Pages

Monday, 31 October 2011

Some idle thoughts on grass and stubble


                                    









I’ve got grass and I’ve got whiskers,
Both need cutting frequently,
And the older I become
The more that this depresses me.

Although my grass sometimes lies dormant,
Waiting for the sun to shine,
My whiskers, they just keep on growing,
Even though the day’s not fine.

The other thing that’s real annoying,
Is, that with some modest care,
My grass, just keeps on getting better,
It shows no sign of wear and tear.

And though I give them more attention,
Shaving stubble every day,
How do my facial hairs repay me?
By growing tough and turning grey!

© James Rainsford 2011



Note to readers: A piece of lighthearted nonsense for a change this week. Reading my more recent posts I realised it was time for a bit of fun.
Posted as my contribution to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Comments are welcome.
Kind regards to all, James. 

18 comments:

  1. Ha, I like it! My grass keeps getting worse, but I'm pretty OK with my facial hair at the moment.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I suppose it would be impolitic to mention that, with age, I need to shave my legs less?

    As for grass, I decided last year that grass is why Goddess made young men with riding mowers, and me a job to make money to pay them.

    ReplyDelete
  3. LOL! I am pleased to confess that I can't relate to facial hair issues but your lawn seems gorgeous! I have a lawn, so I'm qualified to comment on that.

    Wonderful fun!

    Beth

    ReplyDelete
  4. ha that is why i have just let my facial hairs go...perhaps a bird will build a nest and i will get some fresh eggs...fun read james...

    ReplyDelete
  5. James...I can't wipe the smirk off my face! :) A wonderfully fun share indeed. You could always try laser hair removal! ;)

    ReplyDelete
  6. a lovely fun write, & I'm sure that those whiskers just make you look distinguished however annonying they may be...

    ReplyDelete
  7. Hi James

    The combination of the pictures and the opening stanza are fantastic and of course I can relate.

    Loved the whole scheme of the piece. Loved the ending

    ReplyDelete
  8. James this is fun :) I enjoyed it!

    ReplyDelete
  9. This is adorable and fun! James, may I ask you if you shot all the pictures in your My Photos?

    ReplyDelete
  10. HA! Be grateful you don't have to pluck them all out with a clamshell like the Native Americans. Or old witches. Enjoyed your brief foray away from the serious immensely, James.

    ReplyDelete
  11. just let it grow. both the lawn and the beard :)

    ReplyDelete
  12. This is lovely and as you say, light? I feel so rewarded as well altho not with whiskers per se...the gray part. xxxj

    ReplyDelete
  13. Whiskers hey. Better grey than green. Nice fun poem.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Haha - love it right from the pic. Surrendering to the lawn mower. Why God, why?

    Fun piece all around - sometimes we all just need a little time away from all things serious. Helps keep us sane, you know?

    ReplyDelete
  15. Much fun...though not much fun when our bodies make things more difficult as we age. But I appreciate your humour. We can be silly about those things and it is funny because so real and so true.

    ReplyDelete
  16. LOL...is that why guys grow beards? As for the grass, if you let it grow a patch of wildflowers may appear. Nice write on something common.

    ReplyDelete
  17. Interesting poem... stubble turning grey and your lawn growing greener every day...

    Shashi
    ॐ नमः शिवाय
    Om Namah Shivaya
    http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/11/whispers-fire-faayar-faayaar-dedicated.html
    At Twitter @VerseEveryDay

    ReplyDelete
  18. love this, beautiful sentiments with some real apt metaphor.

    ReplyDelete

If you wish your views and opinions to be published here, please be polite and respectful. I welcome feedback on my work and will try to respond if you take the trouble to post a comment. Thanks for visiting 'The Sanctum of Sanity.' Hope you enjoyed the experience, James.