"goatee" poems
At his little hippie college
he shows me a *** that looks like a wall
in a Rwandan museum, all skulls, he
learned clay in the Rift Valley
boarding school, on a kick wheel,
still his favorite
My brother is a potter
multicolor plaid shorts
little goatee
Banjo
Japan dreams
girl from Mozambique.
When we were little in Loiyangalani
we made tiny huts out of obsidian
while our Rhodesian Ridgebacks
sniffed the ground for cobras
sand vipers
scorpions
while twenty camels
walked by in a row
followed by tiny replicas
My brother is a potter, says to me
'When I am doing this I am
doing what I was created to do'
He makes a green and blue
candleholder for me which he calls
'The Islands,' light escapes through many holes
which look like sea turtles
pockets of air and
an atomic bomb just gone off
we turn off the lights
in my room in the hood,
snorkel in candlelight
My brother gives me
Rumi, incense, peace flags
We walk the silent night
smoke a clove
look at stars
like we used to do in the African riverbeds
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
Sixth Mass Extinction
Earth's sixth mass extinction event under way, scientists warn
-The Guardian
The headmaster has shaved his head egg-smooth
Shifted his hair to the point of his chin
And his sunshades to the top of his scalp
His petrol-station SAS sunshades
He often boasts he doesn’t even own a tie
And hasn’t read a book since Upper-Sixth
Something transgender post-colonial
About Guevara (who is on his tee)
Not a form master, but a master of forms
A way-cool disciple of Ofsted norms
Variant for the American Market
Sixth Mass Extinction
Earth's sixth mass extinction event under way, scientists warn
-The Guardian
Like, you know, the principal shaves his head
Like, absolutely, ***
Got him a goatee, like, actually
Cheap gas-station Official USA Navy Seals™® shades, mannnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Not cool, *** actually
I had to help him with the big words in Goodnight, Moon
Absolutely, like
Yosemite Sam™® on his faunky ol’ tee
His office has, like, stuffed fish and, like, football pictures, like, and his Dallas Cowboys™® baseball cap, like, actually
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
The other day
I was jerking off to **** right?
and
I'm in mid stroke
watching this ***** get banged
by some dude with a ****
that he slangs
in and out
all this nasty ****
got her *** spread open
dove in
lookin creepy
with this goatee
nasty *** ************
and her
got those eyes
that u can stare in forever
and still see nothing
but she got a body
who knows where her soul went
and as I'm getting mine off
watching these two ***** get off
these thoughts creep off
in my head
and I stop
and think
for a minute
the **** am I doing?
why do I have to need this?
to survive?
clicked play
and continued
and finished
stopped the video
and then thought the same thoughts
that I thought
when I first pressed pause
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
I got this job because I was seventeen
Available everyday at three
In debt with a man after I went clean
My boss at the time was thirty six with a goatee
Five dollars an hour plus tip, you see
It was fine for me.
I met the others standing by the kitchen line
All of them with the same look in their eye
Lying to family and friends saying, financially, their fine
Getting nothing on a tip and never knowing why
Yet they return the next day to serve white wine
Looking around I see all of us wanted more
But I’m in debt and you have to pay the rent
Do it all in one day and go home to a son that’s four
Under the thumb of an old vice president
The roof over the kitchen is about to cave in
And we watch with silent eyes
Because our uniforms are being held with safety pins
Promised new ones but Corporate lies
And when the bubble in the ceiling pops
We’ll be by the dumpsters flicking cigarettes on the road
While the greedy pigs come in drawing lots
Waiting for the gas stove to explode
Paid vacation sounds lovely
Been here every week for the past year
Sometimes I’m called to come in early
Pick up the broken glass from lunch rush beer
The people come in
Angry as they usually are
Now the glares don’t even touch my skin
It makes me laugh how many nasty people sit at the bar
The high-class families who come in for din
It’s been eight hours and six years
Since we started our shift
Staying here for three more is the biggest fear
But we’re already ******
We’ve been here for long we know this career
What else am I supposed to know
Other than how to make dough
It’s been a long night
You can see it in the height
Of cigarette buts by the dumpster
Where we can freely talk about the customer
It’s a busy life
Feels like we’re running out of time
To get out and ignore the strife
But there are times when the tips make us feel sublime
And we can buy a warm meal
Cause maybe it will heal
These aching muscles
That come from a constant hustle
Don’t you see why they say
At the end of the day
We need an ashtray.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC
a man needs a goat
every man deserves a woman
every man should have a woman
but a man needs a goat
if a man has a wife
he still needs a goat
a goat gets ya milk
a goat can getcha food
a goat can make a coat
and keep you warm
a man needs a coat
every man should have a goat
even if every man was married
every man would still need a goat
a man needs a goat
a man needs a goat
you can talk to a goat
and he will listen but
won't give you backtalk
a man needs a goat
if you're stuck on a mountain
a goat can find the way back
maybe
a man needs a goat
you don't have to feed a goat
a goat can feed itself
goats eat grass
if you own a goat
you won't have to buy a lawn mower
your goat will take care of that
goats do not climb trees
if you own a goat
you will never have to call the fire dept.
