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Best Hair Poems

Below are the all-time best Hair poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of hair poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Hair Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Hair poems are below this new poems list.

HER HAIR UP, HER HAIR DOWN by EDDIE, CHICANO
Rapunzel Let Down Your Hair by LaRue, Alex
Bad Hair Day by hoffman, cheryl
Tinting Hair Brown by Horn, James
Orange Hair by Horn, James
Orange Hair and Thin Skin by Horn, James
Fish in my Hair by vaso, arthur
The Poet and the Girl with Mystic Dew Hair by O.J. Hunt, Keith
Hair Turn Gray by Horn, James
I Saw a Woman with No Hair by Janko, Betty

View all new Hair Poems

The Best Hair Poems

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Wind

The wind rustles your hair as the sun brings joy .

It tells your secrets and they are well kept.

They go where it is needed turning gracefully.

Will you dance again?

 

What about your joy?

Its buried now and your hair is gone.

Birds dancing and your bare arms reach for me.

Saves the last dance.

 

I love your cold breath and the heat.

Your almost home.

But you will leave  as before.

Dance for me.


Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2011

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Dream Boy

My favorite verse from THE soft rock song of my youth
Hit song of 1969 by the Carpenters:

(They Long To Be) Close To You
    (middle stanza of the song)

"On the day that you were born

the angels got together and decided

to create a dream come true

so they sprinkled moon dust in your hair

of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue."

Dream Boy

To fall for him I needed just one look
and after that, he had me on his hook -
a fact which I’m not sure he even knew!
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.

I lived for those church dances in his town.
I’d see him there but always feel let down.
Girls followed him around. What could I do?
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.

Not being in his orbit or his school,
I longed for him and simply played the fool.
The fantasy for me would not come true!
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.

Dedicated to Chris Frogley, wherever now he may be.

For the "I Love Rock 'N roll" Poetry contest of Kelly Deschler


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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Self inflicted blues

This day I grow tired
and so incredibly weary.
My heart holds only dreams
of a Life unfullfilled
A Life not nurtured,
yet barely a glimmer
of the spirit that once was.

I do have memories of some things good 
-not all bad,
But the fear that I am alone
is Like a fingerprint on my Life.

Shadowing, waiting to pounce,
always there, unshakeable.

It's the mirrors that hold me accountable
to my actions.
Proof positive that where ever I go
there I am,
Naked, vulnerable, and yes
still alone.

As I try to allay this fear, 
one Lonely and painful pluck at a time,
It becomes crystal clear, that I alone
am damaging my soul to the very core
with each stroke of my hand.

I steal one Last Look in the mirror
and know that I alone
have self inflicted these blues
Leaves me to ponder one question:

Will I ever allow myself the strength and grace
it will surely take to heal my scarred soul?                        
                                                      
  



This poem was written in hopes of begining the healing process for my self. I 
have a disease called trichiotillamania. It is an obsessive and manic urge to pull 
one's own hair until baldness occurs. I'm a 48 year old woman, married(with kids 
& grand kids)and have been doing this since the age of 5. It coincided with the 
begining of my stepfather raping and torturing me which lasted until the age of 
thirteen. This disease has me trapped and is NEVER letting me go. There are 
two inflictions in regards to my hair pulling in this poem, one must know about 
my disease in order to understand this poem.


Copyright © Christine Wessels | Year Posted 2007

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The Golden Hour

Gorgeous boy, your skin shines in the sun’s golden hour.
Waves of your jet-black hair, short-cropped like Caesar's 
dripping tendrils on a chiseled brow, wisps beside each ear
A bare-chested Apollo cycles in low-slung shorts.

Waves of your jet-black hair, short-cropped like Caesar's, 
my ardeur imagines eyes a molten sapphire blue.
A bare-chested Apollo cycles in low-slung shorts,
calves taunt, thigh muscles pumping, a true stallion.

My ardeur imagines eyes a molten sapphire blue.
surely, the night sky is less beautiful than your eyes,
Legs with calves taunt, thigh muscles pumping, a stallion,
lovely man-child, whose dreams will you soon make true?

