My beards
My beards

My life divides into beard shaped times,
Split sporadically by razor shaped lines,
Eraser shaped lines.

My life divides into beard shaped seasons.
Like a cancer charity calendar boy,
I have struck a thousand poses;
Paced the spectrum from sorrow to joy
With a beard.

I’ve leered, laughed, looked lost and loved,
I’ve scowled, frowned, looked scorned and sobbed.
I’ve sprouted sideburns like shoots from my soul,
Fresh and crispy.
I’ve stroked tufts of wisdom from my chin,
Sparse and wispy.

I’ve marched east with a feast of a beard,
Bristling with promise from ear to ear
A grimacing beard, trapping sparkles of snow,
A practical beard more for purpose than show.

I’ve marched west with a festival beard,
Ritualistically pampered and reared,
Twisted like tentacles tearing the surface,
A Tate modern beard more for show than purpose.

I’ve attempted beards.
Some beards I’ve feared.
Some I’ve neared then sheared.

My life divides into beard shaped memories,
What can the future hold for such as me?
I see...
I see a beard shaped future.