to tell them that
your goat is stuck up a tree
goats don't climb trees
so that will never happen
a goat can make milk
and with its milk
you can make
all kinds of cheeses
like goat cheese
and fresh mozzarella
there is nothing
like fresh goat cheese
and fresh goat cheeses
without a goat
you just can't make any goat cheese
nor
have any goat milk for your oats
a man needs a goat
you can't step on a goats back
you will break it
please use a ladder or
step-stool instead
do not step on a goats back
you can compare your goatee
to a goats beard
they grow'em too
a man needs a goat
goats make good company
you can talk to a goat and he will listen
but won't talk back
he's a good goat
a man needs a goat
a man needs a goat
a man needs a wife
but if a man has a wife
he's still gonna need a goat
a man needs a goat
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
You’ll pretend I believe in nothing,
I’ll pretend you do.
They all existed in some form of another.
Delicate mortal form.
Thanks for the fine and dandy.
Thanks for the sallow smiles turned upright.
The cheer.
Ready.
Prepared.
No plans, just an infamous execution of each day.
Days begin growing warmer,
but I’ll pretend summer isn’t close by.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 1:37 AM UTC
due to me reaching
that post menopausal age
there's a hirsute carpet
growing on my chin's stage
a goatee beard adorns
in such distinguishing tone
it's envy of my neighbour
Russell John Stone
over the years he's tried
to cultivate an abundant hair tress
but alas his bare cranium
has borne less and less
since my whiskers
are so prolific in sprouting
I could shave them off
for his wig's touting
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
the professor
name's John, I think
every day a goatee
a ponytail
and an honest smile
brings me flowers
sometimes.
pays in nickels
sometimes.
"have an easy day"
he says to me
man in the same brown
suit, mismatching
every day
coffee, hunched over
with something under
his arm
sometimes.
never seen him speak
just a scowl
and a solemn shuffle
the owner
of the bar next door
I think.
out for a cigarette
every 30 minutes or so
or move his car
he gets our mail
sometimes.
glasses on his forehead
never on his face
always a fleeting
noncommittal smile
pacing past the door
sly eyes.
there's the guy
stuck in the 70s.
every day
bell bottoms
a black bowl cut
it's a wig
I think.
a leather jacket
sometimes.
walks like he owns
the sidewalk
he doesn't.
the old man
the half-blind one
orders the same thing
always.
with his walker
his hands searching
haven't seen him
in a while
the big guy from
the burger place
across the street
no, not the famous one
the other place.
took his suggestion
got a burger
wasn't very good
but he's always so
cheery, gotta be nice
the one guy
blue shorts guy
stops by during his
run, to check
the selection. back
an hour later in
pants and
a jacket now.
never buys a thing
wearing those blue shorts
the woman with
oddly spaced teeth
and hair
the short witchy kind
lots of shawls
and oversized tote bags
and cargo-capri's.
complained of
an allergic reaction
once
to god knows what.
keeps coming back though
a mother and son
mother, tired.
ten year old
private school boy
asks for too much
and too many questions
"did you make this?"
"are you really 20?"
"do you go to school?"
he asks so many questions
"yes, yes, no."
"why not?"
"well…"
mom saves me
distracts him away
the poor skinny one
the homeless man.
ill-fitting clothes
always.
women's
sometimes.
begging, cigarettes and money
has a tic, says
"hello! hi! hello!"
every few seconds
he's very persistent.
and very polite.
gracefully insane, I'd say
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
In the dream Ginsberg tells me I am beautiful,
he moves his stool a little closer to mine
to see me in the dull glow of the bar.
I sip at my cocktail as he takes Howl from his briefcase,
tells me Jack loves my baby-blue eyes.