Surely, the night sky is less beautiful than your eyes.
Dripping tendrils on a chiseled brow, wisps beside each ear,
lovely man-child, whose dreams will you soon make true?
Gorgeous boy, your skin shines in the sun’s golden hour.



Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

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A Lovers World And Dreamers Dream

Hope lives on a four leaf clover.
Greener pastures when yesterday's over.
My heart spins when her hair gets twirled.
And I start to shake in this lovers world.

I walked around the corner and stayed awhile.
That's where I was when I seen her smile.
I felt more in that moment than in my whole life.
Straight to my heart just like a knife.

I've made that turn a time or two.
But theres no turning round now that it's you.
The sun came up on the other side.
Took away any shadow where I can hide.

Destiny delivered a dream for two.
Everything has suddenly become pink and blue.
I can't help but wait for the bubble to pop.
Borrowed trouble in this dream balloon shop.

Hope lives on a four leaf clover. 
Greener pastures when yesterday's over.
My heart spins when her hair gets twirled.
And I start to shake in this lovers world.


Copyright © robert johnson | Year Posted 2013

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Going bald



As biology goes, I'm surviving,
a few aches and pains and a cough
and I check every morning when in the bathroom
to see if my bits have dropped off.

Now, father time knows where I'm living
and likes to make regular calls
which I know by the strands of my hair on the bedding
that have come from my head and my nose.
(Yes, I know what that last line should be, but it's  a family website)

The condition called male pattern baldness
is feared by men everywhere
and even I've tried all of the creams and the potions
to try and save my bit of hair

A comb-over like Donald Trump has,
using all of the growth that remains
was still not enough to stop that awful tapping
from every time that it rains.

I even tried growing my eyebrows
as long as I possibly could
to comb them straight upwards and over the top
but that didn't look any good.

A  hair loss clinic was suggested
so I phoned them and gave my details,
but I bought myself one or two different fedoras
quite simply in case all else fails.

 Then the hair loss clinic gave me an update
which I wasn't expecting so soon,
they'd found my lost hair on a Camel's backside
in a market just outside Khartoum.


Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2016

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Lost, Found, and Now Just Missing

Going through some old things that just had to go, I came upon something that nearly got tossed. Memories came to me from long ago. . . . I thrilled that my treasure was no longer lost. Toys come and toys go. In the 60’s, one fad was to own an odd doll not seen much today. This doll had long hair and was scantily clad but wasn’t a Barbie with which I would play! Its body was squat and it had a pug nose. I probably loved it because it looked droll. Its hair could be orange, green, yellow or rose, but if you don’t know yet, that doll was a troll! How I wish I could dredge up some memory to know what was happening inside my head as a pre-teen with friends and what it might be that we did with those dolls and what fun things we said! The trolls that I owned must have been at least four - both sexes so they'd make a small family - their hair different hues, each a doll to adore. But one day they no longer mattered to me. . . I can’t say where all of my playthings got stashed. When I left for college, they vanished from view. But knowing my mom, they must have got trashed. She doesn’t hang on much to things like I do. Now four decades later, I looked at my prize, bare naked and smudged but its hair still jet black. It stared up at me with its cute amber eyes. I couldn’t believe how I got that thing back! It somehow had ended up in my new state. Good luck for that troll, I throw few things away! That doll would be learning soon of its new fate and meet other troll dolls with whom it would stay. Just like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow old, and new trolls I’d bought with long bright spiky hair when troll dolls again in the 90's were sold! But I had to recall where I’d stored them….. oh, where??
(I found the dolls and added the old one to the new collection, but my daughter's family moved in with me a few months ago. My daughter is a clean freak like MY mom is (apparently it skips a generation or something), and my daughter took my troll dolls and put them out of sight somewhere so currently they are floating around who knows where! For Paula Swanson's "Yard Sale" Contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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All about Dan

