Best Dye Poems
It to took me many years
to find someone I could trust ,
so many different hairstyles
colors black, blonde and rust,
but this time you surpassed yourself
that ash blondes just the job,
and to top it off
you cut the perfect bob.
Please tell me why I dye my hair,
And get red stuff everywhere.
Some people call it vanity,
I’d plum for insanity.
t is never good when
one points a finger to
draft an assumption,
outline a judgment,
then draw and create
sketchy conclusions.
It is much wiser to
use a pencil,
for when you make a
mistake,
it can always be erased.
Curl Up and Dye
By Elton Camp
To craziness in salon names there’s no stop
Nobody likes simple: Meg’s Beauty Shop
Maybe to call the place “The Mane Attraction”
Is a way for a cosmetologist to get some action
Womens’ hearts, the shop fills with gladness
When it has the zany name of “Shear Madness”
In a spot that has been designated as “Hair Lair,”
Customers will understand why the place is there
It surely must have been some marketing whiz
Who picked for a salon this title, “Hair It Is”
I can’t imagine whom the following would love:
A beauty with the strange name, “A Cut Above”
When the potential names begin to become few,
Only then, I sure think, would “Clip Joint” do
“The Cutting Edge” sounds like a computer store
But it has been used to designate a salon before
“Twisted Sisters” sounds much like a kinky place
Some think the name “Hairem” is also a disgrace
But it seems to me there is no good reason why
A salon shouldn’t be called “Curl Up and Dye”
Sally found her hair was turning gray
Looking younger was what she did pray
Alas, hair kept graying
And her heart kept praying
Even though her mane was on display
She wasn’t too keen on the new hair dye
Still decided to give it a try
Weeks later, out came roots
Her hair was in cahoots
Glad she had a touch up to apply
Now that Sally has new hair color
Her hubby often gives a holler
He gets a brand new gal
One he likes to call pal
Because she doesn’t spend his last dollar
I bleed red,
red like I know how.
I was there in past lives,
but never re-incarnated.
It is this existence
that bleeds me red,
red like I know how.
I’m drowning in blue,
like deceptive sea
dressed in cobalt skies.
Down,
down
I plunge,
turning eyes
with this white lie
(my life).
Days came, unlike me,
dressed in golden sun,
like oranges prepared in California’s heat.
Never am I likened to the dark nights
that parade beautiful fireflies on Lake Victoria.
I am yellow
in regions about my umbilicus,
with green glazed eyes
that scrutinize
their possessions.
I am never black;
I am white swelling in blue seas.
I should be African,
Proud,
with untamed rain bow spirit,
but I am never black.
I am white rising
in blue ocean,
a disappearing act.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This dress was ripe with stains
On the verge of being lost to last year
And its ambiguous grey-green shading
Last year's heart took my eyes and
Squeezed
The life out of them
Until they bled right over the sick-skin skirt
I released it from the shadows today
Took it firmly in my palms
Twisted handfuls into pink baby fingers
Wrapped them
So tight the string sliced my skin
I pulled it with my teeth
Wrapped it around my knuckles
A knot
In my soul as I held it close to me one last time
A drop
In a bucket outside the back door
No more rue or rose or dandelion
My dress is gladioli
Purple
Swimming in it
Absorbing it
Living it
Nothing but these dull peach rings
To remind me of last year
And her victim
And of why I wear my dress like this
Like a smile
And the proudest scar I ever saw.
ANAGRAMMATICALLY SPEAKING: NECK DYE SPY
(PROBLEMS OF MUM-DESIGNER ’S EMOTIONAL UPSET)
Mum carefully inspects son’s neck for dirt;
Pays medical injury expense for his leg-joints hurt.
Good boat-design preserves celestial view above;
But forgot keys for furniture in house-move.
Use fast and energetic internet writing;
Watch for bad stains on material due to crying.
Peek, spy, seek neck’s speck;
See knees spend dense pence.
