"sideburns" poems
A Noun: The oblong: a thing:
The name of that lounge : a place
By the face of the strange shaped lake...
Dinosaur Egg / oval / green grapes.
An Adj.: Oblong Longboard
That’s such the coolest name
A person: Not a thing
oval shaped .
Mr. Ellipsis made no complaints
About tiny alien ant farms
“From Outer Space!”
The natives made to slave.
*Oblong grew his beard out
After the sideburns days
Mr. Ellipsis far far away*
Fires of the Sun
Will not discern—when
The Light returns
The wyrm will burn .
In oblong throes of defeat.
At peace : A Verb.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
In this river while rowing your boat
hey there ! you hasty toad
you did not check for the banks
and flowed through the ranks
the trees are not anymore
by your side like before
the birds don't sing here
no sign of land far or near
in your attention for the twists and turns
like you ignored the face and saw just the sideburns
you were driven by an unquenched thrist
you repent what you left behind, now hurt
fishes so big, in this depth, your heart is now sunken,
in search of sweet happiness you have reached the *salty ocean*
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
a certain morning stiffness
in your joints
you find your face
in the bathroom mirror
and wish you hadn't
the puzzled wisdom
of middle age
wavers from your eyes
deepening wrinkles
of many laughs
many frowns
how many more?
nevermore ?!
the room becomes aflutter
with poesque ravens
the presence of absences
fills the void
your life is on the brink
of deconstructing itself
to the periphery of the universe
a discourse of silence
forever becoming ... becoming ...
what...?
nevermind!
so
you close your eyes
hard
for a minute or two
when you look again
you meet the stare
of a not-so-bad-looking
man in his best years
graying sideburns
receding hairline
20 pounds too many
BUT
a firm decision
to work them off
still a bit sleepy
yet determined
to shave
get dressed
have breakfast
and teach
that wonderful seminar
on 19th century poetry
to eager graduate students
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Hair down to shoulder,
Gray peppers my sideburns;
Where do the years go?
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
The white fluorescent lights buzz over my head, as if a method of determined annoyance.
Studying is a truly lackluster operation
Students methodically find ways to keep themselves distracted
Looking around, trying to catch glimpses of how others are managing their time so well, a frantic approach to studying that I have single handedly mastered
A very tan incongruous man, seats himself with the Miami Herald in hand
His skin has a leathery texture
He is a tall and gangly, strange looking man of at least 50
3 inch thick sideburns, red corduroy pants that reveal his mustard yellow socks and brown-black shoes
Button-down shirt with the vertical stripes, sure to match every color with the rest of his outfit
Off-white straw fedora hat with a forest green trimming,
He sports a fabulous mustache, that puts every biker’s or Italian baker’s whiskers to shame.
Something tells me he's not a student
Seated across from me are two foreign women that are studying the English language.
I know because they are the only ones talking, pushing my diversion from work a little further.
The sky is turning grey outside the colossal library windows
I’m hungry.
That kid in the corner keeps staring at me.
I have been here too long.
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 4:28 AM UTC
One day my young niece was showing me some photos of herself and her
friends on her phone
She had loads and loads of these photos
I was thinking to myself I don't think anyone's taken a photo of me in forty
years,
Then I thought what'd happen if I got famous and someone wanted to write
my biography (would be a short book)
And they'd say Give us some of your old photos to stick in the Book
And of course, I'd have a problem, I'd have no photos to give them,
Then I remembered there was this Novelty Joke shop in town
They had a great collection of all these different kinds of wigs
I thought maybe I could buy a few wigs then stage a few photos
Pretend they were from earlier days,
Yea, I could get an Elvis wig with the sideburns, I could say that was my
Rockabilly stage
Then I could get a big Long Hair wig and say That was my Hard Rock
phase,
I could get a Mohican wig and say Well that was what I looked like when I
was a Punk Rocker
And Hey! Maybe I could get one of those lovely big blonde Dolly
Parton type wigs
I could say
"Well that Summer I was listening to a lot of Country music".
Mar 15, 2023
Mar 15, 2023 at 12:49 PM UTC
I WAS a boy when I heard three red words
a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets
for: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity-I asked
why men die for words.