So you want to get to know me, ok, well here goes. Most of it's in my poetry, but I may have left something out, who knows? For the last twenty years, I've been wearing Nike high tops that are black. They're alot easier to clean then white ones, that is a definite fact. My friends all seem to like me, and I greet them all with a big smile. I've met alot of them through a life of partying, but now thats been over for awhile. My favorite book is the bible, because whenever I read it I learn something new. My favorite movie I couldn't really tell you, since I have seen oh, quite a few. My favorite song is from Tim McGraw, it's "Live Like You Were Dying" In a funny kind of way it refreshes my soul, and I usually end up crying. Favorite singer I don't really have one, so I guess it would have to be myself. Because I just love it when I sing all the words, and don't need anyones help. My hair is a dirty blond thats straight,short and very fine. It doesn't have a single curl, and I know it's all still mine. My favorite shampoo is Pert, it leaves my hair so silky smooth. With the fine and thining hair that I have, it's the one I prefer to use. My favorite food is pizza, but fresh baked bread is my favorite smell. If I had a food I'd eat everyday, that is the one that would put me through hell. I have everything I need,with only a few things that I dislike. The only thing I want or really need, is the love of my loving wife.
Dan Kearley:5-25-12 Contest:All About ____???


Copyright © Dan Kearley | Year Posted 2012

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Mother's Crown of Pink

My mother’s hair hung thick and to her waist.
But seldom did she wear it in that way,
for always in a bun she had it placed
til it was loosed and on her pillow lay.

She sometimes tells me how I'd kidded her.
When I was small, I said, “Your hair is pink!”
From how she tells this story, I infer
I must have caused her tender heart to sink.

She aged, yet grey was sparse upon her head.
We said, “An older woman cuts her hair.”
Mom acquiesced and lost those locks rare red
she’d humbly worn for years when young and fair.

She’s nearly eighty now, bobbed hair turned brown,
And how I miss her once “pink” glory crown.

By Andrea Dietrich


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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My Fair Maiden

I called upon yonder window That was up to high for me to be For my maiden gracefully sleeps there In her bed,beside the sea I asked her to come hither For her beautiful face I yearned to see Twas yawning in the morning dew As she slowly came to the window for me To my amazement came forth a ragged wench Whos hair was as raged as the sea With eyes that were burnt as nightposts To bloodshot and squinty to even see For this was not my fair maiden? Whos beauty would forever be But a drunken harlot who came hither That she spent the night with instead of me My heart now broken to pieces Wondering how could this tragedy be? For my maiden now sleeps with a harlot? Without the love that she once gave to me? My mind was now enraged So I dashed for the wrestling sea With thoughts of drowning this useless body That's no longer good enough for my maiden to see With water just over waist height And a large wave about to crash over me I heard a calling from yonder window Twas my beautiful maiden as I turned to see Her beautiful eyes in such distress Her beautiful hair flowing so care free Twas the beauty of my fair maiden That I had called upon yonder window to see For the thoughts that raced through my mind Evidently,weren't truely what happend to be For it was her promiscuous sister Who had come from the other side of the sea My heart now rebuilt with a sigh of love A large wave suddenly crashes over me The last thing I saw was my fair maiden As my lifeless body is carried out by the sea
DannyBoy:1-24-13


Copyright © Dan Kearley | Year Posted 2013

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The Funny Side of Suicide

A friend of mine once inquired 
if I had suicide on my brain. 
"EVERY TIME I SEE YOU...
you chase away the rain." 

She looked a little puzzled 
but thanked me none the less, adding:
"Are you sure you're not contemplating 
the end of all your stress?"

"Why," said I, "should I decide
to end this life sublime
when all I want right here and now
is one more round of wine?"

"So cut the crap, go take a nap
or bring me red rose',
you're killing me with your questions
and all I want to do is play!"

Still she could not let it go
and asked me once again -
"Are you SURE you're not considering 
a permanent vacation, my friend?"

"Enough, enough of all this stuff
regarding grassy graves,
If you ask me one more time again
it's yours that will be made!"

And so she finally took the hint 
that I'm finer than a frogs hair cut - 
Never the less, I thanked her profusely
for caring so very much. 