Deep end-deck keeps sky-scene seen;
Pesky desk needs keys . Send!
Speed-pens need dynes! Yes, seek Skype!
Eyes peed. Spy dye seep deep.
…………………………………………………………………..
Written by Sydney Peck
…………………………………………………………………..
NOTES
This busy mum has many problems in the first stanza, all of which are
expressed in anagram-form in the second stanza.
Each anagram word is formed from letters in “sydneypeck”
Age whitens the hair and dye defeats the age
A pain of the deepest dye is seeing myself when I look at you, So I'll give the devil his due.
We all have flaws, though I don't do what you do.
Some things hurt too bad to sleep on. Some things are too real to speak on, but I feel and I see. There isn't much that sets you apart from me.
If our high hopes
and a rainbow’s slopes
collide,
wide scopes of kaleidoscopes
raining
bold, forgotten designs
upon old, cotton twines
we’re staining
still bind the gentle mind,
after all this while, to
tie-dye’s sentimental style.
E. V. Wyler
I wanna slice my throat
Make me believe that you loved me when you didnt
This isnt fair when I havent loved in soo long
I wanna take this rope and hang it from a tree
And let myself hang from it
I am Done with This messed Up life!
"Wood Yukon sitter cheek and rums ticks," Kay tasked.
"Gnome am," Pea tour re-plyed.
"Wye knot?" Kay tasks.
"Beek us eye cants tanned cheek an," Pea tour an sirs.
"Nope rob," myrrh myrrhs Kate, diss up point ed lee.
"Due ewe no how-do cooks take?" Pea tour vent sures.
"Sherbet eye awl weighs may ache miss steaks," Kay tan sirs.
"Tube add...Sew buy, sea ya," man a jests Pea tour.
"Add you," off hers Kate.
'Fee Knee Seam Oh'
The Dye Area
I'm really glad that ewe dropped buy
Eyed love two come out and sea ya.
But Eye really hadn't oughta
cause eye got the diarrhea.
It makes four long and dreadful daze
and even longer knights.
I'm terribly concerned eye ruined
awl my Christmas linen whites.
I've opened every window
butt the odor's getting stronger.
I'm half the man as yesterday
Eye can't take the shits much longer.
From racing down the hallway
Eye got noughts upon my head.
The lights whir off eye couldn't sea
and eye think the dog is dead.
Excuse me wile eye double flush
I'm sew week eye can barely sea.
Should eye bee gone tomorrow
St John has come four me.
Tell those I've wronged I'm sari
give my penance two the pour.
I'm afraid I'll halve two sit write hear
until eye can't go know more.
I thought myself a strong man
but sew clearly now eye sea.
Never was a man on earth
as full of it as me.
Edwin C Hofert
At the end of the day,
it's just cloth and dye.
At the end of the day,
it's personal preference.
Fifty stars representing states,
each one could highlight
historical atrocities.
Each one could highlight
technological ingenuity
The red and white
could easily resemble
the fight we continue today.
Black and white
still quoting an eye for an eye.
She's been about division
for quite sometime
but her earliest endeavor to
describe national policy
began with We the People
and we've struggled ever since
to make it stick.
At the end of the day,
you could lay it down as a rug,
disrespect its blood.
Roll all her tainted fibers
into one fabric and say
the whole of her is bad,
but at the heart of it,
She'll always be seen
flying flagpole high.
No matter how many times
she gets trampled,
No matter how many times
she seemingly does it to herself,
At the end of the day,
Her cloth represents
blood soaked uniforms
and families mourning
a son or a daughter
who didn't get a chance
to say that proper farewell.
The white, an always
washable purity
that allows some to step
on her and still
stand as freedom's bedrock.
The blue. Valor
and more where that came from.
At the end of the day,
it's just cloth and dye
representing Soldiers who died
That's why my feet will never
touch her until she's draped
over my coffin.
Lay it on the ground
or watch her dance in the wind
She's us. She's them.
She's saying We the People again.