Somewhere at the back of the bar
I can hear the jazz men munching sandwiches,
chatting to the girls who bring them empty beer glasses
for coins to be dropped into, for requests to fill.
The old poet with his Buddhist waistcoat
wants to change the world with his masturbatory atom bomb,
wants the President of the United States
to be silent, to be silent, to be
silent.
So Ginsberg calls the barman Moloch,
wants him to find himself in a wounded page
filled with Christmas catalogues that make the children sing.
It’s a bald-guy thing he tells the beer puller,
‘Look at the jazz boys **** the metal,
sweet sounds, Jimmy The Joe makes , sweet sounds.’
The barman wants the music to end
just long enough for him to miss the woman he loves.
‘So get your heart in a sonnet,’ Ginsy tells him
‘Get your heart in a ******* sonnet, gypsy caravan boy.’
I put my fingers to my temples, try to bring the poems together,
try to imagine the perfect microphone in the Kaddish hand.
Tell me another three line joke, Alan,
tell me the one about the Arabic love call you never heard
when your papyrus was just desert dust.
You know the one, Allen. You know the one.
The jazz boys find their lips as Ginsberg finds his tear ducts;
I want him to chant his evolution into the mind of the sax solo.
‘It’s just us,’ he tells me, ‘we’re saving the world, Johnny Boy,
the greatest minds of my generation were ****** up the ***
so you ungrateful rhyming ******** could put colour on your book covers;
you see Lawrence throwing his spanners into the printing press?
That’s our little revolution: cherubic haiku page numbers
just waiting for the computer evolution to do something worthwhile.’
So Alan sorts his papers and gives that little attention-seeking-cough
the barman has been waiting all night for.
He pours the drinks, cuts the lime,
lets the poets supply their own anecdotes for this one-night-stand
that’s going to set every ******* pulse racing,
every heartbeat breaking for the goatee beard going grey.
In the dream Ginsberg tells me I am beautiful.
I tell him his spotlight is shining.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 5:47 PM UTC
I walked into a boisterous marquee
And ordered a shot of Nepenthe
What troubles you? asked the tender with a long goatee
I’ve pawned off all my treasures to the wretched blue sea
At this, with a puzzled look his neck did crane
To learn the love a starfish has for salty water, I explain
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 8:27 AM UTC
I once saw a man with golden hair
and a golden goatee.
His jacket was red
and his shoes were white as snow.
He possesses the knowledge of Stephen Hawking
and the strength of Hercules.
He raises a family of broken glass
a family that can only be broken once.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
You gradually licked the little stain of her strawberry flavored lip gloss
left on your lip line as you start shaving off your goatee.
You could still feel the pressure from her chest when she threw
her arms around you one cold night.
You dazed yourself with the smell of her flirtatious scented perfume
when you bit her neck from side to side.
You imagined the perfect curves of her hips as you try to draw
her figure on the mirror. But you heaved a deep sigh.
Alas! You could have married her. And then,
you went inside your bathroom door.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
No town homes in my hometown
We throw up and we throw down
Drinks pour up, tears pour down
No outlet in this port town
Glass crumbs and shards
elephant-skinned sidewalks smeared with tomato paste
the streets remember
potato-tipped death machines
starchy falsetto bullets
the cracking
window
skull
smushy hamburger meat brain
meet bullet—meet steering wheel—meet
ster
e
o
my little brother stays in a shelter
on American and California
where babies
sit themselves
change
is a dollar short
and DST
stands for daylight shootings time
Grandfather time
please stroke your shredded wheat goatee just a little longer
postpone apocalyptic
soon the children will hop skotch on chalked body silhouettes
and jumprope with bungie cord intestines
But not him
my little commando
he will find a way out
depart from home plate
three strikes carved on a flaming chariot
soaring through the sky like barbasol jet streams
the great
escape
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
I am here today, but i may not be tomorrow - a hitchhiker i picked up somewhere between Bennington and Marlboro Vermont
The library at Packer's Corners had
the smell of damp and old
as a lush august climbed the faded
wide wooden planks outside
and we schemed our
nightly dinner theatre performances.
The gang congregated disorderly
across the rocky garden before the (stage) barn,
plates and carafes of wine, rapt in the play.