* Inspired by a very special lady here in PSoup (who shall remain anonymous), recently  concerned about my state of mind.  I couldn't help but be impressed and touched by her genuine concern and felt compelled to reassure her that I'm "Finer than a frogs hair cut."  On a more serious note, REAL suicide is nothing to laugh about and if this poem offends anyone, I sincerely apologize and mean no disrespect to anyone touched by it's sad results.  All the best, Terry


Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Whispers of my fair maiden

Alone, there I stood by the bench in the park.
On a leash by my side, my protective young hound.
In the distance I heard the echo of whispers;
As a dark hooded figure approached in a cloak.
She stopped and looked at me this beautiful maiden.
Rose like lips smiled gently, against skin bright and fair.

She took down her hood, released hair long and fair;
I offered my hand and on bench did we park.
We looked at the stars appearing so maiden;
As we talked of our youths and her company I did hound.
Then the moon cast its shadows and darkness did cloak;
Whilst trees bustled, rustling, the night timely whispers.

As we cuddled up close, to get warm friendly whispers;
It grew colder, I gave my jacket and said it wasn't fair.
So we got up to leave and she bunched up her cloak;
We walked to the car to the place I did park.
In the back did we place my faithful friend hound,
And we drove into the night on our journey so maiden.

We drove and we drove till the dawn arrived maiden.
To the rustling chorus of natures whispers;
And a fox searching for breakfast did stalk and did hound;
Saw chickens, roosters and hens such a fair!
In burrowed field did monstrous combine park,
Whilst autumn leaves rained tumbling natures cloak.

We went to my home and and we hung up the cloak.
Then I partook a chance to kiss the hand of my maiden.
While we spoke of the night at the park.
We enfolded ourselves to bodily whispers;
And I nestled amongst all of hair fair;
But when in heat of moment the barks of my hound.

A knock on wall from angry neighbors, please shut up the hound.
So I fed him, watered and let him outside; around me her cloak.
Then returned to my angel so beautifully fair,
Her skin looked so radiant my heavenly maiden;
That I caressed it so longingly, with gentle whispers,
Then stopped and remembered the leash in the park.

Then cursing the hound; I tell the dear maiden.
Dressed quickly, coats, cloak; and I love you whispers.
She tells me not fair, and we go to the park!!!


Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2010

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Sometimes I Feel Beautiful

Sometimes I Feel Beautiful
Driving along thinking about what I’m about to do brings a smile to my face. Without a doubt my hair and nails make a big difference in the way I feel about myself! When I look pretty; I feel pretty.
Today my nails will be done in pink and white, oh yes, perfect they shall be. Nothing short of looking delicate and refined I tell myself. I am so excited; the anticipation brings joy into my heart and laughter to my lips! 
My hair appointment is closing in. High lights and shaping adds a playful and fun demeanor. Beautiful is how it’s going to look and beautiful is how I’ll feel. I almost need to pinch myself for I wonder is this really happening to me! Tears sting my eyes and giggles flow forth. Yes; this is my life and this is happening to me!
Thinking of my new makeup and how youthful I’m going to look brings joy into this heart of mine. I can hardly wait to put it on as the excitement builds; I dance around and giggle. I feel so beautiful thinking how perfect I’ll look with everything finished.
At times I tell myself, “I know he loves me, I can tell”. The glowing in his eyes seems to sparkle with love and passion. My Heart beats a little faster as excitement and wonder fills my entire being! Yes, this is how it should always be, a life filled with joy and laughter.
Finding ways to look beautiful helps me feel beautiful. It’s this that causes me to giggle and dance about. The unbridled excitement loosened, flowing through my veins fills me with love and wanting. Tomorrow just maybe this joy will add new meaning and direction causing me to continue feeling beautiful..
                                                                                           Debbie Knapp


Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2011

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Farm Girl

On a Sussex farm works a golden haired girl
Surrounded by guys as she makes their hearts twirl
But her love and soul are miles away
In a Highlanders heart, she hopes to meet one day.
 
