Poem: Ode to the ‘Stache

Tonight, I read the first poem I ever wrote in honor of IFC’s new “Whisker Wars.” Check out this poem and check out the open mic night at Cafe Rio Blanca, hosted by the Aiken Guild of Poetic Intent.  Every third Tuesday of the month! Here’s the poem:


Oh, glorious hairs, sprouting from face!

With warmth and a style no razor could erase,

 Hairs grow like weeds, sturdy lip prongs,

Which are worshipped and are subjects of songs,


It sits as a comrade, a furry, lippy friend,

That you can twist, style, twirl, whorl, and bend,

You are the captain, and it your first mate,

With it you have a bond to which no other bodily hair—can relate,


You might prefer the Belvedere, or perhaps the Dali,

You may sport yours like Frank Zappa and grow a goatee,

It can be a handlebar, or you can let it droop,

One end can be a basketball, the other end a hoop,


You can look like Einstein and look like Ringo too,

You could grow it very long until you need ‘stache shampoo,

It may be a pencil one, or a Fu Manchu,

A moustache is a moustache, and any one will do,


Some look pretty menacing, some look kind of cute,

Some make you look professional, some just like a brute,

You can wear it with a beard, goatee, or mutton chops,

It looks right on cowboys, Hitler, and even cops,


This is a little ode about a little droop,

A single curve of hair that can sop up all the soup,

Some are rather sparse; some look worth a lot of cash,

But never forget the power and coolness of the ‘stache




4 thoughts on “Poem: Ode to the ‘Stache

  1. I’d love to use this for school (I’m a teacher)– can I get permission? Please email me at jrussell at laca dot org, to discuss. Thanks so much!

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