I was older; men with mustaches, sideburns,
lilacs, told me the high golden words are:
Mother, Home, and Heaven-other older men with
face decorations said: God, Duty, Immortality
-they sang these threes slow from deep lungs.
Years ticked off their say-so on the great clocks
of doom and damnation, soup and nuts: meteors flashed
their say-so: and out of great Russia came three
dusky syllables workmen took guns and went out to die
for: Bread, Peace, Land.
And I met a marine of the U.S.A., a leatherneck with a girl on his knee for a memory in ports circling the earth and he said: Tell me how to say three things and I always get by-gimme a plate of ham and eggs-how much?-and-do you love me, kid?
1.7k
Love the name.
Got upset
When the man called out, Seen.
Stupid man.
It's Sean, and not Shawn.
A year older than Gerald.
Two younger than Kevin.
Two older than me.
That's Sean.
Daddy wrote home about us.
Maura was working at the hospital.
Sheila was finishing highschool.
Kevin won the Science Fair.
Sean plays ice hockey with the All Stars,
All over Canada and the U.S.
I found the letter, penned in '62,
A jagged European cursive. They tend to write the same.
I've seen the words, run together to hide the spelling;
With JMJ's and TG's sprinkled like manna throughout.
The last page was missing,
Just when Daddy'd write about Gerald, me, and Marlene.
Gerald with his Beetles haircut.
Me, mimicking ( probably mocking),
Some unknown priest, to my father's delight;
Marlene, the wee pigeon, he missed most when he worked
Away from home.
Jimmy, The Bruiser, wasn't here yet.
The last of an Irish brood settled in Canada.
I discovered it in the spare room at Granny's and Frank's.
There was no mention of Michael, Eucheria or Particia.
He exaggerated about the harsh, six-month winters here,
And our proximity to the North Pole.
Suggested Frank try putting copper wires around Granda's wrists;
The Egyptian mummies didn't exhibit signs of bone deterioration.
Daddy was hard-pressed to be proven wrong when he concocted.
Sean had a drawer full of ribbons, medals, trophies and plagues,
And a large S, his Senior Letter.
He also had sideburns, a much smaller nose, and, smelled
as good as he looked,
The Elvis dip-curl, the Connery swag, the Selleck stash to Clooney cool.
Sean kept a disposition of hidden pains secreted for others.
A heart of tears.
A spirit of adventure.
I love Sean, I recall.
He is always welcome here.
Drops by sometimes.
It's always a great surprise.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC
When I was in the start
of my mental illness problem,
I exhibited physical movements
which bothered me,
because I thought they
were crazy,
but now, some forty years later,
I realized
that what I was doing
was mental illness yoga,
which was the body's way
of trying to cure me,
and the first yogic movement
that I did
was rocking back and forth
as I was sitting,
so now
I have tried it
by synchronizing
my breathing
and my internal music
along with it,
and it becomes
very healing,
so my mentally ill mother
used to tap
her fingers
on her legs
one at a time,
so I have tried that
and synchronized it,
and a friend
used to pull down
on his sideburns
in a kind of stroking manner,
so that's a good one,
and another friend
stroked his legs
back and forth
just above the knees,
and that one is excellent,
so I move my legs
in opposite directions, fast,
back and forth,
and that one works well,
so I roll my head around
in circles,
and that actually is
a yogic practice
called head rolls,
and I move my head
back and forth, sideways,
like Stevie Wonder,
and that works great,
so I would suggest
that if you have
any kind of eccentric movements
like these,
to develop them
and turn them into yoga,
because it just might be
the answer
to many problems.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
fingertips
touching lips
tracing blue veins bulging
indulging
in elastic skin
absorbing the texture, the mixture
of delicacy and sin
caramel waves cascade
and invade
brows and lashes curling
swirling
through my fingers
they l i n g e r
on cheeks
on weeks
of sideburns and stubble
white steel
feels
stronger than stone
bones
big and square, like mine
though they bite hard sometimes
lacking pad or pencil
or stencil
my hands can replicate
the contours of your jawbone
it is to your outline
design
my palms are aligned
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
Came and left
gone and dead
give me life
upon this hearth
I cry
Give me chance
give me death
I’m just a poor man
looking for my life
to save
All my days
I’ve tried
to validate
my own existence
so the pain would
steer away
into the ocean
so blue and everclear
don’t tell me I’m saved
save myself in the meantime
Free my head
free my heart
free my hand from this
bloodstream rolling and collating
down my sideburns so
hot hot hot
burn burn
Stop
Knocking behind my eyelids
like magma underground
but hell is a place above ground
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
my fingernails are growing so long, I can feel myself changing
my v line is bulging out, my chest is getting fuzzy
my beard is filling out, my sideburns connecting
stretch marks cover my body like a painting
I am a legend in the making
sculpting my body like clay, greek god coming your way
is it Zeus, Poseidon, whichever way
I am aligning myself to the path, to the way
tuning the frequency I'm on
to have me booming through the stereos
Mar 22, 2022
Mar 22, 2022 at 9:51 AM UTC
'Les amoureux de la pluie'
That's the myth we share sitting across a sea of stars (table) that bound a distance rich in silence and secrets only whispered into budding tulips.
