Organized by Collection
A Poem About Nothing... For No ReasonThis is the tale of the man with no name,
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from out of nowhere is whence he first came.
He brings nothing with him, and has nothing to say,
don't sell him a thing, because he'll never pay.
No hands for his pockets, of which he has none,
no brain for his noggin, no legs for to run.
No belly for food, and no food for his mouth,
he cannot go North, for he doesn't know South.
Without his own voice he isn't too wordy,
And without his own body he doesn't get dirty.
He has no face to wash, and no hair to comb,
but don't send him away; he hasn't a home.
When you think he's behind you, he'll disappear,
don't bother calling, because he cannot hear.
Don't tell him your name, or it will become his,
If you think he is you, then he probably is.
Ode to My Unattainable BeardWould it be crazy; would you think that I'm weird,
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If I admitted to you that I wanted a beard?
For though I possess a feminine grace
I have a barren, bereft, and desolate face.
It'd be long, golden, and carefully combed,
And it would be mine, but for a Y Chromosome.
I'd still be a Lady; a real debutante,
but my glorious chin would not be for want.
In my fine evening gown, all shall give laud,
at the sight of my wonderfully whiskered facade.
Womankind might prevail; one day may ascent,
if it was not for our facial impediment.
If not for that small hormonal deficiency
My visage would display its proficiency.
I'd pensively stroke it to think and to ponder,
of a glorious beard I couldn't be fonder!
But men shear theirs clean, like a naked pink sheep.
They take it for granted and leave me to weep.
If you think I am wrong, I have much proof to show
that an excellent beard is a wise thing to grow.
Just think of Jesus, Santa, or honest Abe Lincoln,
A grand beard brings greatness, is what I am