Its nearly a year since they were first in touch
As she's grown to adore him oh so much
Her delight will be, is too invite him down
And show him round her lovely town.
 
Her joy and smiles, as she holds his hand
Her heart pounding as she feels a million grand
Stopping for cuddles as they share a kiss
With her Highlander she's in sheer bliss.
 
The countryside where this English Rose stays
Flowering crops grow and animals graze
Noisy tractors Harvesters reap
Under a blistering sun, the baaing of sheep.
 
In her yellow dress, flowing golden hair
She takes his hand, as they climb the stair
Above up here is where we keep the hay
Again she takes his hand and down they lay.
 
Facing each other they start to kiss
This English rose in her mind she wish
To share her body with her Highlander
To adjoin their bodies as their loving stirs.
 
As they undress each other on this summers day
Bare skin warms the golden hay
Passions flow as their hands explore
Loving scent from their loving pores
Joys and sighs, they feel their bodies mix
Emotions and feelings in adrenalin fix.
 
Warmed and content,consumed in each others arms
Two heavenly bodies sharing each others charms
Kissing and cuddling on the flattened hay
As they stand up and look where they just once lay.
 
Dishevelled clothes, hair astray 
This loving couples summers play
Standing embrace their bodies quiver
Holding hands they head to the river.
 
At the river bank they undress each other
Under a shaded green leafy cover
Her naked body and long golden hair
Makes him proud to be standing there.
 
As they enter the river 
They caress and wash each other
Under this shaded leafed cover
They kiss and embrace to share their love
Under the leafy tree, chirping birds all above.
 
Heading home hand in hand
This loving couple feeling two million grand
They head to bed, spooned and cosy
This Highlander and his English Rosie.


http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

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BEAUTY AND DIVERSITY

Beauty is said to be skin deep Cancer… a silent thief Chemotherapy has taken its toll Her hair, once a river of gold Now flows onto the hairdresser’s floor Placing a scarlet wig on her head She looks in the mirror and smiles ... she’d always dreamed of being a red head Contest Beauty and Diversity Sponsored by Poet Destroyer A 04~24~16


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Silver Strands

Her dark hair, laced with silver strands,
cascaded once with sable glint,
then lost (with drifting of the sands
of time) the chasteness of its tint.

It still grows long, but she has kept
her dark hair laced with silver strands
pulled back, attractively upswept,
at times enwrapped in stylish bands.

She misses days of few demands,
the ragtop down, her locks wind-tossed.
Her dark hair laced with silver strands
reminds her now of all she's lost. . .

She combs it out in dying light
of dusk and dreams a lover's hands
touch something soft as moon-streaked night,
her dark hair, laced with silver strands.




Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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The Wisdom of Wine and Gin

My hair has receded and my belly grown fat
There’s hair growing in my ears and I don’t like that
My joints ache all the day and I have troubles with peeing
I’m tired all the time and have glasses for seeing
Gravity has taken over putting life in a downward spin
No wonder I enjoy drinking a little wine and gin


Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2012

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Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde's Love Poem

I love how your long chestnut hair flows over your gentle shoulders,
And when the sun searches you out for a moment, your hair sparkles…

Because I lit a match and threw it into that rat infested hair ball that you
Waste all your time on.  Next up is your head which I’m going to rip…

Don’t listen to him.  I’m mesmerized by your deep blue eyes, when they lovingly
Gaze In my direction.  I will never make you shed a tear, my dear…

But I’m going to kick you about this filthy house.  It looks like all you’ve
Done all day is piss in the wind.  And stop your crying; your baggy eyes are…

Ignore him, my love.  Your soft, gentle touch upon my face arouses my senses to new Heights.  All my cares wash away as your aquiline hand slowly glides along my arm…

What the hell does he know?  If you don’t get your boney hand off me, I’m going to break it In half.  And the next time I catch you trying to be nice I’m going to throw you out with…

Stop that, Hyde.  Sorry, my love, but as I was saying, your body is a masterpiece sculpted out of the finest treasures.  I’m in awe of its supple curves, how it flinches to the touch…

Oh, shut up Doc, you’re killing me.  And speaking of killing, I feel like pummeling
The living daylights out of your emaciated, piece of good for nothing…

Please be mine baby, before I’m lost forever to…

I’m in charge, so get over here and take it like…

I’m fading, my love.  Hurry, say you’ll be mine.  Save us.

