Best Beautician Poems
The gentle lady was often observed by a little boy. She had hands with a magical touch coveted by many.
In her left hand were strings of hair longing to be treated, and in her right hand was an iron comb of varying temperatures.
The iron comb and human hands slowly stroked the hairs of her clientele. But she was accompanied with a most listening ear to hear the heart cries
of those who sat in her 'beauty chair'. Hers was a heart of gold with a very special place, a compartment, for the storage and processing of the many
secrets that she was told. She had plenty enough cares of her own because hers was a family of many kids and often a most insensitive husband twenty-
two years her senior. Nevertheless, out of what at times was a war zone, a house of chaos, she crafted a happy home. Her lips, through which never a
harmful word would be revealed, were always sealed. A breath of fresh air and soothing like a gentle breeze that slowly flowed through the open sky, this
beautician cared for far more than hair. Her home was an open door, and many were the burdens of others that she so willingly bore. So loving and
caring, she was gifted with an eye for beauty that looked deep into the souls
of her customers. It was there that she beheld so much of their misery and
ugliness with a carefulness for withholding judgment. They came with high hopes of a great hairdo which they received but also left with a makeover of
their troubled souls, because they were touched by the crafty hands and loving heart of a little boy's mother who was a beautician I once knew.
08282018PoSoupCtest, Strand Select V, Brian Strand. 3P
Brendon earns his bread and butter
as an artist at Anna's -
Anna's Beauty Salon.
He places the smock across my shoulders
as if it were a feathered gown;
I feel resplendent already.
Removing the pencil from my messy bun,
he unfastens my hair with
hungry hands.
His fingers dance with intrigue like the
balloons bobbing on the mirror..
He is the cat and I am his cream.
My valued time for musicians:
On-stage a class of magicians,
Though their tunes not for theologian’s
Who brand musicians logicians…
It’s a reaching-out to people
For stirring their dreams or ripple,
Musicians for the route to love,
Their tunes proofs of its being a dove
“While living, bleeding and kicking
A lip you conquered be licking,
Even as time keeps a-ticking.
And unsolved mad problems sticking."
Man’s sought scarce time for musicians.
They’d envision bright conditions,
In songs hallowing beauticians;
Or them rhythmic renditions:
Lots of creative time finding,
For actions to a pair binding;
Now, no axe for spouses’ grinding
Not with great tunes for a minding
The beautician frowns in the mirror.
She stops combing.
I think she has found a tick.
I get them frequently. I live in the country.
Why would you have paint in your hair? She asks me.
I am a painter, I tell her.
She gives me a look I have not seen since my mother died.
I have to laugh.
Ahead of a just fixed funeral
He'd started counting its numeral:
Negotiator of the fairest price.
For twenty five bags of Thailand Rice...
Negotiator meets, too, Mortician
And relates to him as Beautician:
One is as good as partaker,
Who goes around as undertaker
"Well, he's for badly frowning corpses
Owners pay thousands for cleaned lapses".
Man wants his wife's corpse to start smiling;
If this can't be time away whiling.
If possible her lips archly grinning:
Guests sometimes cough for face in linen...
The discussions he will not linger,
Mortician to at price point finger...
All corpses have interest to protect,
Job of the living to them detect.
Jody does hair – she dyes it, styles it, washes it, makes it up.
She will chop it, slice it, dice it, down low it, mix bleach in a cup.
Jody has always wanted to do hair, and now she does it daily.
Her children know to wait for her, she is there with their dog Bailey.
Bailey lies in the back, snoring away as he dreams of chasing sheep.
Some of the customers do not know he is there, making barely a peep.