Best Hair Poems
My dear brother Butch,
Hair are the highlights of my week:
I got a job at the Hairway to Heaven salon!
Our motto: "We color your hair or dye trying"
When the interviewer said "I mustache you a question..."
I answered, "May I mullet over?"
Seriously, working there is a shear delight,
with some nice fringe benefits
They're a real cut above the rest
and I shave a lot of money on hair products...
I bought Dad a comb for Father's Day… I bet he'll never part with it
It is a long drive to the salon, but now I know all the short cuts
Oh hey, I know hair-growth seminars are not your style, but
call up your receding hairline buddies and comb on over!
It was great to see you last week, you are looking so trim!
I still feel terrible about the curling iron incident…
You can rest a-sheared I'll straighten it out
but I mussed warn you, you might get fro straighted
Just remember, $15 for a hairpiece is a small price toupée
You may not like short hair at first, but it will grow on you
...that's the mane thing
Did you hear Mom and Dad had a brush with death?
It was a very hairy situation with a real twist:
buzzing down the highway at a decent clip
someone tried to cut them off
Mom was ready to wig out, curl up and dye, but thankfully
Dad went to great lengths to avoid an accident
so there was no permanent damage
you had to see it to be-weave it
Ok, time for a couple of jokes to lighten the mood:
How does the man on the moon trim his hair?
Eclipse.
Why did Pavlov have such fabulous looking hair?
Conditioning.
Why do felines groom with their tongues?
They can't find their catacombs.
Why did the little girl watch "Black Stallion" more than "Babe"?
She liked pony tales more than pig tales.
What was the barber's sign before he went on vacation?
"Hair today, gone to Maui"
Did you hear about the novelty store selling fake piles of dung?
It was sham poo.
Just teasing!
Take hair,
Curly
I See You, Flowers In Your Raven Hair
I see you, in flowery meadow scenes
walking, your blue dress swaying in the wind
your raven hair, beautiful stuff of dreams
and promise, deepest love that never ends.
You see me, with my old pen scribbling so slow
words that poetry absorbs with loud bells
echoing soft tunes shot from heart's love-bow
birthing sheer joy as the oracle tells.
I see you, flowers in your raven hair
coming back, your delicious smile beaming
saying, yes dearest love, I truly care
Fate has decreed our eternal teaming.
You see me, with my old pen scribbling so slow.
Echoing soft tunes shot from heart's love-bow.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-25-2019
Sonnet, ( Where Dream Waves Meet Love's Welcoming Shores)
Note:
Found a moment pen called to dare,
walk from deep dark into that brighter light,
wake again this soul, to its past love bare,
in poetic truth, this life try to repair.
Wrinkles and gray hair
get me in a rage
and I say to myself,
“Why don't you act your age!"
My poor aching feet
remind me to wear sensible shoes
but these black stilettos
take away the blues.
.
I wear glasses to see
but they're tinted green
and make me look
cool and mean.
I have a million pills to swallow
and sometimes I think my head is hollow.
I forget my keys, my purse and my coat.
Where in the hell did I put that remote?
Once I was so limber
I could touch my toes
but I refuse to talk
about my ills and woes.
When pouring the tea
if my hands shake
I simply say,
"Another earthquake!"
What was I thinking
When I bought that new car?
My old one was fine.
It just couldn’t go far.
I’d go on a trip
if it weren’t for my hip.
Maybe I'll give up drinking.
Well, I’ll just take a sip.
Okay, I’ll take my pills
for all my ills.
I’ll take a walk around the block
but I will not wear those damn compression socks!
Well, I guess I’ll hang in there
as long as I can
just to see my grands
build castles in the sand.
I'll exercise each day
while in my head I’ll say,
“I still feel like I’m only twenty-five.
Thank God, it’s great to be alive!”
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
Copyright: 6/20/2020
“All Rights Reserved”
Every discovery started with absolutely
no idea of where to start...
There is not enough time in a lifetime
to measure success...
Just as there is pain in uncertainty,
there is peace in faith...
We thrive in our communal happiness,
we parish in derisive pain...
Death is much less reliable in peace.
In war, we can put up a more
reasonable defense...
We can waste a lifetime seeking happiness
from someone else's approval...
Our happiness should always be seen
in the kindness of our eyes...
With desires held in check,
less becomes more...
When a smile becomes a laugh,
you've found happiness...
Love is helping someone discover that they
are better than what they thought they were...
Unfathomable contentment is a poet
finishing the last line of a poem...
No blue hair or curls for me.
I’ll grow old naturally.
