Best Dark Haired Poems
It's the summer of my fourth year.
Dad is driving us to the seashore.
The sun follows us, a happy fellow,
beaming in the mid-morning’s azure sky.
In the back seat with my two sisters, I’m looking out the window
as I crunch on Mom’s homemade salty Chex Mix,
anticipating the warmth of salt spray
from the waves I’ll be jumping on this beautiful day -
Life is a beach not yet even in my vocabulary.
We are now at the shore, a large blanket laid out,
Mom with her bright red hair tied back with a brighter red check scarf,
and my dad, dark-haired and handsome, smiling.
So rare is this happy countenance he wears today!
For a while I sit as if entranced, watching the waves roll in.
But eventually, and predictably, my joy ebbs like the tide.
Dark clouds are gathering; gray begins to envelop the sky.
I look over to my dad; the gray has recaptured his face.
In the vanishing sunlight, familiar dark thoughts invade my mind -
Dad, can I see you be happy just once for a whole day?
Rain . . . always it rains when we go to the seashore.
On the balcony I stand this moonlit night
Behind me she sleeps content within sight
If I stand to my left, allowing the moons pass
This lunar beam delights my beautiful lass
Dark haired, tanned, amidst silken white sheets
Two loves of my life in glowing right meet
Open doors where I stand this moonlit night
It's I whom she sees in the morn's first light
On Halloween, beneath a crescent moon,
a dark-haired man, pale-faced, I chanced to see.
He danced with grace and beauty to each tune
the band was playing. Would he dance with me?
At last he asked me, “May I dance with you?”
On Halloween, beneath a crescent moon,
his breath was on my cheek. My passion grew.
Within his arms, I thought that I would swoon.
How beautiful he was! But all too soon
he left me, saying he would wait for me
on Halloween beneath a crescent moon,
beyond some trees in shadows he pointed to.
His first name, all I knew of him, was Sloan.
But past the trees I heard his sweet voice croon.
It led me where his name shone on a gravestone
on Halloween, beneath a crescent moon.
Written Oct. 18, 2016 for the May I Dance With You contest of Galeo DS
I never had the chance
To hear you talk
Our time ran out
Before you could walk.
You were born with wings
A sign we knew
That the man upstairs
Would soon come for you.
They laid you in my arms
And I quietly mourned
For my dark haired angel
That I had born.
I never had the chance
To see your eyes
He took you away
With no time for good byes.
I think of you often
And wonder why
I never had the chance
To hear your first cry.
You were a special little girl
An enchanting rose
The moment I held you
Our time suddenly froze.
I never had the chance
To watch you grow
Or hear your laugh
As we played in the snow.
I never had the chance
To give you a mother’s love
But I know you’re always there
Watching over me from above.
TO CIARA: RULES FOR LOVING
Little dark haired one, don’t fall
for the first boy to give you attention
or pay you a compliment. Don’t fall
for the first boy who says he is
‘the leader of a hundred men’;
there are many false messiahs.
Ciara, don’t fall for the first boy
who sings you love songs or writes
poems for you, you will know
the truth by the undertones; follow
your instincts, they are there to guide.
Don’t fall for silver-tipped words.
Irish jewel, jade of the Isles, don’t fall
for the first boy to make promises,
actions speak louder than words.
Your autonomy is a gift but when
disenchanted it becomes a wall,
a curse. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.
Don’t fall, innocent girl, for the first
boy to bring you shiny things, a far
greater beauty shines in you,
a power unaware. Value kindness
over the things people call precious.
Keep your enthusiasm in high regard.
O, Ciara, whose name is whispered
across mountain valleys, don’t fall
for the first boy who brings you flowers
on the first date. Don’t fall for the first
boy to show you his rose tattoo;
please don’t fall for him…
Oh, sweet woman of a thousand names
respect yourself enough to trust
yourself enough to let go of the rope
and fall for the one who writes the melody
for the song in your heart… fall for the one
who knows the geography of your soul
because they are his maps, too… fall for
the one who speaks the language of trees…
fall for the first boy who brings flowers everyday
and grows gardens in your eyes.
But, Ciara, at least once in your life
fall… for a heart that has not loved
fully is a rose that never blooms.
NOTE: the real Ciara who inspired this poem has gone on to become Miss Canada 2017.