I’m going to tear you apart.  You’re no baby, you’re a…

Save me, before the monster wins…

Too late, Dr., she will be all mine soon…

Just a kiss, my dear.  Just a…

‘Slap’, take that b****...

One kiss.  Now!  -The Dr. and his lover kiss-  Thank you, my love.  Let that vile 
Monster rest in peace, so that we will be left in peace from it for evermore.



Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2013

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Oh Your Beauty

UNSUPPORTED CODE Your beauty extends Into the heaven Whispering secrets of Happiness and affection. You look up at me and smile With crinkles in the Corners of your eyes. The smooth beauty of bare skin, Soft stroke of hair like feathers. I'm lost in the smell of Your hair & skin, Your eyes pierce my soul. Gaze upon me With those eyes again, I'm longing to be lost In your embraces. You are exquisite fire, A smooth burn of wild beauty. Your curly, long, light-burgundy hair frames An exquisite blend of exotic beauty. Your touch sends me over the edge, A longing which no verses can describe.


Copyright © Chittaranjan Dey | Year Posted 2012

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Crowning Glory--Co-write with Paul

As the rooster crows:
 
A look in the pool mirrored a perfect mop
At times of frizzy hair or defiant shaggy tresses
Ohhh the satisfaction at the sight 
And yabba, dabba, doo!! echoed loud and clear
Triumphant male ego at its best!
 
A man’s crowning glory
Pulled, cut, brushed, curled, straightened, shaved
Lathered, gelled, creamed and pasted
Soaked in fragrant Makassar oil
Invigorator, conditioning both groom and style.
 
Macho, gentle, sweet, daring tastes 
Side-partings, medium, undercut and long
Sporting pony-tails, short back and sides
Elvis and James Dean quiffs curled kiss-me-quicks,
Punk, Mohawk, flamboyant fringes
Highlights and lowlights, sprays and blow-dries!
All part and parcel of male vanity and crowning glory.

Heckles from the henhouse:

As some men grow older they shed hair.
Each day they seek strands that were once there,
But skin patches widen --
Just check out Joe Biden.
Prepare to shut eyes in the bright glare.

A comb-over seems like a good plan,
But ladies don’t flock to a con man.
With 10 hairs remaining,
A “crown” they are feigning.
What happens when strands face a wind fan?

No reason for men to grow manic; 
Mustaches and beards can work magic,
Diverting attention
Without the pretension
That balding is simply too tragic.

The “rug” method’s just too expensive,
Espec’ly when loss is extensive.
Like Telly Savalas,
The outcome’s not callous --
Few women find baldness offensive! 
 


*Many thanks to Paul Callus for inviting me to join in this co-write.


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2015

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The Tale of Sandy the Snail

This is the tale of Sandy the snail...
Who always wore her hair in a ponytail...
She was different from others and I’m sure you’ll agree...
As her colors were bright neon fluorescent green you see... 
She wasn’t content just moving slow...
She wanted to run like a Marathon Pro...
Up early each morning...
When the Sun arose...
She did pushups, pull ups and touched her toes...
Alas... it was then she realized this was futile...
As everyone knows...
If she had feet, she would be more mobile...


Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

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Why Not Love My Locks

What's so strange about it?
The way it curls like a baby  or
The way it stands out on it's own

The way it swings when I walk  or
The way it catches your stare when I talk

Natural roots, they spring into trees of knowledge
The offense you take, the regards you make  and
Hassles I get when going state to state
It's like my whole life's at stake
Damn gimmie a break

(So) What's the big fuss about the Natural Lust
Rejection to European Beauty Standards is what I truly adore
We need more Natural sisters  MORE MORE MORE

MY LOCKS IS NOT A STYLE, NEITHER A FAD, NOR IMPRESSION
MY LOCKS IS A WEAPON, IT HELPS ME FIGHT AGAINST OPPRESSION

I'm not afraid to show it and I'm not afraid to grow it

Information, dedication, and confirmation is wrapped up in my hair
which wraps around my crown-
So thick, So tough, So strong, So long
So Black and untrapped just my appearance is an attack

Come into job interviews with my image misconstrued, unculture myself 
Just to fit what works for you
Cut my hair for what??   NO! Just Leave Me Alone
One half of one percent is still the wealth we own
So if I cut my hair off, what will the Black man own? 












