"mullet" poems
Plaid slacks
Feather cap
Argyle socks
Flip phone
Mullet hair
Greasy hands
Crusted fingernails
White belt
Sketchy beard
Members only
Casio watch
Deck shoes
Muscle shirt
Tribal tattoo
Chest hair
Plumbers crack
You look great, Mom!
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Hey you up there!
Flying around in your underwear
I know you’re busy
Saving the world and stuff
but I gotta tell ya
It ain’t enough.
Yes, you can jump buildings
In a single bound
But we really need you
Here on the ground.
Just look around, man.
I don’t understand
How you came to be
But defying gravity
Is not something most folks can do
And unlike you
We can’t stop a bullet
With a mullet and a Mountain Dew.
So you might as well come on down
And help us move some **** around
Cause we got a lot of work to do
And we could use a guy like you.
Or two.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
An Amish elder named Mullet,
And some of his ****** clan,
bore hatred deep in their gullets
for their Amish fellow man.
****** seemed out of the question,
It’s rare among Amish, folks say,
(It may be that a horse and a carriage
doesn’t make for a quick getaway.)
So Mullet and some of his minions
Invented a new sort of crime:
Shaving their bearded opponents
one Amish man at a time.
Losing one’s beard among Amish-
A disgrace before God, it’s been said.
Mullet spared no woman either
choping the hair from their heads.
His victims are speechless with anger,
denuded of both beards and hair.
Leave it to someone named “Mullet”
To offend using a Barber’s chair.
Mullet’s in Federal custody;
charged with a crime, not a sin.
He refuses to answer the charges
By the hair of his chinny chin chin.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
i'm not proud of nicknames...
but then again,
i find nicknames to be
the archetypal form of
endearment -
a "belittling" with warm
affection...
i didn't have a nickname
in primary school...
the girls tried,
rabbit...
Danielle...
i remember Danielle calling me
rabbit,
why? the way i ran...
jumping in between
running steps...
i like Danielle,a brunette,
with enough freckles to
make her a ***** ginger...
high school?
Goldilocks
named by Graham...
or Chewbacca by Barry..
i was the only man attempting
to grow long hair..
a mullet wast the running
joke, among the Ian crowd...
university?
no nickname...
shitty time...
while industrial roofing took off,
working for my father?
Picasso...
i was meticulous with the tar...
but lately...
my grandmother has
a nickname for me...
because of my beard...
these days i'm know as
Castro...
i'm not proud of nicknames...
but i didn't make them up!
i wish i had...
that being said...
nicknames are
quiet endearing...
i'd love to see Danielle once more...
see how much the freckles took
over her complexion;
Danielle... **** me...
what an ****** name...
like m first love in
the English tongue...
the moment i heard it...
Sam-anth-a(h)...
curly hair,
darkened blonde,
mingling an autumnal-cherry
mahogany with chocolate
cinnamon...
****
i've been so erotically
mobilized / motivated...
from such an early age...
Danielle & Samantha...
nicknames...
and the rest is, history.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
Like ******* a **** and you can't get hard,
Like rolling a blunt that's full of glass shards,
Like a bowling stunt where the pins are yards,
Away and you must stay put loaded with gin and not on guard,
While there's jaywalkers walking cross the alley and snipers far,
Up both sides, moss covered camouflage dilly dallying,
Falling comets, planets and stars while you ***** black tar out your scars, Sick spurting **** out the pit of your face and tripped on a lace falling down along with Mars.
Faster than my **** grows when I'm hitched, race-cars, bullets, and the suicide of a suicidal emo ***** with a mullet, grab the **** and pull it off and roll it up like the glass when you rolled it in the paper faster than a rapers hips going twitch twitch twitch, ***** you know it, she's on the list.
But you're soft and no fist can fit and what the **** is this about, just **** I coughed up and spout out my mouth, if it makes sense, even a little, I am not dense with my rhymes, raps, and riddles, there's meaning to it all, whether its beaming or dull, but I guarantee it's full and fits and flows when I say it to a T, you say my **** blows, well that's just mean, you say it's great, my confidence ovulates, so use it as bait as I eat off this plate, this 5 star rated treat elevated to six star cuisine meat.
