Best Barber Poems
This grave with barber Bob is blessed ~
He was a cut above the rest!
30.01.19
'Pithy pants poetry contest'
Sponsored by: Maureen McGreavy
harvests all grass
growing in every head, beard
boils it for soup
When I was a mere lad, my Dad always cut my hair,
But as I reached my teens and became much more debonair,
To the bald-headed barber I whizzed in my old hometown,
Seated myself in his chair and plopped my quarter down!
I had never been a paying client at a barber shop before,
So I asked about that red, white and blue pole spinning by the door.
Said he, "It was a sign for barbers doing surgery in the olden day!"
At that I gulped, almost choked and turned a sickly gray!
Done with my hair, he'd shave my neck and brush on lots of powder,
And liberally douse my scalp with Vitalis - I couldn't have been prouder!
His shop reeked of pungent oils and stale tobacco smoke,
It was all I could do to sit there, trying to stifle a choke!
The town barber shop was a place to gossip and hear inane babble,
And was the local hangout for ne'er-do-wells and other idle rabble.
The risque banter invading my naive and delicate ears,
Gave me an education far beyond my tender years!
The tales I heard were of the local women, booze and such.
Though I had some inkling, I didn't understand all that much!
Had my dear devout Mother known what transpired there,
I suspect she would've insisted that Dad continue to clip my hair!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
emerald green pasture
sheep graze contentedly
sporting fresh hair cuts
Today, I chose to shave my head,
by a shaky hand I was led,
I tried to glide the razor,
cut me quick like a laser...
"Emergency room!" Enough said?
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
I used to get my haircut, at the local RSL
Gunther was the Barber, he knew my hair real well
for 20 years he cut it, short back and sides or trim
whenever my hair got too long, I went round to him
The RSL grew bigger, not the special place we knew
with a big hotel as part of it, dress regulations too
no more for the working man, with blue tee shirt and thongs
or even the old Digger, didn’t feel like he belonged
It was now a money maker, not the place it had been when
you’d always meet someone you knew, a place for working men
They still had darts and pool of course, if you wanted a game
but smoking banned, and count your beers, it just wasn’t the same
now Gunther’s place was not as busy, as once it would have been
they pushed his shop outside the doors, the entrance hardly seen
one day he said he’d had enough, it was time for him to go
another nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know
to find another Barber, now that was quite a chore
these places they all had “Hairdresser”, written on their door
the women all talked kids and shops, and clothes that they’d seen there
no sport, no racing, no latest tips, unless they were in your hair
never had a woman cut my hair, or a man with streaks in his
and the very first that did, I thought she took the pizz
when she said, I don’t have a cutthroat, so I can’t shave your neck
maybe your wife can do it, when you get home, like ‘eck
as if I’d let my loving wife, get that close to my throat
with a cutthroat razor, I’m not a silly goat
I don’t think she would let it slip, she still loves me, although,
it would be the last nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know.
I still sport a crop of grass on my pate
But, alas, I have noticed as of late
A bare spot is spreading there
Reflecting a frightful glare
Furthermore it doesn't look all that great!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
You won't believe what I went through when I went to a black man's barbershop.
He was a racist jerk and when I left, I called the cops.
He forcibly strapped me in his barber chair.
Then that punk shaved off all of my hair.
As I looked at my bald head in the mirror, he laughed at me.
He laughed and said that I deserved it because I'm a Honkey.
But he stopped laughing when the cops slapped on the cuffs.
He said that he didn't want to go to jail and I said "Tough!"
(This is a fictional poem.)
A Day with My Barber
First he overcharged me the cut ‘fare’
As a fine for shaving my greying hair
Then I learned his screwball motive;
“Growin’ more grey I’d like you to fear
“Appreciate me for bein’ proactive!”
Then came a fellow with a shiny bald
Barber’s humour was impiously bold
“I’ll fine ya for blindin’ ma stare!”
When he implored “discount my mould
“Here abounds a shiny desert bare.”
