Before a misty morning mirror
above a half-filled basin
such cold water was I braving
simply to lave my face in
but the coldest cut of all
and it only hurts when I smile
I severely slit myself while
I was busy shaving
but did my frozen fingers fumble
or was it just a rusty razor
which sorely needs replacement
that figured in my defacement
as there were many a slip
'twixt blade and lip
Young boys and girls learn
as they grow with age not to
shave to rough or else!
mugs for shaving cant you see
tea and coffee not for me
each morning light
whiskers take flight
fine use of time you agree.
I've scrapped the last one off,
No more hair there!
Each whisker removed,
Forth width,
Only took a little bit.
The fur coat I grow,
It's ridiculous,
I know!
On the way out,
My hairs do shout!
"Do not forsake us!
We will,
Will out!"
Tomorrow, we start again,
Perhaps I'll start with my chin.
A waxing job would take all day,
My skin might up and go away!
Looking at all the positives I see:
Cold weather insulation for me!
A soft fuzzy pillow to nestle my rear!
Possible transplants for the loss of my hair!
Being bald is nothing I dread!
The hair on my body being knitted just so,
Will cover any spot my hair doesn't grow!
flat morning water
startled by harsh reflection
his youth disappeared
In sync with your cadence
Your heart pounds
Your blood as hot as your rubber
Every molecule so engorged
Sweat alone separates you from your chrome
While you peel off a spoke fine line
Through rush hour traffic
Tearing a strip off of death
High
On a deadline
04/07/2019
Your Amphetamine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Slausin
I know I shaved the hair off this week
The razor was a solid brand
I felt my legs afterwards,
They were smooth as baby
Yet today I saw
My legs are dark
Curly hair
Grew all
Back
So maybe it was a week or two
Could possibly might have been
I shaved them hard on my knee
Hair floated down the drain
Grooming is no fun
The hair grows back
Hard and fast
Under the carpet.
Your siren has no
Sound.
I can't find my
Locker, but the
Next class
I'm not sitting
Next to you.
And you,
Short Stop,
have paused
Me.
Money doesn't
Solve my
Enviousness.
Of the wife, the
Eventual
Insemination
Of your kind.
Shaving in the
Morning, I think
Of your whiskers.
And with a cat's
Tongue I am tied and
Torn to nothing
Avail.
God Started Shaving
Off my sins God started shaving
Me from them was always saving
From each one he would release
Efforts to help others did increase
At God each morning will be waving.
Jim Horn
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
Since time immemorial, or so I've heared,
Mankind has struggled to tame his beard.
Was it Adam who imposed upon us this atrocious curse?
(I reckon I could sport a beard but to that I am averse.)
I've scraped and nicked my mug fer nigh on four-score years,
So I will share my shaving experience to educate my peers.
First, splash a generous supply of soapy water on yer kisser,
So as to arouse the attention of each and every whisker.
Apply a liberal amount of Burma Shave to ease the stress,
When with that wicked razor blade yer jowls you do caress.
Twist yer schnoz at an acute angle in order to shave below the nose,
Taking care not to nick yer double chins and any problems that may pose.
Once this onerous task is done, use toilet tissue to heal the bloody nicks,
Then apply a liberal amount of Old Spice to really impress the chicks!
(I must confess that I use an electric shaver to mow my intractable stubble.
'Tis so much smoother on my leathery hide and sure is a lot less trouble!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Under the carpet.
Your siren has no
Sound.
I can't find my
Locker, but the
Next class
I'm not sitting
Next to you.
And you,
Short Stop,
have paused
Me.
Money doesn't
Solve my
Enviousness.
Of the wife, the
Eventual
Insemination
Of your kind.
Shaving in the
Morning, I think
Of your whiskers.
And with a cat's
Tongue I am tied and
Torn to no
Avail.
Most men shave every day. It is
Our ritual of hygiene and vanity.
A clean, freshly shaven face will
get results, restore our sanity.
The act of shaving makes us think,
about our imperfections, the mirror
is unfair but also indispensable, our
nervous hands grow steady there.
Lately I have begun to see another
side of me. As I spread the creamy foam,
and slowly pull the razor through, I
wonder what she might think of me.
This feeling gets me through the day
I touch my face tenderly, just to see
how it might feel to be touched, how
it might feel to be touched by her someday.
Blood on your skin
You couldn’t win
It was very sharp
But you can’t carp
Now you look well
Bloody like hell
My mind has been completely somewhere else these days.
The following is an example of what I mean.
I just went to spray my deodorant on
and now I'm all covered with shaving cream.
Inspired by Carolyn's little episode, which like mine sadly, is a true story.
A "Brush" with Horror
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=184310
“Why did you stop shaving, Jesse?”
It is my attempt to project a façade
of masculinity in the face of rejection
by the opposite sex
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