.
He is the pinesol on the floor.
He is the buzzards on the road that get in your ways.
He is the ugly and pretty, good and bad.
He gets and has gotten had.
He brings a smile to your face and a tear to your eye.
He is the chicken that you bake or the chicken that you fry.
He is the sand and the beaches.
The grapes and the peaches.
Yes!
He is the slugs and the leaches.
From the white house to the crack house that is he yet again.
From the man at the store ringing the bell, to the man on the corner preaching about hell.
He is the sweet and sour skittles.
The dark and white chocolate.
From aids to cancer he is the cure and the answer.
He is the daily destractions.
He is the chemical reactions.
He is the government around us.
He is the friends that surround us.
He is at work and at play.
He is there when you go and there when you stay.
When you hear children's laughter that is he yet again.
He is the white in the snow.
He is the growth in your body from your head to your toe.
He is earth and gravity from dirt to core.
I could keep going and going and give you lots more.
You know who he is.
Judy Lynn Hawkins
Oklahoma just passed an executive order
About the obvious disorder
Of letting men break through the border
Called a women’s bathroom door
Which has always been there for
Keeping out men and furthermore
Those who are men no more
Oh, some may scream, ‘where are their rights?
They’re out there fighting the fights,
To pee with one’s wearing tights.’
Yes, but would you let your daughter
Much too young, with hardly a care
Into those bathrooms alone
With a ‘whatever’ that shaves its chest hair?
And whatever else the ‘whatever’ may share
Is that what you would condone?
OK, may say no to athletes competing
Even if their male body parts were deleted
With women on equal ground
The women don’t need that type around
To race against for athletic glories
Like AI competing with us for poetry stories
But still why does a government
Need an executive order to present
The obvious difference between gals and guys
Even when one or more’s in disguise?
Well, it’s the same old trick with a new bent
Pushed by the bought and paid fed government
They cloud what it means about gender
And try to stuff family morals in a blender
So that when they offer their crisis solution
We’ll bow down to their wicked resolution
Of their digital money and total control
Over all our bodies, minds, and souls
Partially paved by those with a men’s skull
Who can no longer use a urinal
A lot of time has passed
since freedom was part of the daily routine
Eat when you wanna eat,
sleep when you wanna sleep
Go whenever you wanna go to the latrine
No need to have to ask for permission,
freedom was a given
Getting locked in your room every night
is now standard procedure
Nothing you can do about it
... it ain’t your call
You’ve come to accept the imposed authority,
institutionalized you’ve become ...
that’s all
They’ve taken away your liberty ball,
and they ain’t giving it back
Not until the warden says so
Not until the psychiatric doctor says
let ‘em go
Not until the parole board says
you’re rehabilitated for sho’
Now you’re scared to go
Freedom is a distant relative
you don’t wanna know
Inexplicably, you’re so scared to go
You’re raising eyebrows,
so the authorities issue a soon-to-be-released warning:
No shoestrings in your shoes,
forced you to like velcro
No shaves
because you can’t have no
razor blades
Suicide performances
ain’t part of the departure freak show
Prison is a prison,
whether it’s a locked cell or a bolted door
in your mind
But, since becoming institutionalized,
the calming, daily routine has made you
embrace your loss of freedom more and more
The prospect of entering free society again
is a thought unkind