Don Ho was always in trouble
For blowing a tiny bubble
When Ida was born
His cheeks went unshorn
The egg on his face was stubble
Categories:
unshorn, humor, word play,
Form: Limerick
Haggis hype
Bagpipes bleating like unshorn sheep
Tartan theatrical - military tatoos
Scotland cloning Dolly the Sheep
National pride - Robbie Burns, poet, bard of Auld Lang Syne
Highlands of ancient rocks, rift vallies
natural beauty, layers of worth
Loch Ness, geologic scooped, water serene
Nessie settled in depths, unseen
sonar detection elusive
marine monster of geeky charm
conjured in gift shop puffery
Nessie hat, Dragon like, tucked above protruding ears
In Edinburgh's historic streets
Whiskey fed men, burly, bearded
strut
wrapped in kilts
traditional garb
plaid, pleated, blessed, dressed
in woolen scratchiness (avoid a public itch)
Breezy kilts wrap manly legs menaced by
thigh high thistles
Scottish reach prickly
No matter
Scots men, image strong
(ignore the thistles and street whistles)
brimming swagger like malt liquor
skirting scavengers in exploration peaks
men in kilts (minimalism denied)
protectors of the realm
unafraid
to let it all hang out
Poem composed: March 10, 2021
Categories:
unshorn, fun, giggle, travel, tribute,
Form: Free verse
In the swaying middle of a dangerous voyage
To climes of far sunnier look and ripening age,
I often fight the doubts of a death-daring wreck;
Questioning the exact wisdom of my lonely trek.
Not that I midway could my courses amend,
Nor make room for ruings and ebbing hopes;
Or dreading harsher shores first wishes trim,
To cry in sync with sad martyrs' effete tropes.
Verily there’s a shadow where clear roads stood,
And tripping blocks where defter legs easily trod;
There slashing ogres their charging scrolls shout,
To put to rout the wearied walker's untiring mode.
Yes dispiriting detriment picked routes obscures,
With every unthinkable wall and slowing mounds;
Forcing fatigued legs into impromptuous detours,
Which bite with blighting pain and chilling sounds.
The labouring voyager shall move on in truth,
To the dream-born Idylls of his unshorn youth.
Categories:
unshorn, allegory, character, christian, courage,
Form: Epic
Each galling ache with steadied prayer dispel.
Let that bland hour bleak with chilling thought
Glow with indelible joys of a yet hoping heart,
And knit such merry smiles as cute angels got.
Hold onto that time-tested unswerving dream
That martyrs' sorrows will just retribution find,
That her sweat and blood and echoed scream,
Shall not unavenged in giddied labyrinths wind.
Often hit by a gloating stare and its acid taints,
Hum within a great carol by famed fallen saints.
In your mean travails attended with dizzying pains,
Trust the holy writ that man’s sorrowing soul trains.
Even as false signs dupe that relief roams far,
May your woe-stoutened faith persist unshorn.
If the only light offs into the lowest horizon-line,
Remember the darkest hour is closest to dawn.
Soon shall the mourning soul’s sobbings cease,
For deepest angst precedes profoundest peace.
Categories:
unshorn, angst, anxiety, conflict, courage,
Form: Didactic
The enigma of a woman rests
in what you’ll never know
Despite those things she gives to you,
her secrets bide unshorn
Your eyes may taste and hands might touch,
but to herself alone
Her power worn as though a crown,
—her mystery, her throne
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Categories:
unshorn, woman,
Form: Rhyme
firkins and gherkins and whistles and shoes
cluster bombs, punji stakes, death in the news
choppers chattering
napalm splattering
a carpet bombed mind with asian war blues
cracked vinyl records and medals unworn
black and white photo, ex-soldier unshorn
wheeling chair
graying hair
a beaded necklace with peace sign well worn
tobacco stained fingers shake with a curse
lips pull a drag with help from a nurse
flares ignite
will he fight?
a battle goes cold, memories submerse
wheeled to a corner, he stares at a wall
that others can’t see, for him it is all
locked within
he can’t win
a war without end... unspeakable gall
Categories:
unshorn, veterans day,
Form: Limerick
Sparkling strip of silvery spray
marks a path across the bay;
downward sent from moon above,
silent stream on bouldered cove;
into these waters in unshorn skin,
she heads out on a midnight swim,
takes in the blessings given there,
rewarded peace while treading bare.
Categories:
unshorn, peace, solitude,
Form: Rhyme
#1
I am a randomling
know not of what I sing
don’t know a freakin’ thing
that’s prob’ly why I sing
#2
Perchance the cat got out the house
evicted by the realty mouse
claiming that the litter box
was grounds to change all of the locks
#3
Seven times in seven days
I checked the doors – quite unafraid
then hid beneath the covers – deep
pretending I was fast asleep
#4
I took a shot at “randomling”
wound up lost and ramble-ing
through dusty thoughts and crossed out lines
poetic threads in search of rhymes
unable to reverse rhyme’s curse
to stoop to writing unrhymed verse.
#5
thus do we approach the pages end
a straightened line that will not bend
unable to reset the norm
of poetry - as beast – unshorn
John G. Lawless
8/29/2015
Categories:
unshorn, humor, poetry, writing,
Form: Verse
Rescue parties in despair,
Spot his schooner drifting there
In the coming fog.
Someone heard him shoot a flare;
Naught remains, no hide nor hair,
Of the old seadog.
Fear is etched into the air,
Frantic scribblings make them stare
At his final log:
“Miles from any port or quay,
Sailing on the glassy sea,
I observe this morn
Something taller than a tree -
Wonder what the thing can be!
Suddenly forlorn,
Sweating madly as I see
More than one - in fact ‘tis three -
Massive beasts unshorn.
“Staring at the dreadful sight,
Chest is feeling mighty tight,
Standing on the deck.
Fearsome creatures; will they bite?
Gulping at their awful height,
Watch one crane its neck -
Scary, though ‘tis full daylight.
Will not stand a chance to fight -
Think they plan to wreck…”
For David’s Virelai contest
Categories:
unshorn, sea,
Form: Verse
i make ready myself for an insult
and chest pain, keeping unshorn hair like nettles
on contours, to take unknown turns for restoring
the clouds on moon-blue hills, spreading the water colors
on trees; someone inside the shrine was making
turbulence: yellow room has the footprints of
a naked fakir, after the apocalypse, who walked eyes closed
on the burning ghats, his rags are now worshipped,
the later years found the darkness
glowing in the furnace of propped up body
by roses,roses all the way, he tells the
hanging man, how tall were the poles, with song
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
unshorn, art,
Form: ABC
i make ready myself for an insult
and chest pain, keeping unshorn hair like nettles
on contours, to take unknown turns for restoring
the clouds on moon-blue hills, spreading the water colors
on trees; someone inside the shrine was making
turbulence: yellow room has the footprints of
a naked fakir, after the apocalypse, who walked eyes closed
on the burning ghats, his rags are now worshipped,
the later years found the darkness
glowing in the furnace of propped up body
by roses,roses all the way, he tells the
hanging man, how tall were the poles, with song
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
unshorn, adventure, allegory, angst, animals,
Form: I do not know?