Ambiguous forms that refer to the weeping clouds to heal scarring burn wounds; we ask for you to madden our burning coal spirits with waves that seem to effervesce as they sweep by.
In those bubbles washing away the endless thoughts we conjure up over elements and matters observed.
You like the smell
of wet pavement
after it pours
And
I fail
to stop thinking
about the little things
you act upon.
The mischievous innocence that frames the corners of your smile force me to lose my structure as a lover. My hands quiver and are weaker than the red and blue fishes swimming across your blouse.
Empty unsealed cartons remind me of your wholesome frown (that i honestly adore) and opalescent evenings overseeing weary city light lit buildings.
I'm kissing the morning Sun through your burning lips, my dear. With sideburns that curl the way lashes should, they are pecking at my ears as we wrinkle these covers and fall asleep again.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
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.
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
He's got chocolate brown hair,
most **** sideburns,
I have to stare and I don't care,
if he gawks back at me,
or his grin widens.
those **** sideburns....
He's got deep blue eyes,
if he could let me in,
I'd swim across and reach his heart,
come back and do it from start,
or stay forever,
in eyes of heartbreaker...
He's got **** British Accent,
he keeps talking now and then,
but he's just a friend,
so I just smile and listen,
wishing I could be more then a friend,
more then a girlfriend...
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
*No matter what new trick he tried
A new deodorant or mouth freshener
Sideburns, swagger or rascally scowl
She yawned, wore her pretty little frown
And swore that he was playing the gem
When he was just another line in her poem
No matter what new-fangled idea he brought
She told him plain and square in caustic words
He wasn’t an iota of what she wanted or sought
So he went back to nights of pining and misery
And morning vigils for the postman’s delivery
Hoping to be more than just another line in her poem
Thinking and believing he could leave and learn
He went abroad to build his sunken profile
In places where none could ever him deride or stifle
Since there’s always some safety in anonymity
But when finally he landed on their shores again
He was still not more than just another line in her poem
So let's live and learn to read the writing on the wall
No matter what; and no matter how this order might be tall
For it matters not what fantasies or novelties you conjure
From what exotic lands or eccentric peoples far and wide
She remains spoken for by the high ideals of her imagination
And you forever will be just another line in her waspish poem*
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 2:29 AM UTC
Across the room I followed his eyes;
a look that whispered a need to be
at my side; sideburns and mustache
beckoned to tease me, already
tingling with throbbed hunger; a physique
that rippled with each finger I wanted to press
into sculptured muscles as his mind licked
me with slow dips into my soft muscular lanky frame.
I knew we were meant for one another, especially,
when those same eyes seem to say I want to marry
you as soon as we get to know each other; which made
me slowly want to whimper into his open mouth; inviting me
to taste his emanating ambrosia, his intoxicating scent;
making me swoon into his arms; wrapping me within
his alluring warmth all I could utter is hmmm...
Week after week just touching and tasting drove
me out of my mind; wanting him to have all of me,
the way he walked and talked left me trembling
inwardly, but, I held my lusting mind, wanting
us to both be introduced physically and mentally
with the same need and want of one another; I
myself knew I wanted to spend the rest of my
life with this handsome specimen, the most
alluring thing about him was his intellect.