You trod
over
frosted
farmland
upon
your brow
was ice
and I
felt your
mind and
knew your
heart and
that was
a sad
device
Smoked out
your life
widowed
your wife
you'll not
have that
daughter
fair nor
dark haired
son to
toss up
midair
I dropped
you there
from my
dark lair
my sight
was true
I shot
you through
bid you
adieu
for you
wore green
while I
wore blue
December 6, 2016
For the 'DUPLEX - Poetry Contest' - sponsored by Jan Allison
Silver Strands
Platinum it was, not a hint of gold
Silver tiara was grandma’s crown
Brushed over her head, to a bun rolled
She always refused to wear it down
It shone in the sun silvery bright
Her bun boasted a badge of honor
Holocaust survivor fled at night
Now in the free world as a senior
Nazi tattoos, numbers on her arm
Smallpox scars were evident too
But they never filled her with alarm
A lucky lass, she had made it through
A dark-haired teen had boarded a boat
Marrying a man she met at sea
Just their clothes, nothing else to tote
Seeking the Statue of Liberty
Each silver strand was born of worry
For family in Poland left behind
Her escape had been made in a hurry
In a brave quest for freedom to find
*Written for Susan and Andrea’s “Silver Strands” contest and inspired by my maternal grandmother’s escape to freedom
There's little left now, Lawson, mate, of your home by the hill,
Except, a guarding sentinel, the chimney stands there still;
To some it's just another site, for tourists passing through,
Perhaps they've never read your works - how sad, but maybe true.
Eurunderee and childhood days, please tell me if I'm wrong,
Instilled in you mixed memories and feelings, oh so strong.
Yes, monumental moments mate; the hardship and the joy.
They brought to mind old childhood days when I was just a boy.
Is that your Dad with shouldered axe and wand'ring off somewhere?
His cross-cut saw with him as well. I'm sure it's him, I swear.
The dark haired lady on the log and scribbling on a pad;
Your Mum I guess at work on verse; she taught you well my lad.
Old grandpa Albury's visiting and dons his greasy hat.
I know it's him, no other soul could ever shout like that.
The muck on brother Charlie's face. It's not Jim Nowlett's brew?
He surely can't believe that tale, 'cause none of it is true.
I see young brother Peter mate is tending cows again.
You mentioned how they liked to stray. You're right, they are a pain.
Is that a horseman riding up and pack horse by his side?
It can't be old Dave Regan. No! They told me he had died.
If Billy Grimshaw's teams passed now, his bales of wool so high,
He couldn't swear from being bogged; the bitumen runs by.
The gold has long but disappeared, though grape vines grow here still;
Red wine is known around the world; I know, I've had my fill.
I can't stay any longer mate I've got a way to go;
To join up with my poet friends, up Queensland way you know.
I'm glad though that I stopped a while to reminisce with you,
Like Banjo mate, deep down within, I saw you as true blue.
I am a wall painted purple, oh, I remember that day well,
a girl of raven hair, standing on a ladder painting me;
I was laughing because her hair had streaks of purple paint,
and she was dappled all over with dots of me.
The next few days I was left alone to dry in quietude,
then came the antique furniture and mauve drapery;
art work was attached to me in hues of purple so lovely,
my whole essence was of peace and tranquility.
I liked to watch the girl dance around the room so pretty,
she looked at herself in an oval mirror attached to me;
and I felt she was looking into my soul, often she was writing,
at her desk into a diary with tears in her eyes.
How I wanted to reach out and stroke that head gently,
but of course I was just a purple wall, I felt her sadness;
then one day she was wearing a beautiful white dress,
I did not realize that she was leaving me that day.
The door to my room closed with the furniture covered,
I spent my days in darkness as the curtains hid the sun,
at night all I had were my memories of that raven haired girl,
then one day, the door creaked open, so slowly.
An old lady with white hair holds the hand of a little girl,
she strokes the raven hair of the girl with such love;
the dark haired girl smiles- the lady calls her granddaughter,
she tells her, "this is the room where I used to dance."
Then, they open up the curtains and throw off the covers,
and they begin to dance and twirl all about the room;
I am happy- I want to join them but I am just a purple wall,
that little girl now looks into the oval mirror . . .
attached to me, and it seems she is looking into my soul.