Hanging breasts and flattened bum,
crooked teeth and graying gum.
Sagging knees and chicken skin,
sunny spots and double chin.
Silver streaks through thinning hair,
dimming eyesight no repair.
Crinkly crow’s eyes and flat feet
singing as the Maker I meet.
I don’t care what you say,
I can’t hear you anyway.
Hope lives on a four leaf clover.
Greener pastures when yesterday's over.
My heart spins when her hair gets twirled.
And I start to shake in this lovers world.
I walked around the corner and stayed awhile.
That's where I was when I seen her smile.
I felt more in that moment than in my whole life.
Straight to my heart just like a knife.
I've made that turn a time or two.
But theres no turning round now that it's you.
The sun came up on the other side.
Took away any shadow where I can hide.
Destiny delivered a dream for two.
Everything has suddenly become pink and blue.
I can't help but wait for the bubble to pop.
Borrowed trouble in this dream balloon shop.
Hope lives on a four leaf clover.
Greener pastures when yesterday's over.
My heart spins when her hair gets twirled.
And I start to shake in this lovers world.
When I went to bed last night, my hair was fairer,
Yet, when I looked at the mirror today, a stranger was there,
More grey than fair, I’m eccentric, I’m a poet for
Goodness’ sake, I say what I mean, and I mean I what I say,
So back to the hairdresser I am going today.
Some like it black, or red, even blue or green, my color is pink.
Chrisy, my dear, what have you done to my hair,
I wanted a whitish blonde, you are renowned for your flair.
Light pink will blend in with mine and complement the blonde,
Please say you will fix my color and do my hair as I want.
I needed to tell hubby about what I had decided to do,
I think it will look great, he said, so out to dinner we went,
Happy I had my answer, to the question of ‘should I’.
What a wonderful night, it was as if we were out on a first date,
My husband and I, who is my best friend, lover and mate.
We dined under a full moon and millions of stars,
My pink hair shimmering, maybe they think hubby had
Married the first alien woman from Venus or Mars,
I whispered this in my husband’s ear. There’s my poet he replied.
A corner shop, a busy street
your mother's hand, your dragging feet
I can almost set the scene.......A messy rack of magazines,
A barber pole, some shaving cream, and jars of greasy Brilliantine
I try to picture you back then,
How many barbers have there been?
Your rosy cheeks, eyes shining bright,
above the crisp white cloth so tight,
around your neck. (You hated that!)
A squirmy worm, but there you sat
Your daddy waits to pay the bill
Darn it, won't you please hold still?!!
Today there's less to take off top
Behind you, I have snipped and cropped
My scissors fold and I must stop
and for a moment I was there...
and saw that small boy in the chair
Flowers In Your Hair, Gold Dust On Your Trailing Gown
( Robert Lindley and Nicola Byrne )
Flowers in your hair, gold dust on your trailing gown
You my true sky angel, had floated right on down.
Golden sandals on your feet, toenails glowing white
All eternity shan’t see a prettier sight.
Your soft and gentle voice, a million ways of sweet
Your touch is my hope and your kiss, love-food to eat.
Each moment a true blessing, you my darling gave
Each dance your gift, healing treasures, my heart to save.
Love of my life, sing softest hymns to this lost soul
For before you came, sorrows took a heavy toll.
Know darling, this heart and spirit you have thus healed,
Should fate deny us, with love, truth has been revealed.
Now every balmy breeze that blows against my skin,
Resonant of your kisses, brings a joyous grin.
In the sun’s warm splendour, a halo I doth see
Shine upon the waters, where love’s eyes swim to me.
And every now and then, blessed with rains from above,
I feel your tender touch, the glory of your love.
Your scent, like fragrant blossoms, straight from heaven’s lawn
Exhilarates the senses, waking me each dawn.
Firm witness is the world, to thy healing powers
and graceful presence, bringing halcyon hours.
All that I envision, to turn around a frown:
Flowers in your hair, gold dust on your trailing gown.
Collaboration by Robert J. Lindley and Nicola Byrne
5-22-2017
As biology goes, I'm surviving,
a few aches and pains and a cough
and I check every morning when in the bathroom
to see if my bits have dropped off.
Now, father time knows where I'm living
and likes to make regular calls
which I know by the strands of my hair on the bedding
that have come from my head and my nose.
(Yes, I know what that last line should be, but it's a family website)
The condition called male pattern baldness
is feared by men everywhere
and even I've tried all of the creams and the potions
to try and save my bit of hair
A comb-over like Donald Trump has,
using all of the growth that remains
was still not enough to stop that awful tapping
from every time that it rains.