His conversation even had me drooling, I was
falling...no I won't say falling in love; I fell in
love from the look in his eyes way across the
room, eyes he only had for me; at that time
and moment put me in a trance.
We wined and dined, movies, shopped and
even enjoyed the atmosphere of an arcade;
I even allowed him to beat me in bowling,
he was/is just an exquisite man.
Another month or more goes by no physicality,
just loving mentally with a little petting now
and again, but, we both agreed to discover
our likes and dislikes; I was so, enamored it
didn't matter how long we waited as long as
I was in his presence, touched.
Then one night; after heavily tasting one another
we couldn't contain ourselves not one more
minute and he slipped a ring of friendship upon
my finger; a lip quiver and a tear rolled down
my cheeks as he explained he still wanted it to
be a transition of getting to know everything
of each other; tears blinding me, all I could do
was smile and shake my head in agreement.
Our love bloomed for two years before we
actually got engaged and then married a year
after a long courtship of bliss and wanton
hunger grew into an enraptured lust that is
still strong until this day...My Lover & I.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:00 AM UTC
Thanks to that velveteen tone he
saves for me
And his turpentine diction,
The cliches that made my eyes roll
Now make my heart rush
Nonetheless, my thoughts riot as follows...
(When urged to call him something cheery
something no smile can wane at
like that fleck of gold in his left iris)
Well, "sunshine" should suffice
And Latin for that equals
"Apricitas"
Which phoneticized equals
"Opry cheetahs"
So the obvious endearment here is
Opry
(When urged to call him something pure
perhaps upon watching him blink
or blush
or blow
cigarette ringlets away from babies)
"Snowflake"?
No, that's a slang for ***** these days
So, "raindrop"
Yes
If Latin is dead,
It sure knows how to haunt me
"Gutta imbrium"
Ember
My little ember
The only glow in all this charcoal
(When urged to call him something pretty
when he's brushing his hair
or allowing me to arrange red clovers
in his sideburns)
Hm, let's testdrive "moonlight"
Let's shift into Latin, "luna lumen"
Thus the nickname I bite back is
Lulu
/Lulu/
While I hear darlings and dearies
on the daily
Why must I fail to mirror him?
(When urged to call him something sweet
like the butterscotch kisses he whispers
into my knuckles)
Like a honeycomb
Or as Ceasar would say, "cera mel"
Close enough?
Caramel?
Carousel?
Dizzy, then
We spin
In silence
(When urged to call him something cute
with his cap on sideways
and his head in my lap
and the world at my heels)
Kitten
Catalus
Catapult
Half of that backwards might as well be
Tulip
Two lips
Two tongues
Too much, yet never enough of his
Smoke bomb pomegranate mouth
For heaven's sake, see?
That's why I kiss instead of speak
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 9:08 PM UTC
Thank you
For the body that has defined, gleaming muscles
So lined and lean, like fire and rope all twisted into you
Thank you
For the hair that it constantly slicked back into that perpetual wave
The sideburns that come down to your chin and turn into stubble
Thank you
For the awesome acting
And insane explosions you can walk away from unharmed
Thank you
For the face that could make angels weep
That holds so much beauty that I crumble inside
Thank you
For the accent that takes on a lilt from Britain when you aren't on set
A hint of something else enriching the tone
Thank you
For being 40 something
Because otherwise you wouldn't be safe from me
Thank you
For being Hugh Jackman
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
I sink deeper into the atmosphere we were responsible for,
in silence my eyelids and I fight the sunlight’s slow and crescendoing intrusion,
wondering if she is still asleep
or if she realized by now that every time she makes the slightest fidget
away from the center of the bed
I bite her
right where her lower abs meet her hip flexor
on the outside
I wanted to have her learn I am consistent.
she didn’t have to give consent,
degenerates like me don’t care
if I want the cake and proceed to eat it before day break
then so be it.