_______________________
October 14, 2016
Poetry/Personification/Just A Purple Wall
Copyright Protected, ID 16-839-255-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Personification
sponsor, Lewis Raynes
Sixth Place
This rock of the brave
In the Mediterranean Sea
There is a Maltese Maiden
A lure for me
We will meet in it's Capital
Steeped in history
Valletta is it's name
But for tonight it's our chemistry
After a three hour flight
In Malta I land
To the hotel I am taken
Corinthia Marina so grand
I am now booked in
On my balcony I await
Looking over St George's Bay
For my Maltese date
I hear a knock at the door
As I open at ease
A beautiful sight I see
Has my blue eyes in please
A dark haired maiden
With skin so tanned
So beautifully dressed
Like a million grand
On the balcony we sit
With a vintage red wine
My heart is pounding
At her beauty so fine
I lay down my glass
In pursuit of a kiss
She responds like a magnet
Our lips now in bliss
I take her by the hand
My Maltese girl
My heart pounding
In an ever-ending twirl
Into my arms I take her
In kissing embrace
Our hands now in wander
In undressing grace
We fall on the bed
Of silken sheets
Where our adventure begins
As our bodies meet
In carnal crave
We join as one
As we are shadow dancing
In the late evening sun
The depths of our love
As we share our potions
In arched sync
Rhythmic explosions
As we sigh and groan
At the moment we have shared
For tonight on this brave island
Our love has been declared
We awake in the morning
Entwined in each others arms
And our sensuous joys
Loving charms
We spend the day
Holding hands and kissing
With my Maltese Maiden
In many years, we'll be reminiscing
For a Lady, whose heart is as big as the island she stays on " Charmaine Chirop "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-4.php
A small dark-haired boy
absorbed in the words he scrawls
at an old wood desk
has thoughts brighter than grim walls
beyond which his future sprawls
Nov. 23, 2017 for Eve Roper's Photostory Contest
This dark haired beauty
Whose romantic words grace us
Our Maltese Maiden
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup.php
Walking in the gentle rain, on a cobblestone path,
A dark-haired belle blended in with the blackened sky
A wonder too commanding for any god to behold.
Beauty eternal.
Too much allure, too pure to wither.
She had to remain as she always was.
Stone cold lying on the floor.
Beauty eternal.
She stays like this. The world could not bear to see the sight of her changed.
If life must end, hers ends at the apex. Sacrificed on the granite altar to her perfection.
Beauty eternal.
Again! I am forced to stare through that glassy stone …
Shantelle - beyond words, beyond form, beyond thought …
Rise like the phoenix to the stars as you ought …
Beauty eternal.
February 28, 2020
Title Chosen: Shantelle Eternal
Shantelle Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
She comes when the Moon is heavy
With wishes from many a maid
Who with passionate longing,
Their dreams upon it laid
She comes when night is warmest
In the time of the southern winds
That bring the moaning cries
Of maidens who meet sad ends
Her long dark tresses flowing
Along a figure fair and sweet
In creamy lace of night dresses
She haunts there and hopes to meet
Her lover, ever vacant,
ever empty, never there
Alone she walks this road and mourns
This pain too much t’bare
*Theirs was a true love story. [*changed for song
Begun in the naïveté of youth version, made into a
They were to meet and marry. chorus]
But Fate didn't want them to
The Man said her lover was taken
A wife and children he had at home
For you see this blue Deceiver
Had a love for her of his own
With trust born of the young
She believed his sordid tale
But when she refused his offer
His jealous rage upon her fell
And alas the gallant lover!
Comes riding in, but he's too late
For his dark haired beauty
Had already met her fate
Then the Man in the Moon whispered,
“Young lad, Bring the lass to me…
For I have many wishes...
One just for you, maybe”
The lover looked up in confusion
but how can this be so?
Moon-Man, You are so high
and we are so very low.
Across the sea he noticed
just then his answer there
The moon was reflected in grandeur
On black waters bright and fair
So into the cold sea he went
With his love in his strong arms
Toward the ever deceitful Moon
He walked to meet the dawn.
My story truly happened thus
Of that I can attest
For I'm the vengeful maiden
Haunting the Moon from death
Dark haired beauty, so exotic, so surreal,
(Will she tremble at my touch)
I am in her power, she has such appeal.
Gorgeous young lass, a sly look in her eye,
(Just a look says so much)
So much to like, I never want a good bye.
Dark haired beauty, a perfect moment in time,
(My partner in life, love and such)
Hoping against hope, she will want to be mine.