I'll continue later in few poems that are greater and like haters, I won't stop planning and plotting out **** like these lyrics, I'm a creator.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
I used to swim across the channel to rattlesnake island when I lived
in Florida . We all knew the sharks loved
the funneling action of the channel to the bay . And we were always aware that there were sharks near by . We saw them every day . Yet the allure of the island just a scant one hundred yards away was to much for a 10 year old to pass up . So I would swim across holding a rod and reel high so it would not soak in sea water . I admit there was apprehension evident in my strokes and kicks but I made it across . On the other side there were no rattlesnakes anywhere .
Just gorgeous unclaimed white beaches and aqua clear water . Needle fish scooted across the surface and schools of mullet jumping were all I could see . I did little or no fishing , just running and jumping into the surf . What an afternoon it was . But the sun slid down and we knew we had to leave soon as the big sharks move in at dusk to feed into the night . So we stepped into the swirling waters of the channel and then plunged in and swam . Sharks have all black eyes . Cold black eyes and an expressionless grin that is all business sporting a mouth full of jagged dagger teeth . They are cautious up to a point but no one knows where that point is . Once that point is reached . . . well you don't want to see that point while your in the water . So about half way across the channel we see a dark shadow swim by in front of us between us and the beach . We know it's a shark , a big one . Perhaps more than fifteen feet long . We can't stay where we are at , but we fear to move on . So taking a deep breath we swim on slow and steady . Finely the beach is at hand , our feet touch sand and we run up on the beach and collapse . Then with heaving chests of fear we look back only to see the shark swim by . Needless to say that was my last visit to rattlesnake island .
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
Traveling, just rambling along on this lonely old road
All my life, on this journey of mine; I've been carryin' a heavy load
Still contemplating on my last trip, my mind's already full
People can say, this life got my ***** to the wall
Can't stop livin' this life, already miss my *****
My baby waiting at home, can't sleep on the wheel, or I'll end up in the ditch
Hittin' seventy five, hopped on speed
Singin' along with the radio, wishin' I had some more creed
To look forward to a better life,but nothing can beat this
Me and my rig, can you dig this
Highway is a playground, this truck is my toy
Back home, there who waits for me is my little boy
Trucker hats, cop sunglasses, even a mullet can make it a full redneck gear
Can't recall the last time I took some time off, must have been like 10 years
Screaming past rural towns, honking at hot chicks in fast cars
Every night, I'm a stranger at a run down bar
Just lookin' at the pictures in my wallet
To give up all this, hell no, I rather eat a bullet
My baby, my dog, and my little boy's waitin' for me
Freedom is my highway, this rig is my guiding light for me
HELL YEA!!
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
twitters and tweets
pictures are sweets
keeping you hooked
on the tabloid elites
just out of bed, hair on his head
matted and messy, way better than said
your public is waiting and verging on vexed
"stay tuned for more selfies", you casually text.
stand by the mirror and pose for your followers
leading them into the worship of men
drawn to the sight of your bare naked belly
this bowl full of jelly is quaking, and then
this one, her *** just after the baby
she's worked out like crazy, perhaps she just clazy
spray-tanned and bare butted
tattooed and nare studded
back in the crack but her tact has been share gutted
no worries, it all comes around
in some hotel bathroom you click at your Iphone
like all of the rest of us, yet so alone
trying to snap one both **** and manly
the wife beater t-shirt, the boxers and phone
we can't really blame you, your business, your life quest
but fashion is funny right down to the jewels
both earlobes sport earrings, just like mommy dearest
whatever your pleasure, some little girl drools
and she scantly clad there, for all of her viewers
could not give a **** about "ahhers" or "ew'ers"
but don't stop, you're on top and making your money
and laughing right back, since we're also quite funny
we once wore our hair all pulled up or with mullet
thought no one was laughing, we knew we were cool
and now all the stuff which we wore gone forever
or passed off as costume, just vintage, old school
where somebody bought it from some smelly thrift shop
and wore it again with a sense of true style
the polaroid pictures we took at the bus stop
that camera is back and will be for a while
Stand at the mirror and smile for your camera
not really getting that folks can be odd
some are perverted, while others disturbed
and still others are cranky and smelling like cod.
Someday you'll grow up, a mommy or daddy or maybe
a granny once shaking her *****
or maybe a pop-pop
and scoff a their moptop
and laugh with your grandkids
it all comes around.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
8yrs young
lo0000nnnnnnnnggggggggg
thick shiny blue black hair
Air Force Papa wanted a Wash N Wear
He wanted mija* with Dorthy Hamill hair
So I was ordered to March down the street
to Emilias Holy Carport
Emilia La Bautista Mexicana*
She knew no english but she knew Jesus
She'd cut your hair and save your soul
That day i requested un "Dori Hamel" Cut
She smiled and charismaticly said Amen! Te vas a ver muy bonita*
Her holy * tijeras snipped
my hair glided to the cement floor like feathers off angels wings
She made me look right
she made me look left
and when i looked up...
