Barbershop Poems - Poems about Barbershop

Welcome to my barber shop, Owned by the late Puddin' Pop. That's my dad's picture in the frame: Let me tell you how he earned his nickname. Back in the summer of 1984, My mom bought my sister and me to the store. There was a barber shop next door, And here's my pop. His name was William Moore. I'm Calvin, his son;...

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Old Mr. Nicholson totters across the town square to the barbershop where Clive has cut his hair for the last forty years or so Not hardly needing even a trim but pretending he has a reason besides the gossip waiting within Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic shaving cream and old leather and the only noticeable things that Clive's changed in the last forty years are the calendar, magazines and...

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THE BARBERSHOP QUARTET The barbershop quartet, mustache brushes in hand. A Capella joviality, with torquing wrists, snapping fingers. Bristles foaming, silky white and smooth, voices grand. Dapper in their pinstripe suits, hats — Delmonico brand. Sweet Adeline, drawn out. My Adeline — peaks, lingers. The barbershop quartet, mustache brushes in hand. Choreography matchless with their sugar-cane wands. One by one they tap...

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A cluttered barbershop in my old hometown I fondly call to mind, Was a gathering place to loaf and socialize, a great place to unwind! Harry, the barber, kept farmers, the local rabble and boys like me, Looking right smart, clipping hair and shaving necks for a two-bit fee! Outside, as raging winter storms amassed piles of drifting snow, The...

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Through the window you can see him there, shaving whiskers and trimming hair. Red and white swirling outside the door, as hair drifts skittering across the floor. He stands all day, he works so hard dreaming of a sunbath out in his yard. The little girl waits with broom in hand, for the Barber to give the sweep command. And on Sunday, his...

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