Will The Real David Harris Please Stand Up
Will the real David Harris please stand up?
I say that not in vain,
but because I am not, sure which face I wear.
I could be the man with a full beard
and looks like D H Lawrence,
or maybe the man with a slight goatee
who looks as if he has escaped
from a chain gang somewhere,
I am not really sure.
I could be the man
with the moustache and chin beard
we have often seen on old paperback books,
or I could be the man
with the Clark Gable looks.
Then again I could be the man
who is clean-shaven with a playboy look
whom people call Walter.
Therefore when you meet me
who will be the real me?
4 March 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Santas Beard
I wanna meet santa claus, the real real santa
I wanna meet santa claus, the real real santa
I wanna see santa claus, the real real santa
He wants to meet ol santa claus
I took my brother to the department store
He wanted to show santa his christmas list
He stood in line and he shook like a leaf
Hes only five and a half goin on six
He said, is that (that santa) really santa claus,
Really really (the real santa) santa claus?
Is that (that santa) really santa claus, really really santa?
(I hope he doesnt pull santas beard)
Is that (that santa) really santa claus,
Really really (the real santa) santa?
Hope he thinks thats santa claus
I picked him up and put him on santas lap
And then he pulled the pillow out of his shirt
He yanked the beard right on off of his chin
And in his eyes I could see he was hurt
He said, youre not (not santa) really santa claus,
Youre really not (the real santa) santa claus
Youre not (not santa) really santa claus,
Youre really not santa (he shouldnta pulled santas beard)
Youre not (not santa) santa claus,
Youre really not (the real santa) santa
Hes just helpin santa claus
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin santa claus
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (he shouldnta pulled santas beard) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin santa claus
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Whiskers Please
I'd rather have a clean-shaven face
than one with a scruffy beard
to graze across my sensitive skin
and feel like I've been seared.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Real Face That's Me (Fun Poem 26)
Behind each poem, that I write
hides a different face of me.
One of love and caring,
one sadness and sorrow,
one of frustration and pain,
and one of future sight and wisdom.
Now which one will I be?
Come to think of it,
which one is the real me?
Now that I am confused,
I cannot even remember my name,
let alone who I am.
Is my name Dodgy, Danny Boy, Walter M., or is it David.
Maybe they are all the same person that I am.
You can take your choice;
see if you can find the real face that’s me.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cleanest Man....
he is clean
he prides about the beard
that he has
just shaven
he is clean
there is no hair left on his head
no hair between his thighs
and legs
he is clean
his chest is bare now
his heart slowly
beating
he is clean as he
is empty
like a room without
furniture and
drapes
he is clean and without
sin
he who has not done
anything
and can do not wrong again...
he is clean now
for he is dead....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strategian
He was a military man
who waxed the ends of his moustache
A man must look the best he can.
He thought it added real panache.
He always kept his hair quite short,
his lantern jaw shaved to the bone.
But his moustache or so he thought
was at its best when left alone.
It was his greatest pride and joy
It added something to his face.
He thought the ladies might enjoy.
With every whisker kept in place.
With moustache wax freshly applied
and just a hint of fine cologne.
He was completely satisfied
with what he tried and what he’d done.
The ladies did not seem to care.
About his well dressed upper lip
It seemed they would prefer it bare
for all his clever showman ship
Clean shaven men were all the rage.
The fair sex had the final say
So he shaved off his appendage.
The ladies always get their way.
A soldier knows when to retreat
and make a change to his campaign.
More preferable than face defeat.
it will always grow again.
When fashions change as fashions do.
He is a military man
But he can change his point of view
as quickly as the ladies can.
.07/05/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What is a Real Woman
How would you judge her
would she wear her hair natural
or sit in the beauty parlor with her
new do, feet, and nails done too.
What is a real woman,
highly educated
or a young woman uneducated
but educated with street knowledge
would that be acceptable too.?
Is the real woman one that has gone to jail
a choice she made to
feed her kids,
survival was her game. .
What is a real woman
who’s obedient to your call
meets all your demands
or one who feisty,
knows how to take a stand.
What is a real woman,
one that saved when she in church
or the one that's a blessing
to your life atleast.
any way or anyhow
What is a real woman
a woman who knows all ways to please you
or the one who pleases you because she loves you
whatever she will be in your life.
if not already your wife.
What is a real woman
Does she have your babies
nuture and love them
or does she not have them
because she rather have you.
What is a real woman
does she need a man to define her name
horrible names,
you have called her
she choose not to remember.
Friends couldn't call her those names,
for they all would fear.
Her name glorious
as it weren’t perfect
Define a real woman
a name we've all been called.
Define
A Real Woman?
We all have a testimony
Do I Care?
Written by Adrienne Clark Strachn
December a very cold winter
poem by Adrienne Clark Strachn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Romancing The Beard
What women are attracted to
Though to some it may seem weird
Is a man who has a curl-i-que
That we’ve come to call a beard
They seem to love what’s hair-ly
On the chin and down below
That hair they find so rarely
Is that hair that they can’t grow
They love that tickly feeling
When caressing bearded men
Those beards just send them reeling
For those men they have a yen
These ladies have this craving
For men with chin filled bristles
These men who do no shaving
Who have these chin filled frizzles
A beard can really dazzle
When covering a jawline
With it’s sexy kind of frazzle
It can dazzle any fraulein
poem by Stanley Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Real Thing Comes Our Way
Some people have to wait
nearly a lifetime
for the perfect partner,
while others wait a short time
then find it straight away.
We all know it
when the real thing comes our way.
The world is no longer a mystery;
we seem to float on a cloud
when love surrounds us.
We want to shout it loud
to let everyone know that after waiting
the real thing has come our way.
The sun is no longer hid by dark clouds;
instead, it smiles at us each day.
The world seems a special place
when the real thing comes our way.
Everyone seems to be smiling
never a frown in sight.
We dance on fluffy clouds
nothing can mar us now.
Everyday is a beautiful day
when the real thing comes our way.
22 March 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Call Me A Playboy
They call me a playboy
As I'm making my rounds
Chasing the bright light
Of each night spot in town
Though I never show it,
My heart's breaking in two
They may call me a playboy
But I'm just lonesome for you
I once had a real love
That was when I had you
Now I'll never feel love
With somebody new
This false front I'm wearing
Is just to cover my blues
They may call me a playboy
But. I'm just lonesome for you
--- Instrumental ---
I once had a real love
That was when I had you
Now I'll never feel love
With somebody new
This false front I'm wearing
Is just to cover my blues
They may call me a playboy
But. I'm just lonesome for you
They may call me a playboy
But. I'm just lonesome for you..
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No More Chain Gang
He was black and handsome
And mighty mighty brave
Comin from the backwoods
The grandson of a slave
He was caught for something
They knew hed never done
And he was diggin ditches
Out in the burnin sun
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
No more, no more, no more
Man he was a giant
And iron he could bend
And he swore hed fight them
Down to the bitter end
Though he was no talker
His burnin eyes would say
You may keep on tryin
Cant hold me no way
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
No more, no more, no more
And one night he lay in waiting
Hit the guard and took the key
And before the others caught him
He jumped out and he was free
He jumped out and he was free
He made for the swamp lands
It seemed a hopeless duel
They had dogs and shotguns
And they were mighty cruel
But they couldnt find him
He was too smart and strong
Hiding in the daytime
Wandering all night long
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
Working on the chain gang-no more
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sad Notes
You were spotted with a beard and a moustache on this case,
But pummelling my chest to leave you in peace;
However the society is ready to reveal your hidden secrets.
Love at first sight,
And like a self-seeking putsch;
But everybody knows where his or her love is.
Newsflash! !
Tome, dome, come, home, some;
She was caught pants down with a man on top of her!
For se had thrown away her wedding ring,
And like the sad notes of life with many things at hand.
'Uhmmm'!
You are sleeping with somebody's mistress and you are going too deep;
And like the sad notes of life with many things at hand,
But you were spotted with a beard and a moustache on.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am A Bit Of A Mongrel
My full name is David Verdun Harris
and I am bit of a mongrel would you believe.
I have a lot of different blood
running through my veins.
My middle name is French
and there is English, Irish, Scots and Canadian
and even a bit of Spanish Gypsy from way back when.
That could account for my love of flamenco music.
I had an uncle who was a gunman
for the IRA in the 1920’s.
I am a distant relative
to one of the most decorated
American soldiers of the Vietnam War
who has 61 medals to his credit.