Marti, a painter with knobby hands, salt and pepper hair,
the face of a sage and a speech impediment;
Veranda must have been a muse with her sharp
bohemian features and sleek black bob,
smelling of rosemary and musky Parisian perfume;
Oona, so young and stormy crashed about
those mountains in moods as protean
as Vermont weather and jeans
that were more holes than fabric;
Cootie, in his black goatee and the scent of
cooking oils under his mottled and freckled skin
would squint through the bugs and heat wave haze
to Marco on the pitcher's mound
scuffing his mortorcycle boots into the
sandy tan soil riddled with stones and
laughing with the reckless abandon that
waters the eyes with antifreeze for the soul
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
They had not seen each other in fifty years.
In between, a world war and a concentration camp.
Then my pop,
Erwin of the Homburg hat clan,
Went for the first time to the land of Israel,
From the safety of the United States.
A side trip, an unscheduled tour visit-stop,
A private memory to re-collect,
To a special hospital,
Where the survivors who did not really survive,
Live in tender care until there are no more.
A childhood friend to see, a dust to be disturbed.
In comes a man, now an American, a family man,
But with a European goatee, un-accented English,
Yet a boy, a young man from the Hamburg clan,
When last seen in the 1920's.
A voice calls out happy,
A miracle I call it.
Meine kleine Ervin!
My little Erwin!
What can I say other than
I weep as I write.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
Around the corner,
a blast of blue
comes screaming
just outside the coffee house.
A small boy,
no more than five,
is a beaming
chocolate goatee
from the local ice-cream parlor.
A woman chases him
with the exasperated look
of a mother on a date
with her son
.
Her eyes still red
from her four hours
of sleep,
but her smile:
as big as her son’s.
She catches him as he stops
at the smell
of fresh chocolate chip cookies
emanating from the coffee house.
Her motion is quick
and calculated
as she turns him around,
zips his jacket,
& kisses his forehead.
She takes his hand
and they are off.
I assume they live happily
ever after.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC
This fighting is killing me, and its its splitting me just like a dead tree, i tripped and fell and messed up my knee, baby can't you see that you and me were just meant to be? I don't understand why you went and set me free, I don't get why you acted so cruelly baby, i feel like a groupie because every time you talk to me you act so gruffly, i know I'm being greedy trying to keep you all the me but baby I know it might sound cheeky but for you girl I'd grow a goatee I know that makes no sense but again, can't you see that what ya do to me, makes it so I can barely, think or even use my mind, what I mean to say girl is that you've got me stymie-d
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC
the first time i became acquainted with death, i was 24 years old. i didn’t quite understand my thoughts back then and it scared me back into submission.
the second time i became acquainted with death, i was 32 years old. it was today. i was driving around a curve and a large white van zoomed around the same curb on the opposite side, halfway in my lane. the van was so close i could make out what the driver looked like; late 20’s, golden blonde hair that was layered, swept back, and landed on his shoulders. he also had a goatee of the same color. i had no reaction; only this deep sense of calmness that it was going to be all over. in that split second, i welcomed death as if i had known It my whole life but It was lost to me long ago. in my mind’s eye, i see myself reaching out - to what? i do not know. i only knew, deep down, that if i kept reaching, death would take care of me. i see myself sighing with tear stained cheeks. finally, finally it would all be over. no more infinite, uncontrollable sadness. no more back breaking work to simply be able to exist in reality. no more disappointments, to myself and others, because i cannot control these feelings when i, “have no reason to be sad. no reason to be depressed.” the peace i felt in that moment formed a sob of relief in my throat. and the ****** up thing is that my mother…my beautiful, exceptional, beloved mother, was in the car with me. that ****** up thing is me, i realize, coming back to the present. i am ****** up and don’t deserve to be anyone’s daughter or aunt or sister or friend. i am a sick, twisted thing. and i am scared for others for the first time in my life.
then the van quickly swerves back into its lane and i am alive.
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 3:46 PM UTC
Hot summer streets
I'm hot, you're cold.
Chimpanzee's is hatin'
You think I'm pretty.
She's got both hands,
High-rise, veins of the avenue.
I kinda feel like it don't make sense.
I grew tired of the same, then one night...
Rainstorm, take me away from the norm.
If God had long hair and a goatee,
I don't wanna be the girl that laughs the loudest.
Hands down, I'm too proud for love.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
I once likened you to a supernova;
it occurred to me during a memory of
Mr. Lanzilotta's awful goatee—
of how it twitched and curled,
unfurling, as he formed words about
black holes and dark matter.
"When a star's core collapses,
it creates a supernova."
I envied such a
truly noble death.
Fact: supernovae can outshine galaxies—
but they implode quickly.