I HAD A MULLET
my tears came down
because of my Dukes of Hazzard crown
and I marched home to Dixie
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
His mouth was a nuclear leak
(he fried his brain when he was 17)
And I can’t get the burning toxins off my skin
(and that is as far as he ever grew up)
Some of them have seeped in deeper, I can
(he’s amused by stick figure animation)
Hear them rupture the seams of my insides
(and the shuffling photos of his obsessions;)
My brain thankfully, is still intact
(his car, his clothes, his kids…and me)
Fighting this fight heroically
(my god, to be one of his children)
Anxiously looking over my shoulder
(he can’t keep a nanny for very long)
Refuting his demeaning accusations
(no one stays in his life who is not on payroll)
********* Narcissist
(but even they all quit eventually)
Still forgiving myself for letting it happen
(oblivious that his entourage disrespects him)
This antithesis-of-me-toxic-bath
(he is incapable of giving or deserving trust)
Disdained my beliefs and philosophies
(he still wishes he had his mullet of 1986)
Demanded my selflessness without return
(and the older woman he ****** in high school)
Reduced me to dismissible arm candy;
(immature alcoholic tantrums lie just)
The missing feature of his pride
(below the surface of every conversation)
And I can’t shake this feeling
(which speak exclusively of himself and his many impulses)
That I have truly met evil face to face
(or the stupidity of humanity who serve his whims)
Afraid to realize how narrowly I escaped
(his highest dream is to own a personal servant)
Except for the residue
(explains his demands clearly and concisely)
Adhering like burned on soap ****
(believes money and a big **** make him a man)
I feel like he will never, ever really be gone
(his reptilian brain controls every move)
That he will still try to own me or make me
(“I don’t want to be an ******* I’m just really good at it”)
Pay for refusing to surrender my soul
(funny, those words almost make me feel sorry for him)
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
My grandfather killed himself using rerun
shows and his nephew's mullet, an egg
stuttering across a parking lot segway
a mass suicide by the binders on a pill
tearing apart I snapped the zipper on
my favorite hoodie that I lost my virginity
in, my favorite thing is findings 20 dollar bills
that I stored in the empty battery compartment
of my alarm clock,
a teacup filled with blood and sawdust
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
There's a stranger at the door
Eyes are blurry and sunk to the floor
its the middle of the night and the noise causes fright
you open the door and fear what’s more
grabbed by the beard
assailed in the night
tribal lines feared
by the victims of tonight
They cut off my manhood
they cut off my might
Fanatic terrorism
Is the cult I must fight
But I would have rather died
sleep through the perils I’ve eyed
than to have this beard of mine cut
my manhood, my pride
This ego has fallen
by the hand of slandered, misguided pride
-Sam mullet must be tried
-sa fool that must be tried
When they stole my hair they stole my story
This beard was much more than identity allegory
They didn't steal it all though....
I escaped
To tell a story of fear in a horse and buggy ride
To alert the media and to simply confide
We never locked our doors before
you wondered “what violence” you s3nseless *****
Schism between the mainstream and Mullet
and the scissors cut/divide communities apart
like a cook does a cutlet
Never forget the scissors that took my bucket-list ,
TerrorEYEz; learned helplessness, cult leader...fuck-it-quick.
.fuck.youSamMullet.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
the rain falls and runs
over the black shield, not bullet proof,
like a life, that is not mullet proof,
bad taste in personal care, bad taste in your mouth
so be aware, rain drops don't have legs but they
run anyway, across the umbrella,
and drip to the ground,
your heels kick up the spray of discarded raindrop corpses,
they bleed into your pants and the stain grows,
the further you try to walk away,
from the moving scene, of a crime,
but the clothes like all things, even drips dry overnight,
until it falls and runs again,
on a day, when the umbrella gets forgotten,
where the mullet meets its taker,
and the barber's chair and floor,
take on a texture change, as dead
pieces of hair fall and rearrange,
each time the door opens to the shop,
the unwelcome chill breeze sweeps in,
as the chair forms to the body of the voluntold,
striking the strop, blade raised, the barber stands behind,
a man who is getting old as his hair,
the living and the dead each strand
but the chemo is coming,
and it will take it, a requirement, a demand
anyway, may as well give it away,
cancer the disease takes, without saying please
here where the pole twirls and never stops,
the chatter of voices and murmurs in the shop,
good riddance to bad ******* he thinks
as the barber powders his neck and brushes,
any hairy evidence to the ground, they tumble and fall,
until night falls and runs, over the cityscape,
the pinpricks of light along the streets,
as he walks home alone, the umbrella he left
behind, closed up like the shop, the twirling candy cane pole stopped,
is far from his mind, for the rain falling will hide the tears,
he is not ready, he is unsteady, how will he hide the fears?
