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Joseph Rice Sep 2019
My Office

Veneer and gear cogs orbit my sky eyed bored writ
Face, fuzzy bottom trace rings masculine tell bells ‘cuz
I’m lazy, not hazy on congeniality or veneer reality.

This cube main lines fake hued bane mines and vain finds
Purchase on surface of brown turf dust or brick fur guts.
Veneer reality.
A B Faniki Sep 2019
Dear black Santa claus I have some wish
It is not as many as the hair on
your head as a matter of fact the wish
is about hair, you see my friend Malik has turn

nineteen last summer and up to now his face
is as smooth as a baby **** without a lick
of hair, Oh! black santa in your next phase
of trip and among your commodity of hair send malik

a beard, so that he won't be in despair
not that that is any business of mine and
please dear black Santa claus don't show this letter
to Saint Nicholas your counterpart with the white beard

I don't want him to accidentally send Malik a white
beard because that will freak him out.
AB Faniki © 9/8/2029 all right reserved  an attemp at humours piece using sonnet form I hope u enjoy it. It was supose to be part of my work banal tells.
Ragged mountains and rough terrains,
Withstanding storms and heavy rains.
Warm rays of sunshine bring light.
Bearing hues of black and white.

To the touch it feels like a freshly mowed lawn.
A promise of tummy tickling at dawn.
A relaxing walk in an uninhabited forest.
A tempestuous hike to the top of Everest.

You could be a renegade or a mad scientist
An investment banker or electric guitarist.
A biker's beard could be just as immaculate.
Rough as sandpaper or soft as velvet.
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2019
We talk politics in the shower.
You shampoo your beard,
I condition my armpit hair.
Good morning coffee breath.
I love you like a palindrome.
Tragic comedy, our physical love stretched
over distance.
Endings always differ.
Moon circles scream it’s raining on me.
Serotonin’s been locked up for years, I put her somewhere safe.
Check you’re alive with a finger *****, comedy of errors sings an ode in my left ear.
beard bristles
brush hair
light back catch
sensitivity sits
less lower lip
scene end
stage right
pick up towel
Chicken Feb 2019
Those who
cannot accept my beard,
I’ll bin em.
It’s time for truth.

Those who
Know me saw straight through
I’ll listen to em
No more arguing in the booth.
This is kind of a script thing. Based on observation. A power struggle.

I witnessed many a man being harangued about ****** hair. Such a crime.

So, I wrote about this by putting myself in their shoes. I’ll do the other side one day, cause they say there are three sides to every 'story', yours, theirs, and the truth :D.

It is based on a man who's love interest is a domineering user type who saw kindness as weakness. Man does not see this yet. His closest confidants have all seen it, and mentioned it, creating temporary conflict between the friends.

Woman now hates his new ****** hair, his beard, and wants him to get rid of it and he does not understand why, his beard is cool, besides, if she loves me, the beard would not matter, right?

Man realizes, it must not be love, loeve, love... and makes it up with his long time crew who knew all along.

Receiving less attention, woman naturally falls away to another 'project' in which she may try to achieve more grip.

Note: this is not a judgement about every dislike of a beard, there are various potentials.. this is an observation of a single instance.
•Don't you think you're standing too close
#But you did not oppose
•Cause your touch is so overwhelming
It numbs my brain
#So does your breath
Falling on my chest
•Maybe it's the lack of air inbetween
That's building this tension
#But this tension of our bond
Won't even let distance do us apart
•Who talks like that these days
#I'm witnessing one,
Between a boy and a girl of Laws
Stuck in the wonderland of Words
•That sounds more like the Never Never Land
#Don't let your sceptic shield come inbetween
Not tonight
•So that you can make me fall hard and deep
#So that I can kiss your wounds to heal
•But the soar soul will bring it back
How will you touch that
#Through that Venus trap you have for lips
•Your beard is no less of spikes
Growing goosebumps all over my skin
Running that chill across my spine
#It's good our interactive field **** our brains
At least for once our hearts can overtake
•I'm such a submissive to your strong gentle hold
#I'm so weakened at the sight of your rising-falling stole
Jack Shannon Dec 2018
Oh glorious day, did my eyes deceive?
So long the wait had been I could not believe,
That the time had come, so bright and fair,
My poor and barren chin would no longer be bare.
No more would I shave in vain attempt
To feel manly and escape contempt
From my bearded brother, whom according to he,
Could grow a full beard by the age of 3.
Oh how he'd be proven wrong from now on,
That even 'Baby Faced Jack' could possibly grow one,
Soon I'd have more hair than could be counted.
So much in fact I would never be discounted,
By burly builders and stubbly cooks
And have my age judged as 12 based on my looks.
Oh, what possibilities could be within my grasp,
Sideburns, goatees, chin beards OOH A Moustache
Ah, so many new ways to help me look prim and distinguished,
Like Hugh Jackman but better because I'm... English?
But as I pet, stroke and caress this wonderful hair,
My eyes widen in fear and despair
It was not what it seemed, it just wasn't fair,
This wonderful thing must have come from elsewhere,
For as I prided over becoming a man,
That tiny hair fell off right into my hand.
A poem based on the long wait to being able to grow a beard.
Grant Dickson Oct 2018
Bit of a scruffy scoundrel sometimes isn't it
around ones face like a lions mane it will sit,
Varied lengths shapes and colours
the growers are all like brothers.

It's not just ****** hair
some dont just stop and stare,
others want to touch the beard
maybe reading this you think that's weird.

Taking pride of place upon ones face
designer stubble there's not a trace,
like giving your pet a comb and groom
to some a shave would spell doom.

Though this may sound perverse
to touch it would be no curse,
pogonophiliacs want to give it a stroke
to others they sound like crazy folk.

Cooks we may not all be it's true
we love our women like our beards too,
adding in a little oil and sometimes butter
served to make their hearts flutter.

( C ) Grant Dickson 04/10/2018
I decided to write this random poem today national poetry day, I hope you all enjoy
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