Nuzzling now
her lips press their frozen presence into the space under my jaw
and a warm gust of her pushes my sideburns up
my chest jumps
lumps in my veins snowball and create
the feel of cherry bombs popping
at every nerve ending I had forgotten
it rings me.
how could I let her trick me into jostling my babe awake?
and all before the alarm.
I grow the wings of a vicious pelican, expanding my span
using my featherish lips to attack her out of cryostasis
she curls up, afraid of more laughter and pushes her tongue through the gap she made
between her bottom and top rows of teeth.
she glows better than the bringer of days
the sun must find me insane.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
He sits, tapping his foot
Eyes transfixed on the bright screen
His pupils dilate as he sees the green bubble with her name pop up
His pulse begins to quicken
Droplets of sweat trace his sideburns and his chiseled chin
Shaking and unsure his hand reaches for the green dot.
But he hesitates.
And in that instant the dot- his hope disappears
His moment of opportunity, gone before he could ****** it.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Call me already
set me straight
do what you have to do
to get me to
notice
you
from across the room
with your
perfectly manicured
sideburns.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:41 AM UTC
You say that you wish to be making this call from an
apartment in San Diego but instead you are
making this call from a rental car in Boston and you can't
figure out why. You don't know the meaning of the word
ephemeron, but you don't know who does either. You tell stories
of brutal attacks and high-priced lawyers and being subpoenaed
at the age of 12 for reasons you still don't understand.
You used to hide your big ears behind your sideburns but now you
hide them behind a woolen hat with dark green *****
although it is not cold. You walk alone through the cities,
stopping for nothing and going for something
that you can't quite put your finger on.
You claim to know the words to every song and the
directions to every house, but you have not been alive long enough
to achieve anything quite yet. You have seen a license plate
from every state except Delaware, but the only one that
sticks in your mind is one from Arkansas. You quote the wrong
Shakespeare play and the wrong Vice President and believe that
the only thing you'll ever be is correct. Your calendar
still reads "March" although it is June and tomorrow you will go
to your doctor's appointment instead of your son's
birthday party. You think things that cannot be said but never
remember them. You check into a motel on the 11th and check out on the
19th as if nothing ever happened. Your thoughts read
like a news article about the runner-up in a dog show. You
buy a plane ticket and cancel it at the last minute
because it turns out there ain't nothing for you in Oregon
anymore.
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 1:00 AM UTC
Dónall O'Diomsiagh is anim dom!
( Dónall Dempsey is my name! )
I was born
the weight of a bag of sugar.
2 lbs to be
precise.
That was all there was
to me!
( My belly alas weighs more than that now )!
De Da could
hold me in his fist and
I'd disappear
'cept for the little dangly dancing leggy bits.
I had Elvis sideburns
( I was all shock up )
and entered this
world of ours
feet first
putting my best foot forward
ready to rock
'n" roll...mannn!
Doris Day was singing
CE SERA SERA!
And what, what...do ya think
they called the tiniest baby
. . .ever ever seen?
Why, Dónall!
Dónall...of course!
Dónall meaning WORLD
MIGHTY SPEAR POWER.
And Dempsey itself meaning
THE PROUD ONE!
Ahhh the majesty of the Celtic tongue!
A wrestler's name if ever...
"And in the green corner..."
Or an Ozymandias name. . .
"Look on my works, ye mighty ,and despair!"
De Ma would always spoil it for me:
"WORLDMIGHTYSPEARPOWERTHEPROUDONE! You
get yer *** in here this minute and finish yer homework!"
An awful big name
( to be sure to be sure )
for a little fella to
live up to. . .
Ahhh, but sure I do my best
putting words to the test
wrestling with a rhyme
stealing through your mind.
For I am
( am I not?)
the poet with
the hyperbolic name!
WORLD MIGHTY
SPEAR POWER
THE PROUD ONE!
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
my body has been tainted by a boy
with scruffy sideburns
bleached hair and toffee eyes.
i found his brokenness
intriguing
flattering
mysterious.
his skin was like a newport on a nipped february morning
his hair like a wool knitted sweater
he tasted like apricots drenched in wine.
he kissed me like he loved me
he licked me like he missed me
he held me like he'd never let me go.
he rode his bike everywhere,
his heart was cold as snow.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC