Three poems

Lacking

One day’s growth of beard
and I fear what I’m becoming;
two days, and I can live with it.
I think I even like
the rough-textured, sandpaper face
that hides any vestigial
signs of aging
on my still-smooth face.
That face that’s been called “handsome.”
Words, just words.
Saying that doesn’t change anything.
What are beards for anyway?
Masks that hide from view
a plain face and hard mouth,
that let the world see you
for what you are?
that fills in the crevices,
that creates mystery,
some would say ugliness,
others genteel mockery.
Yes, professor, your clipped beard
lends you the air
and soul of a scholar.

I’ve never had a beard.
I think I must be lacking something.
Gravitas, maybe.

Noise

Your noisy, sound and brain-wave pummeling
car stereo pounds out violence
from your face.
You sit there saying,
“Notice me, I am nothing.”

Wind

Off and on all day
the wind has blown
gray, brown across
a day swept clean by rain,
but dark and dirty-looking,
nevertheless.
Such an illusion.
What does it matter?
The air is invisible.
but it’s gently swaying
the oak branches,
a lullaby, a caress.
What does it matter?
I’m sitting here now
looking out the window
wondering what on earth
I’m doing with my life,
today, at this moment.
For isn’t that what matters?

What is this?
A quiet and polite farce,
or something.
I’m appealing now to my better self,
my alter-ego that’s not content
to sit and stare at a computer screen
and hope someone notices me,
or thinks about me,
here alone,
although you can’t see me.
Some days I can’t stand it.
It’s too much quiet
and too much alone
and what am I going to do about it?

(Written Nov. 25, 2000)

My oldest son grew a beard because is so young to be a minister with his level of education. I hate it! But it does make him look older! Your poetry moves my soul, and the one about the computer hits me hard. But over the years, I have learned not to analyze myself too much. I am what I am, warts and all. And people just have to accept me or reject me. Wonderful entry! Love,

Edelweis

Beards! I don’t like them. Maybe it’s easier for a man, no shaving every morning? Your last poem moved me deeply. But it made me also think about the wind. So fascinating, my invisible friend, sometimes sweetly caressing my face, other times angry and wild. It’s the wind who makes it possible for trees to sing their song for us! Take care my friend,

oh dear. i like these… very very much. thank you. you seem like someone that should have a beard – though not a neatly clipped one.

GeekPoet

March 18, 2002

ryn: i’ve been okay. in a funk of sorts still. weird that it’s lasted so long, but anyway i’m okay. thanks for asking. i’m sorry i haven’t been online at home lately, just haven’t been turning it on. hope you don’t think i’m avoiding you

1)I love a man with a beard. Since my early 20’s I have never dated a man with a smooth face. Never saw my ex-husband or Toxic Man without theirs. 2)I live on a route to a college – sometimes the noise from the cars is jarring. 3)I like this. Sad, but compelling.

Shi

Interesting thoughts on a variety of things. The last reminds me that the wind has blown here for the past four days. For an invisible thing, is sure can create havok.

bikeonriver

Noise……very apt

I love the wind one! Thank you so much 🙂

Sago

March 20, 2002

I really like these poems, O. You are speaking about a state of being that is worthy of notice, in the most frank, simple language. Beard? None ever? My guy doesn’t like the scratchy feeling as his whiskery face moves behind the beard…that’s his reason. I love beards, tho, on men…of course. No fear–you are not cyber friends with a bearded lady. Poems give us a voice- yours is compelling

forever in motion

Yes, a very handsome face… 🙂 And I’ve been going back and forth over the past few entries, with too many thoughts, unable to condense them into note size. Just so you know. As always, your writing strikes deep within me. Much love,

Freewind

Do you want to look scholarly? I would imagine you want to be just who you are! Well, the poems are as different as each of their subjects but I love that line “Look at me! I am nothing!”…how very apt it is! I love your poetry, my friend.

You sit there saying,”Notice me, I am nothing.” That’s one of the greatest observations-wrapped-in-words that I’ve seen all month.

Interesting. So beautiful, and yet, kind of sad.