Within a matter of weeks, supernovae may
run
out
of
nuclear fuel.
You lasted a month
before being swallowed by
darkness and space gas—
but how bright your flame;
how brilliant your spectrum;
how lovely—and melancholy—your
pervading,
fading
stardust.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
I awoke to the sounds of water...
He no doubt trying to absolve our sins from the night before.
As I sit up in bed and yawn I have a look around at the mess we made. Our clothes look like a trail that on a map would lead to where his bed is the x that marks the spot. I notice red splotchy mementos left on my skin from his goatee and cannot help to think back to the nights escapades. It still feels like his mouth is on my skin as I touch my fingertips to my lips and my ******* turn ***** as if it is all on once again. I sigh and get up out of the bed and find his crumpled white work shirt on the floor. As I slip it on I hug myself in it and can still smell his delicious scent. As I stretch I think how good a cup of coffee would be right about now. As I start walking to the coffee *** I notice how sore my muscles are. I cannot help but to giggle to myself knowing he will love this information. Should I pretend there is no soreness or should I let him know his affect on me? As I slowly sip on my coffee I am thinking the latter....Every man deserves to know he hurt his woman so good!
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
.
Drinking
beer from a
bucket is illegal
in St. Louis. Slee
ping on a fridge
is illegal in Pitts
burgh. Sporting
a "goatee" is ill
e g a l in Bo s
t on. Fishing i
n your pajamas
is illegal in Chic
ago. It is illegal
in Globe Arizon
a to play cards
with a Native A
merican. Playin
g an instrument with the inten
tion of luring some one into a store
is Illegal in Indian Wells California
It is illegal to peel an orange
in a hotel roo m in LA
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
i'll take a look-see
yeah a look-see
just a look-see
ya see?
a quay by the sea
is what i see
a ****** marquis
gone to sight-see
magnificent silk trees
if we ship him to hawaii
he'll give us the master key
then we'll cut of head before his dying plea--
to take off his goatee,
at least to a tolerable degree,
which one might say will still be ******
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 7:50 AM UTC
A woman at my work
Resigned
Amid many tears
And bouquets of
Flowers
She'd been with
The same company
For twenty years
She made an announcement
To my coworkers and I
"Tomorrow everyone is
getting together at the
Tap house, you guys are
Welcome to come"
My one coworker
A bean pole with
A ***** blonde
Ponytail and goatee
Agreed to go
Before she had even
Finished speaking
He's 37 and
Still lives with his
Parents and has
No desire to do
Anything
He once told me
That he didn't get
Why people went to
The beach
"Why go to the beach
When I can sit by
My pool? There's nothing
The beach offers that
My pool doesn't"
Anyone that can't tell
The difference between
A chemically shocked
Puddle in a backyard
And
The vast living
Expanses
Of the ocean
Should be considered
A danger to public
Health
Plus
Like people with two
First names
I don't trust men
With ponytails
I figured I'd go
I don't mind most of
The people I work with
Except for the
Ponytailed ***** boy
But then I started
To think about all
The times that this
Woman had:
Purposely stepped over
The morning
Paper so that I would
Have to bring it in
Threw her hands
Up in disgust when the
Copier was out of paper
And told me to fill it
Over her shoulder while
Walking to her office
Told me to fill
The coffee maker
With water while she
Clicked her tongue
And painted her nails
Threw work on my desk
Without a word
Wandering off to a
Higher floor to
Chortle behind a closed
Door with one of the
CFOs or CEOs or
Whoever the ****
But worst of all she
Thought ventriloquists
Were genuinely funny
I figured
That after two years
She was the one
That should buy me
A drink
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
We are all different
But some are more different others.
The Asian lady who cant't stop drinking her tea
The perverted Iranian who has not one wife, not two but three
The strange fella who makes noise as he walks
Probably harmless but must have a woman that he stalks
The bodybuilder who talks to no-one unless in trouble
Trying to grow a goatee but looks like daft stubble
Always the computer buff who knows how to hide his secret sites
If we knew how to access his stuff he'd soon enough take flight
The chubby man who's wife we believe is Thai
Most British girls just turned him away, well at least he tried
Then there's the cheeky sod who says he's wheelchair bound
Comes out with some screamers but no one utters a sound
And how could I forget the older lady who's divorced three times
You didn't know that? Oh you'll find out down the line
And then there is me who I think to be plain and normal
But God only knows what they say about me, nice and informal?
Not from this lot
An Office Full of Weirdos
JJB
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC