Jerry The Limerick
He has grown, in the clinic, a beard
but the stubbles are rough and much feared
by the soft, peachy skin
of both cheeks and her chin,
she considers his hairyness weird.
So she sharpened that Wilkinson blade
pulled the love of her life to the shade,
and proceeded to shave
from the face of this brave
man the hair, but she left him his beard.
He had grown, near each ear in just days
a small bushel of hair, like some gays,
and he blamed the selection
of the drugs for injection
it was Medicine's modern day ways.
After resting the night at his home
she had run out of white shaving foam,
which she meant to employ
to cut braids off this boy
but instead he had asked for a comb.
Well, I promised to keep up to date
all you poets about Jerry's fate.
If you saw his new looks
you would close your e-books
and this forum would start a debate.
I should also be honest and mention
that the nurse who kept Jerr' in detention,
put two rings in his nose
and a ruby-red rose
in his navel, with evil intention!
Do not shoot me, the messenger, please!
It is Jerry, who's also obese
as he stole all the pies
from the trays of the guys
who were bedridden due to bad knees.
All in all they were happy to see
that his kidneys again let him pee.
And they showed him the door
to the street level floor
thus at last our Jerry is free.
Discussions are well underway,
as sweet Alison showed some dismay.
Now the plan is to post
for the upcoming roast
on this forum his current portrait.
And as soon as the photo is taken
we shall tie up this silly old bacon
like a proper Martini
or Italian linguini
he'll be stirred with a vengeance, not shaken.
In the end he will be once again
just a poet who deserves a cool ten
and to some as a teacher
or a Scotch drinking creature
and a member of clean-shaven men.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
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The King’s Beard
There lived a king with beard so long
And scalp with scarcely hair!
He used a comb and sang a song
And groomed it with great care.
The king was proud of his long beard
That made him look so wise!
The queen, his wife knew he looked weird
And cursed him for its size!
The queen was therefore always sad;
His lip got hid by hair!
But one day, she was rather glad;
She told him, she couldn’t bear!
One day, the king slept while he read
A book that was folklore!
He had a dream asleep in bed;
“His beard had grown some more! ”
A burning candle-stick fell down
And lit the curtain-blind;
His beard had caught the fire sown!
The king was off his mind!
His nose smelt smoke: he woke in fright;
His beard was all aflame!
He shaved the stubs of hair by night
And took on him all blame!
The next day when the people saw
The king, they couldn’t believe
Their eyes and gazed at him with awe!
“Could eyes of dawn deceive? ”
poem by John Celes
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Timber Ho!
Im gonna pull this timber 'fore the sun go down
Get it 'cross the river 'fore the bars come down
Drag it on down that dusty road
Come on jerry, lets dump this load
I said timber, ho!, timber, woah this timbers gotta roll
I said timber, ho!, timber, woah this timbers gotta roll
My old jerry was an arkansas mule
Been everywhere and he aint no fool
Weighed nine hundred and twenty-two
Done everything a poor mule can do
(chorus)
Jerrys shoulders stood six foot tall
Pulled more timber than a freight could haul
Workin heavy old jerry got sore
Pulled so much he couldnt pull no more
(chorus)
The boss said jerry and it made him jump
Jerry ran and kicked the boss on the rump
My old jerry was a cool mule
Had it been me I woulda killed that fool
Boss tried to shoot old jerry in the head
Jerry took that bullet and he stomped him dead
Stomped that boss til he heard him scream
Sure dont care he was so damn mean
(chorus 2x)
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High Price
Jerry Jerry your lifestyles hairy
how do your dope plants grow?
In cramped ceiling, under a naked bulb, my lady,
from little seeds all in a row.
Jerry Jerry your rather smelly
how are your dope plants sold?
By bountiful bagful, or in single rolls, to tally
Waitangi gold, is a trip, for joint discerning bold.
Jerry Jerry do you live in fear
do you feel hunted, with pouncing, policemen near?
The boys in blue, dance a merry, merry tune.
What’s a bust, may come yearly, like June?
Jerry Jerry one day all grow old
will you feel regret, for lives, you’ve sold?
I’ve been living high, flying in narcotic, sky seat.
Life’s been so very sweet, living with prepaid, heat.
Jerry Jerry a future comes, your days done,
there’s no place for you, under our sun?
There’s always a place, man in selective, supplying know.
There’re other trips, after poppy seeds, to sow.
Jerry Jerry it’s time now, you must go
tell of other pastures, you now will hoe?
Man’s full of lust, greed, ever fertile seed,
a high paying price, is charge for need.
No matter where man chance may roam.
A place is found, I’m right at home.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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The Ballad Of Jerry
the ballad of jerry
Sad was the day
and sharp was the noise
when the hang out kid saw
that his punishment came
He spent too much time
in praying for joy
It's all about a boy
First came the flashes
followed by crashes
when jealousy rose
in the form of a pistol
Just ashes of wishes
remained in his dishes
It's all about a boy
Jerry can dance,finally
Left all his plans
so far behind
Jerry can dance
it's plain to see
For the last time tonight
Between the sky
and the planks of the scaffold
when the wind it kneels down
and says: God bless you boy
His prayer for bliss
it had been raffled
it's all about a boy
Jerry can dance, finally
Left all his plans so far behind
Jerry can dance it's plain to see
Fot the last time tonight
Jery can dance finally
Left all his plans so far behind
Jerry can dance,
it's hellish to see
For the last time tonight
What have you done sonny-boy
now you're dancing there
on your own
You've got your rope
you're jerking alone
song performed by by Quimby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elongated Hair
She 'done gone and did it'
She pulled it out
The elongated hair on my side
Oh how I did pout
It had grown long before
Back in earlier days
I had kept it short myself
using several different ways
After time had gone by
I wanted to let it grow
I decided to give it a try
and become a freak show
I'd let it grow down to my hips
or maybe to my knees
this hair could grow up to my lips
or at least to my kidneys
She'd noticed it that day in passing
while feeling 'round my tummy
I had thought she'd just been sassing
She said, 'I'll cut it off you dummy'
I did protest then to her notion
It smelled of sheer butchery
To cut of this hair in such a motion
would be a crime to both it and me!
Then came the day when it happened
While I lay in her bed so quietly
The life of my hair would come to an end
with a tug from her hand so quickly
I had mourned it for a moment
and I'm sure I looked sad
whatever had been her intent
I told myself it could not be bad
So now it has another chance
to begin a life anew
Elongated hair please do advance
Again I'd like to see you.
poem by Sean Furlong
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An Apple from Walt Whitman
There's never been a poet where I live,
but I grew up in the shade of Whitman's name:
born in West Hills—our hills—he would have walked
our paths along the crest. I walked Whitman Road,
crashed the Whitman Drive-In, stole a book
from the sci-fi rack at the Melville-Whitman Pharmacy,
even played lacrosse against Whitman High;
we lost three times, the guys from Halfway Hollow,
to young men with Whitman in white on their varsity jackets.
My mother tells a story about Thanksgiving,
back when kids went begging in rags and blackface:
how Carrie Wicks's sister said she got
an apple from Walt Whitman, right at his house,
an old man with a beard. The big kids laughed,
knowing the white-haired caretaker was no one.
I set no foot inside the Whitman House
or Leaves of Grass till after I went away,
but I'm better having grown up with the name,
the house and hills of a poet everyone knew,
a poet big enough in the mothers' stories
for a girl to believe he came to the door with a long
white beard and smiled and handed her an apple.
If a poet the size of Whitman named our few
square miles and a few in Jersey it's going to take
a lot more big ones to hand us all a welcome
sweet as a Thanksgiving apple from Walt Whitman,
white-haired care-taker, seed of mothers' stories,
Appleseed of our poetry: nourishment, shade.
poem by Eric Torgersen
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I shave without using shaving cream.
quote by Jerry Stiller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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A Boy's Trials
When I was but a little lad
One thing I could not bear,
It was to stand at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
They didn't keep boys' hair as short
As it's kept now-a-days,
And mine was always tangled up
In twenty different ways.
I'd twist my mouth and grit my teeth,
And say it wasn't fair-
It was a trial, and no mistake,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd brush and brush each stubborn curl
That grew upon my pate,
And with her scissors nip and clip
To make the edges straight.
Then smooth it down until it shone,
While I would grin and bear,
And feel a martyr through and through,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd take my round chin in her hand
And hold it there the while
She made the parting carefully,
Then tell me with a smile:
'Don't push your cap down on your curls
And spoil my work and care;
He is a pretty little lad
When mother combs his hair.'
I'd hurry out and rumple up
That mop of hair so thick-
A vandal, I, for she had worked
So hard to make it slick-
And wish I were a grown-up man
So nobody would dare
To put a washrag in my ears,
Or comb my tangled hair.
Heigho! now that I'm bald and gray,
Methinks I would be glad
To have her smooth my brow and cheeks,
And whisper, 'Mother's lad!'
A longing for the care-free days
Doth take me unaware;
To stand, a boy, at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
poem by Jean Blewett
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Art is Long - Hair is Shorter
When artists wore a flowing mane,
Then, in a sentimental vein,
With pastorals they lured the eye,
Or sad, sweet scenes of sea and sky.
But now that hair sprouts from the face
They chuck their paint about the place
And, in the modern manner, seek
To baffle one with the unique.
I've often wondered if this surge
Of hirsute foam denotes some urge
Artistic that controls and sways
The hand and brain to newer ways.
For instance, might we not expect
An artist in dundrearies decked
In other manner to behave
From him who wore a monkey shave?
I've known but one of this quaint throng
Who wore both hair and whiskers long,
But he, poor bloke, was short of cash,
And wore a full beard and moustache
That he might draw on this supply
When price of brushes soared to high ...
But there are ways, it seems to me.
To test my novel theory.
If some brave man would range the land
And catch a few of this quaint band
And hold them captive for a while
Who knows what tricks of school and style
One might evolve if, to each man,
We gave a different hirsute plan?
You doubt, perhaps? But all the same,
There might be money in the game.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sin Of Detection
SHE bowed her face among them all, as one
By one they rose and went. A little scorn
They showed—a very little. More forlorn
She seemed because of that: she might have grown
Proud else in her turn, and have so made known
What she well knew—that the free—hearted corn,
Kissed by the hot air freely all the morn,
Is better than the weed which has its own
Foul glut in secret. Both her white breasts heaved
Like heaving water with their weight of lace;
And her long tresses, full of musk and myrrh,
Were shaken from the braids her fingers weaved,
So that they hid the shame in her pale face.
Then I stept forth, and bowed addressing her.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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I Wish I Was Queer So I Could Get Chicks
If your ass is a Chinese restaurant I'll have the poo-poo platter
My friend Jerry Vandergrift kissed me in Home Ec. class
Later in the afternoon some jarheads in the locker room kicked my ass
I said guys I'm like you I like Monster Trucks too
Wanna see how many push-ups I can do?
I just wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks that don't dig guys like me
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
But if I were handsome just imagine how great it would be
Incognito as gay though but not actually that way though pseudo homo phony
Maybe it's a stupid theory or maybe just stupidity
But if I was a queerbee in the fashion industry
Scoring with a super model would be easy
Cause 'super model' means voluptuous but is also is synonomous with 'super dumb'
Ya see I'd be a good listener so she'd treat me like a sister and soon I'd become
That trusted friend that cares that rubs her back and braids her hair
No it wouldn't be a week before I'm in her underwear
I wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks that don't dig guys like me
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
Doesn't matter what I'm packin' in my denim it's what's in my genes
The only smoked meat the only sausage I would eat is made by Jimmy Dean
See I'm not to keen on the smell of Vaseline
No I'm not Princess Di and I don't wanna be a queen
I wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Anyway if I were gay I'd have to change my name to Dirk or Lewis
Hang out with my mom's hair stylist his name is Kip he's got a lisp he talks like this
And wear my mother's lingerie learn the songs of Broadway
And appreciate Depeche Mode and avant garde ballet
I wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks that don't dig guys like me
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
And I don't shave my heiny
Don't shave my heiny
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
song performed by by Bloodhound Gang from One Fierce Beer Coaster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no beard so well shaven but another barber will find something more to shave from it.
The Night He Cant Remember
(trace adkins/kenny beard/sarah majors)
He lost his job that mornin stopped off and bought a fifth of pride
A reality eraser, a little taste to help face her that night
He broke his same ol promise when he showed up with whiskey on his breath
That night he cant remember, the one that she cant forget
Now hes been clean and sober since twenty-three october 95
His drinking days are over but theres that one she cant get off her mind
He tries to apologize but cant recall and dont realize
She wont forgive whatever he said
That night he cant remember, the one she cant forget
Well, she never has remarried cause she never has stopped carryin the pain
It serves as a reminder that the man she left behind her just couldnt change
If she only knew she probably saved his life the night she left
That night he cant remember, the one that she just cant forget
Now hes been clean and sober since twenty-three october 95
His drinking days are over but theres that one she cant get off her mind
And he tries to apologize but cant recall and dont realize
She wont forgive whatever he said
That night he cant remember
Oh the night he cant remember, the one she cant forget
The night he cant remember is the one she cant forget
song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Night He Cant Remember
(trace adkins/kenny beard/sarah majors)
He lost his job that mornin stopped off and bought a fifth of pride
A reality eraser, a little taste to help face her that night
He broke his same ol promise when he showed up with whiskey on his breath
That night he cant remember, the one that she cant forget
Now hes been clean and sober since twenty-three october 95
His drinking days are over but theres that one she cant get off her mind
He tries to apologize but cant recall and dont realize
She wont forgive whatever he said
That night he cant remember, the one she cant forget
Well, she never has remarried cause she never has stopped carryin the pain
It serves as a reminder that the man she left behind her just couldnt change
If she only knew she probably saved his life the night she left
That night he cant remember, the one that she just cant forget
Now hes been clean and sober since twenty-three october 95
His drinking days are over but theres that one she cant get off her mind
And he tries to apologize but cant recall and dont realize
She wont forgive whatever he said
That night he cant remember
Oh the night he cant remember, the one she cant forget
The night he cant remember is the one she cant forget
song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle's Shave.
Uncle’s Shave.
You used to watch Uncle
shave in front of the small mirror
propped on the edge
of the kitchen sink,
his face lathered
in white soap,
his cutthroat razor
held just a short distance
from his skin
by his right hand,
as the other hand
held the skin taut
in preparation
of the razor’s slide.
You stood behind
fascinated,
your young eyes
searching the mirror’s world
of Uncle’s face
and the performers start.
Uncle watched you
in the mirror,
his lips breaking
into a small smile,
the razor held
just above his ear,
his eyes staring above
the shaving foam,
taking in
your fascinated gaze,
the open mouth,
your hands copying
Uncle’s motion
in pretend shave.
Uncle drew the razor down
his cheek in slow motion,
the face becoming visible
as the soap gave way,
the hand dipping
the razor in water
to rid of foam,
to begin again,
more soap removed,
more skin revealed.
You copied Uncle,
but not so skilled.
poem by Terry Collett
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Ode' To Granddad
Granddad, on his screened porch sat one day;
Up in his lap I crawled, to rest from my play;
Very sparse stubble here and there for a beard;
He had acquired sandspurs in cheeks I feared;
Grandmother's tweezers would work I thought;
Quickly I leaped down and after them I sought;
I was back there in a flash to alleviate his pain;
I tugged here and there on his face with no gain;
I lost interest in the task; he just hugged me tight;
He laughed and let me know that he was all right;
He put in plain words for me what whiskers were;
He asked me if I understood; then I replied yes sir;
Older males have to shave often for a smooth face;
Yet men with a manicured beard aren't out of place;
I could find not one on my cheeks with my hand;
He chuckled wait until you become a young man;
A young man; just about everyone calls me one;
Maybe I'll just stay young; growing up is no fun;
I want to always feel secure in my Granddad's lap;
Possessing no worry in the world; I then took a nap.
poem by Joseph Blitch
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Pretty Lil' Princess
A pretty little princess danced before my eyes
Soon we shared these loving longing sighs
Skin so fair i feared it would shatter
If my hand were to touch it with just a soft patter
Long silky black hair bright rosy cheeks
I drempt of her each night for weeks and weeks
Skin so fair, such ebony hair
I longed to see her pose so i could sit and stare
Rosy red rosy cheeks
I hear a symphony when she speaks
Golden smile of pearly white teeth
A blossoming bloom just out of reach
My heart to hold my soul to teach
A blossoming bloom is not out of reach
At last I have held her and she did not melt
At last she knows what passion i've felt
So many days her radiant beauty shined
So many days on thoughts of her i've dined
A radiant beauty with ebony hair
I long to pose her and sit and stare
I long to kiss her skin so fair
This radiant beauty with ebony hair
Pretty little princess stands on her tiptoes
kissed my face and kissed my nose
Pretty little princess alights up off the ground
I know for a while i must have you around
poem by Beau Golden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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