On the other side of the family
I am informed there are Admirals and a Lord
and not forgetting a famous cricketer
who is in the Guinness Book of Records
and played for the first English cricket team.
Then you come to me
a pretend Preacher and a wannabe writer.
Therefore, when I call myself a mongrel
that’s exactly what I am, a real mixed breed.
They may even enter me into Cruffs next year.
You never know I may even win a blue ribbon
in the mixed breed section.
4 March 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paperback Writer
(LennonMcCartney)
Paperback writer
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But you have to understand, my beard is so nasty. I mean, it's the only beard in the history of Western civilization that makes Bob Dylan's beard look good.
quote by Bill Walton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Real Men...
real men...
dont threaten.
real men dont lie.
real men dont take
at the expense of others.
real men dont quit.
real men dont make excuses.
real men dont follow blindly.
real men dont abuse women.
real men are good fathers.
real men live by respect.
real men dont seek violence,
but dont back down.
real men get involved.
real men face their fears,
and their failures.
real men own their mistakes.
real men dont judge.
real men pray with the same hands
they wipe their buts with,
and know it!
real men forgive.
real men love at all costs.
real men stand for what they believe...
what the world needs now
is real men... (and women) !
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Friend, Your White Beard Sweeps the Ground
Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground.
Why do you stand, expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of justice?
Do not wait, friend!
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.
poem by Stephen Crane
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The Mask
You wear a mask upon your face
So people wont know of your sin and disgrace
Or of the things that you have said and done
And of the life you have ended and then again begun.
You cover up your lines and all of your tears
So no one can see the worries and your fears
Or of the anger and the hate that's on your face
So upon your face a mask you did paste.
But I wonder if anyone really does know
The color of your cheeks or the shape of your nose
Or the saddened bags underneath your eyes
From the guilt you felt from the tears of your lies.
And when you meet people I wonder do they stare
Maybe they think to themselves, who is really behind there
But then you don't care what people might say or ask
As you can conceal all, when you wear your mask.
And so that mask you will wear till your dying days
As it will become you in so many very different ways
But one day in death your mask it will then be removed
Then man and all will stand in sadness, as they see the real you.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Real Real Gone
I'm real real gone
I got hit by a bow and arrow
You got me down to the very marrow
You're a friend of mine
And i'm real real gone
On the radio
Music coming and i hear
Sam cooke's voice
Well i know i don't have any choice
That's the way it is
And i'm real, real real gone, man
I can't stand up by myself
Don't you know, baby, i need your help
You're a friend of mine
And i'm real real gone, alright
Well, i'm dancing
Dancing till my, till my body's soaking wet
Till i'm completely wet with sweat
Once i've started i'm just real real gone, man
I got hit by a bow and arrow
Got me down to the very marrow
You're a friend of mine, and i'm
Real gone, man
Well the music's playing
On the radio
And the night is filled with space
When my fingertips touch your face
You're a friend of mine
And i'm, i'm real real gone
Help me stand up
Help me stand up
All by myself
You're a friend of mine
And i'm real, i'm real real gone
Real gone
I got hit by a bow and arrow
(fade to end)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Barking Weasel
You say, John Irish, Mr. Taylor hath
A painted beard. Quite likely that is true,
And sure 'tis natural you spend your wrath
On what has been least merciful to you.
By Taylor's chin, if I am not mistaken,
You like a rat have recently been shaken.
To wear a beard of artificial hue
May be or this or that, I know not what;
But, faith, 'tis better to be black-and-blue
In beard from dallying with brush and pot
Than to be so in body from the beating
That hardy rogues get when detected cheating.
You're whacked about the mazzard rather more
Of late than any other man in town.
Certes your vulnerable back is sore
And tender, too, your corrigible crown.
In truth your whole periphery discloses
More vivid colors than a bed of posies!
You call it glory! Put your tongue in sheath!
Scars got in battle, even if on the breast,
May be a shameful record if, beneath,
A robber heart a lawless strife attest.
John Sullivan had wounds, and Paddy Ryan
Nay, as to that, even Masten has, and Bryan.
'Tis willingly conceded you've a knack
At holding the attention of the town;
The worse for you when you have on your back
What did not grow there-prithee put it down!
For pride kills thrift, and you lack board and lodging,
Even while the brickbats of renown you're dodging.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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