Soaking, in the night, pale against the dark future as it appears, like his hair...short
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
A ragged, one eyed bear held dearly by a child.
A solitary leaf blown around on the summer breeze.
The smell of old books with turned corners.
The sapling struggling for light beneath the mighty oak.
The bounty discarded by the crabapple tree.
An ill advised mullet.
The opening chords of Born To Run
Kurt Cobains smile.
All these things bring you to me.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
one man on the windowsill
imitating monkeys
ooh ooh ah ah
went far with the onomatopoeias
of tarzan able to sift through
onomatopoeia into syllables
into letters... and it took
about the same time it took
the dinosaurs to be extinct....
ooh ooh ah ah... ha ha...
god give this monkey the fur
and that man the nobel prize....
i'm guessing both will claim to be swedish:
ooh ooh pooh ah ah!
english society doesn't like philosophy,
it doesn't like questions, it just like facts;
smell my armpits for a digression,
smell my armpits for a who'd do it, who'd ever don it,
maybe a breezy mullet fringe for the *****
for the whiff-up we call a gel-up;
ooh ooh ah ah lifting of weights to exercise the triceps.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
not my finest moment, but one worth examining -
I had a mullet and lived off of Haight st.
she didn't mind my mullet which,
at that time, was about all I could ask for.
we made out in the rain, copulated in bar bathrooms, lay in bed for hours laughing.
she was an explosion of life - a sunflower in the wind.
and beautiful.
(because how many ordinary princesses get poems?)
I thought I was prince charming.
turns out I was the stepmother,
the witch, the wolf.
I turned our bedroom -
where we love, lusted, and lived
- into a dungeon.
because it was the only place I wanted her.
to myself, pleasing me, craving me.
I did everything I could to keep her in that dungeon.
and her eyes glossed over, and she started to die.
I watched her starve.
then one day I unlocked the giant iron door,
swung it back,
and she was gone.
maybe rescued by a prince,
most likely grew wings and flew out on her own.
because I was the villain in my own fairy tale,
hers too.
and this one had a happy ending,
which means,
I lost.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC
It was my first time meeting a writer
Brand new book, published and everything
He stood, quivering, sheltered, in his wrinkled black 501s—
Costumed tailored shirt, the initials read EC
Blazer, black suede. Let’s not forget his outdated soul patch
Bald with long hair in the back, a pity of a mullet
He spoke to me, what do you wanna know?
About? Everything. You have to write. So, write.
We get interrupted; he has to make a speech
The crowd is four glasses in. A man whispers to me smokescreen
Typical, no respect.
He shakes, his mouth scared to even move, fumbling every word
I need a glass.
I pour it; he downs it and begins to read
Slur
The audience mingles, forgets why they are here. What should we eat?
A pause, an applause.
And no one gave two ***** about what he had to say
Or what he wrote.
All, but me.
It was great meeting you, pop a bottle of pinot
and we’ll talk more about what not to do in writing.
Or, we can just drink.
He taught me everything.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Dad and Mom both want me
To dress like they both dress.
If I don’t follow their rules
They think my life is a mess.
I understand that they don’t
Like the way I wear my hair
But, if haircuts are mentioned
In the Constitution, tell me where.
I’ll be a mullet-wearing hipster
As a dedication to yesterday
If ever a day is officially declared
Celebrating double-knit polyester.
But until that day comes, folks
I want you both to know
I don’t want to look like I am
Character from a television show.
I don’t mean to be picky here
But I have suffered the ridicule.
I was the only kid dressed up
Like a CPA in elementary school.
We’re not talking about me
Joining a gang of outlaw crooks.
I just don’t want to get beat up
Because of the way I look.
I’m not shaving ***** you’ in
The back of my shaved head.