Copyright © Shujaa Sinless | Year Posted 2015

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The Bottomless Pit

From the bottom of an abandoned gravel pit
behind my childhood home, seated, 
leaning against its hardpacked sandy side,
he watched the July sun set,
the empty prescription bottle at his side.

Did he walk that day to his unnatural fate
slowly, shoulders rolling like a big cat,
alternating first one, then the other, 
forward, head bent, one black errant
curl tumbling across his troubled forehead.

Did he hesitate or did he hurry
and did he think of me, just 12,
soon to be fatherless, before he
began his two weeks of decomposing
in the hot Texas sun until
the man on horseback found him
while looking for a lost calf. 

I couldn't blame my mother 
for the divorce she filed.
I had wanted him to leave, too,
and hadn't I prayed he would die
when he dragged her over the yard,
by a handful of her hair clasped
tightly in his fist,
because she had cut it without his permission.
		
Especially the next day when I found
the clump of auburn hair caught in the lush 
purple blooms of the wisteria bush,
I wanted him to die.

He played his harmonica for me,
and I sang, "Daddy's Little Darling, 
Don't you think I'm sweet?"
But I prayed my dad would die,
and though I asked God to ignore those
prayers of terror, I will never be able to
love enough wayward men to save my dad.




Copyright © Emerson Adkins | Year Posted 2012

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Delilah's Story- Part I

She ran her finger through sun kissed locks
As he lay sleeping in her bed
His handsome face smiled in a dream 
Her breasts the pillow for his head

How she wanted their night to last
But soon t’would be the break of day
When he would arise and then be gone
Her charm could not make him stay

But, oh how she did adore him
As she gazed at his muscled form
Even more than she loved his strength
Was his passion that took her by storm

She had lain often  in this bed
With countless other horrid men
But none had ever touched her heart
As this man fast asleep right then

Earlier she’d once more asked him
That which would bring her wealth and fame
She asked as she slowly undressed
“Delilah, your question’s the same.”

“But, Samson if you do love me
You’ll share your secret that’s profound”
Then she molded herself to him
He couldn’t breathe or make a sound

He moaned as she touched and pleased him
But she knew timing must be right
Before she’d let him possess her
Her vict’ry had to be in sight

She called him in the grip of passion
“Your strength drives me insane
But, Samson, if I don’t know the secret
You’ll never touch me like this again”

His hair flowed down all about her
Curtaining all except his face
“You’ll always be mine, Delilah
My hair is my God given grace.”

Then she closed her eyes and let go
And they both tasted ecstasy
Now he lay spent on her full breasts
Would she let her strong man go free?

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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Dangerous Guns

Home is where the radio is
Paradise is where I am
I miss his cigarettes...His mess
He said "I am smoking the last one"

I'm going to make him crazy
Rage, rage, rage
Rage, fury, rage
Nobody will be able to hurt me again

I will defeat pain with rage, my love
He cheated on me
He humiliated me
I am lost, baby, I am lost

But then with one kiss
I'd forgive him everything
He left me without a word
But he had forgotten his gun

I thought "Do i have to shoot myself? Or him?"
But then I found myself in front of a mirror
And then I started to brush my hair like this...
Stroke, stroke... My curls melted away

And then I thought "Why I have to reach exactly 100?"
Because in the hundredth stroke...
My hair was back to being straight
I looked again

He had no power over me
Baby, I have changed
I'm not that little girl anymore
I was a different person


Copyright © Gabija Paliulyte | Year Posted 2014