Short Clean Shaven Poems

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...

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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)...

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Girls and boys
pick up your toys
Your playground
has been shut.

There’s a man out there
with greasy hair
hellish hankering
in his gut.

That’s what we thought
till Joey’s father was caught.
He was clean shaven
with neat crew cut.

 
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
July 15, 2012...

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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...

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& i see the clouds
smiling beside
my war-fed clan
they come, wearing
some new garments
behind the flood-gates
the forlorn gates
of old niger’s maidens
clean shaven
are the elders
now clean’d of
just yesterday’s beards
elderhood is gone!
siting on mat
aweful are their looks
they see nothing
of this new new moon
coming
to the homeland
oh, niger!...

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"Clean shaven memories remain
stuck in silence waiting to scream"

Voices sing out in adulation
inflections bending an ear
float me off   to be
lit eye interior arranged
to be blown away 
with heavenly wings

Candlelit flickers imagine 
soft breeze kisses  await
crisscrossed oceans and moonbeams 
aired along whispered dreams
folded up neatly
cascading my way...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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I brew sunsets in teapots
I drink the dawn from a mug
and in my bicycle basket I have seduction in a jug
so now and then I take someone clean shaven home to my obliging bed
when I guess I should sit quietly pristine, 
with my legs crossed instead
but each day is so fragile
they black out every evening in the west
and all I got is these frail minutes
and I only want to live them, as if they were a fest.


© Gry W Christensen...

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combustions of black
are the deep splash of flak
in sallow skies,
burning top-contrast

while well behind gates
he impatiently waits,
his Lordship,
clean shaven and stately

and all’s by design
as his entourage dines
on red wine, fine bread,
and the skyline

though debris showers down
covering country and town,
not one gentleman’s
found to be frowning

as they waltz in the ashes
of stock market crashes
our last satellite
snapshot flashes...

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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....

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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!
  
...

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