'Tis the Season...Moustache Season*

At this time of year,
That we wish would last,
We take the time to honor,
The amazing Moustache!

With friends we hold dear,
We come together with prose
To celebrate the strip
Of hair 'bove the nose

To the Henriods, we give thanks
For keeping the tradition alive.
When on the 23rd in Utah,
All will arrive

Once again to give praise
To those who've taken time
To sprout the manliness
That is a moustache sublime.

**For those in the dark, each year for Christmas, we have a Moustache Party where all who are willing, and can, grow a mustache. We then get together to drink egg nog (what goes better with a mustache, than egg nog?) and to write poetry honoring the mustache. This year we will be meeting in Utah and it is sure not to disappoint! Here are a few poems from years past:

Ode to Tom Sellek
Marissa Young

In your copter,
you did fly
As you starred as our hero-
Magnum P.I.

Our love developed
While you kicked some trash
And did so sporting
one bad- a moustache.

Oh, Quigley
How could we forget
How you rescued the damsel
without breaking a sweat

On Friends you’re remembered
For being so hip
And for the manhood
Displayed upon your lip.

Inspired we are
As we gather tonight
With 'staches and nog
And songs of delight.

So to Hitler, Burt Reynolds, and
To mighty Tom Sellek
Thanks for making the moustache
A long lasting relic.
(2004)

ODE TO BURT REYNOLDS
Marissa Young

You broke Loni’s heart
Before you broke mine
With your upper lip hair:
That mustache divine.

It was in a flash
In but an instance
That you entered my heart
Starring in Deliverance.

Into stardom you sprang
With Cannonball Run
Took my breath away
My head, how it spun.

Your sex appeal was so great
I couldn’t stand it
As you shot’m up good
In Smokey and the Bandit.

So into the 21st Century
You stand proud
Among the shaved lips
Set apart from the crowd.

I stand here today in 2005
Happy to know that it’s strong and alive
Sported so manly on your upper lip
That moustache so dear, so sexy so hip.
(2005)

On His Moustache,
A Sonnet by John Alba Cutler

I grew a moustache on my rosy nose,
Composed of wispy, curly wires of black;
It blossomed on my lip like a dark rose,
I hope it doesn't migrate to my back.
My moustache makes me feel like a new man-
With it, I rejoice, The night warms my breast.
I can meet any challenge, with this span
of haughty hair across my mouth, And lest
you think this moustache unbecoming - look!
A hint of red, a whisper of velvet,
My face is suddenly a very book
of poems, and this the crowning sonnet.
The magnum opus of an unshaved face,
A psalm to roses, to upper lips, a grace.


Mach 4
by Joel Henriod
Lip Whiskers do please
My lover always, nat'ral
Aphrodisiac


Ode to the Mustache
by Trent Lofgren
For many years you reigned supreme
On upper lips oh how you seemed to gleam.
Why I know four parents, were all quite sure
That there would be no end to this upper lip fur.
Lo, what happened? The nineties I'm afraid.
For over a decade, we've all been depraved.
Oh what a shame to lose such a treasure,
The mighty mustache that elicits such pleasure.
Although not extinct; for you can always see
Simply dormant it lies camouflaged by the goatee.
Tonight there's no fear, no shame, no doubt
As evident here they've given to sprout.
So drink some egg nog, no matter the cost
And let your mustache show off its new frost.
It's sad that this night will be gone in a flash
Bu I will always stay true to my mighty mustache.