A pin-ball head in he happily strolled
With ‘blob’ acutely small for a man old.
A fat discount I hoped for the wretch.
As usual, Barber was loud and bold:
“Double for time wasted in search!”
Big knob with the shape of a lollipop
Poised on a thin neck like it will drop.
He scanned the “hydrocephalus” chap.
I guessed his mammon would flop.
“Ma blades. More fro’ ya I must reap!”
Boy so young cheerfully came to sight
Sable, shiny hair waved with delight:
“Much you’ll pay, extra care me to take
“By safety not to pollute hair so bright
“With this gaffer’s grey by mistake!”
Came a gorgeous girl for a stylish singe
With overt desire he began to cringe:
“Ten times th’ charges I’ll declare
“For sufferin’ the hot flashes’ binge
“Or electrocution through yor hair!”
“Clean shave. Am expectin’ a damsel.”
He: “This is sculpture, I need a chisel
“Shall I waste ma blades Brother..?
“OK. Hope yor an enduring wastrel
“Pay thrice, that’s not e’en a bother!!”
Then came Jack, beard to his chest:
“Here comes th’ weaver bird’s nest!!”
Jack who was in no business to shave
His wise eye trailed where I did rest
“There’s more to life than to shave!”
***
No more will I curve chin or top Ball
Jack- not Jack Sparrow- has said it all:
I better lean on this pen, my Sabre
Than revisit my rapacious Barber!
**Holy Moses, Jack Ellison will whip me to eternity!
JM
25th Oct’ 2013
My barber on a bicycle looked solved
looked so content
Henpecked by his wife he used to go
to a cockfight every Sunday of the week
It was his only vice as far as I could tell
He cuts hair He shaves He gives a massage
I sit on his chair for a few minutes and watch
locks fall from my head The crown I wear before breakfast
Someone said I look like a soldier
This means war I suppose
but my barber just sits & waits
with an amused look on his face
sometimes wistful sometimes sad
sometimes worth a penny or more
or a pen so I write him down
as a record of his quiet dignity
like a boulder that glows
in the middle of the night
A young guy was a new barber named Bob,
Bob, most of the time did a real good job;
cutting not his only thing,
dancing he would sway and sing;
eek, snip, snip, oops . . . poor barber Bob- sob, sob !
______________________________
January 8, 2019
Poetry/Limerick/Bob the Barber
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1102-214-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Limerick II
sponsor, Joseph May, Theme - Barber
Third Place
Cowards
Trim and cut
Barefoot sacred souls
Warriors plucked like sweet grass
And blue suits hunger blood like fools.
But honor forged in solid earth
Replaces heinous schemes
And Natives remain
Herculean.
The Barber Shoppe of Hope
It was not what I was expecting at all
A barber shoppe in a rough side of town
But this is where the Lord sent me
So off I go…
I walked in and began to proclaim the coming of our Messiah
The owner walked away uncomfortably,
But his associates were quite excited to hear of this news!
One of the other barbers was also a lay preacher
He confirmed everything I said and we held hands and prayed
We delighted in the commonality of our one-mindedness
He prayed over my safety and wondered why Jesus would send a woman
To preach in the most dangerous side of town
I told him the only ones who are in danger are those not covered by
The blood of Jesus Christ
He concurred
He sent me off with a holy hug
Out…
Out the door to the next destination
I will find out where it is when I get there!
A day in the streets with my Savior
Written by Gwendolen Rix
9-5-14
A short-sighted barber named Dave
Bid folks to 'Sit down and be brave!'
With ears and neck snipped,
Departing they quipped:
Whew! That was a very close shave!'
Bite Size Poem No.42 Poetry Contest
Sponsor :Line Gautier
a singing barber raises his voice to sing
beautiful songs that make the hair take note
cutting round the ear
dadaism heeds, as
each falling hair sings down to the floor
fabulous songs from Pavarotti brings
glacier eyes against a miserable grump
here is your hat Mister Linus
I wasn't trying to be mean
just wanted your hair to have a good time !
January 11, 2019