I even tried growing my eyebrows
as long as I possibly could
to comb them straight upwards and over the top
but that didn't look any good.
A hair loss clinic was suggested
so I phoned them and gave my details,
but I bought myself one or two different fedoras
quite simply in case all else fails.
Then the hair loss clinic gave me an update
which I wasn't expecting so soon,
they'd found my lost hair on a Camel's backside
in a market just outside Khartoum.
The wind rustles your hair as the sun brings joy .
It tells your secrets and they are well kept.
They go where it is needed turning gracefully.
Will you dance again?
What about your joy?
Its buried now and your hair is gone.
Birds dancing and your bare arms reach for me.
Saves the last dance.
I love your cold breath and the heat.
Your almost home.
But you will leave as before.
Dance for me.
My favorite verse from THE soft rock song of my youth
Hit song of 1969 by the Carpenters:
(They Long To Be) Close To You
(middle stanza of the song)
"On the day that you were born
the angels got together and decided
to create a dream come true
so they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue."
Dream Boy
To fall for him I needed just one look
and after that, he had me on his hook -
a fact which I’m not sure he even knew!
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.
I lived for those church dances in his town.
I’d see him there but always feel let down.
Girls followed him around. What could I do?
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.
Not being in his orbit or his school,
I longed for him and simply played the fool.
The fantasy for me would not come true!
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.
Dedicated to Chris Frogley, wherever now he may be.
For the "I Love Rock 'N roll" Poetry contest of Kelly Deschler
This day I grow tired
and so incredibly weary.
My heart holds only dreams
of a Life unfullfilled
A Life not nurtured,
yet barely a glimmer
of the spirit that once was.
I do have memories of some things good
-not all bad,
But the fear that I am alone
is Like a fingerprint on my Life.
Shadowing, waiting to pounce,
always there, unshakeable.
It's the mirrors that hold me accountable
to my actions.
Proof positive that where ever I go
there I am,
Naked, vulnerable, and yes
still alone.
As I try to allay this fear,
one Lonely and painful pluck at a time,
It becomes crystal clear, that I alone
am damaging my soul to the very core
with each stroke of my hand.
I steal one Last Look in the mirror
and know that I alone
have self inflicted these blues
Leaves me to ponder one question:
Will I ever allow myself the strength and grace
it will surely take to heal my scarred soul?
This poem was written in hopes of begining the healing process for my self. I
have a disease called trichiotillamania. It is an obsessive and manic urge to pull
one's own hair until baldness occurs. I'm a 48 year old woman, married(with kids
& grand kids)and have been doing this since the age of 5. It coincided with the
begining of my stepfather raping and torturing me which lasted until the age of
thirteen. This disease has me trapped and is NEVER letting me go. There are
two inflictions in regards to my hair pulling in this poem, one must know about
my disease in order to understand this poem.
Gorgeous boy, your skin shines in the sun’s golden hour.
Waves of your jet-black hair, short-cropped like Caesar's
dripping tendrils on a chiseled brow, wisps beside each ear
A bare-chested Apollo cycles in low-slung shorts.
Waves of your jet-black hair, short-cropped like Caesar's,
my ardeur imagines eyes a molten sapphire blue.
A bare-chested Apollo cycles in low-slung shorts,
calves taunt, thigh muscles pumping, a true stallion.
My ardeur imagines eyes a molten sapphire blue.
surely, the night sky is less beautiful than your eyes,
Legs with calves taunt, thigh muscles pumping, a stallion,
lovely man-child, whose dreams will you soon make true?
Surely, the night sky is less beautiful than your eyes.
Dripping tendrils on a chiseled brow, wisps beside each ear,
lovely man-child, whose dreams will you soon make true?
Gorgeous boy, your skin shines in the sun’s golden hour.
Prince William was so sick of being told
He’s receding and is now going bald
So he called in the royal hairdresser
To see if he could ease the heir pressure
He gave him a brand new hairstyle
This ‘buzzcut’ would be so worthwhile
His hairdresser is very highbrow
But his fees have raised an eyebrow
William’s head looks like its been shaved
Oh how the press stories have raved
£180 pounds is what we’ve been told
It’s so costly to look like you’re bald!
The cost Prince William has now denied
It wouldn’t be the first time the press have lied!
One day William will be ‘heir apparent’
And cutting costs will be more transparent
When William’s crowned then we could sing
With altered words to God shave the king!
Based on a story in the press over the cost of Prince William’s news haircut
01/20/18