Neither do I want to come
Dressed as a nerd instead.
It’s probably all about moderation
And less about modern style
But with your kind permission
I’d like to talk with you awhile.
Let’s come to some happy medium
Where you don’t think it’s a scam
That I want to enjoy my youth
And be the person I really am.
I do understand parental guidance
And am grateful that you are here.
But please let me get with the times
Before I prematurely age ten more years.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
My journey to you
so very long
Men I'd dated
never singing the right song
Then one day
you were there
Leather jacket
Long blonde hair
I felt as if I was in a dream
You had the best **** mullet
I'd ever seen
You're handsome face
it did frame
You wore your mullet
without shame
Farrah Fawcett hair
my jeans real tight
Who could've known
we'd fit just right
The first time we meet
that majestic night
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
I’ve always had a thing
for strange, dark men
it started at Jareth’s glam teased mullet,
winged eyeliner, magic dance moves,
smooth af tights and goth orb raving
no ******* wonder
I ended up with the Goblin King
trying to take my baby away
locking me in mazes
just fear me, love me, do as I say…
and when that chilly November
shook me awake
finally
the words I kept tasting
over and over
on my thawing lips:
you have no power over me
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
Well the Josh Abbot Band sings Matagorda Bay
but I’m pretty sure it’s all the wrong way
should be I’ve been walking it all day
casting a shrimp or mullet along the way
whether the river, the surf or the bay
or even the intercoastal waterway
You can never go wrong fishing here
from the bank, the beach, or even the pier
maybe spring, or maybe fall
you will always have a ball
with your dad, in laws or college friends
it always pays in dividends
Of reds, whiting, croaker and trout
usually followed by a cookout
sometimes black drum or maybe a ray
either way, make them pay all day
casting a squid or maybe a mullet
the fish always bite, take it and tug it
After dark on a green light
try as you might
you just can’t find a lure they won’t bite
when the tide changes and shrimp are running
two at a time is for what you are gunning
tired, and sore, but you are tough
All night long until enough is enough
then to bed for some shut eyed dreams
then up again, as the morning sun gleams
do it again, as it never lasts
Creating memories of the past
to share with friends
and also the kids
of Matagorda Bay
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
Casting lines
dropping jigs
some of them tipped with pig
Chicken liver
on the river
channel, Blues or yellow cats
Texas Rig
rattle Trap
pull out that hot spot map
Spinner baits
attracting blades
casting lures in the shade
Spin cast
snoopy pole
custom rod, medium fast
Crappie and largemouth
catfishing in the south
lakes or rivers, even streams
sometimes of the gulf we dream
Finger mullet on the line
waiting on the drag to whine
sharks or rays, even trout,
man that what it's all about
Whiting or croaker
let's go catch some Redfish
or salmon for the smoker
Northern pike and walleyes
white bass and panfish
fishing under blue skies
Bring a rod and a reel
tackle box and cold beer
at the lake its the deal
Cast and wind
catch and clean
fried blackened or steamed
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
*Undulating jade , juvenile days
Cold , salty rain
A seventh floor balcony
The gulls , the pelicans , the
sandpipers and me
Precious memory , precocious with crab bucket and flashlight ,
cut squid , open face reel , Panama
Jack mariners hat
Snorkels and sand dollars , shells , frothy
waters
Daughters , saltwater taffy , dolphins ,
mullet , catfish and boogie boards
Early breakers , soul shakers , thundering surf
The release of material worth
Sun melting into the western world
Gulf zephyrs kiss naked flesh ,
softening the man* ...
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
eternally confronted
each time Autumn slips away
by the ugliness of Christianity
blended perfectly with capitalism
as fat white middle-class ********
push and shove for the best deal –
my eyes recoil at the horror
as parents with the best intentions
place their children on a stranger’s laps
… strangers earning minimum wage
to help propagate a lie
all bent on creating entitlement
and grossly exaggerated expectations
on imaginary friends
both Santa and Jesus –
it’s a cold month in Oregon
for the spiritualist
barterer
sociology major
living December
in a nation of shopaholics
on their national day of rejoice –
I walk the streets witnessing mass consumption
of energy recourses
so thousands of twinkling lights
can show the neighborhood
how you love the savior more than everyone else
nativity in front
santa on top
retards sporting
a holiday mullet –
closing the door I am slapped
by the smell of pine
and hypocrisy
as I too
have a tree, decorated
standing in my living room –
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC