Best Hair Style Poems
Just me and my granddaughters, two sweet cute tweens
eating up pizza. It’s “No-night” for greens!
I tell them old stories about family.
Their own funny stories they tell back to me.
They’ve brought a nail file. One files my nails
while I tell more stories with juicy details!
We play on the internet for a short while
then chat about things like our favorite hair style.
It’s now after ten, but tonight is for fun.
No going to bed till well after one!
We pick out a series on Netflix to watch.
At last we discover one that is top-notch.
I with my popcorn and they with ice-cream -
we’re living it up while living the dream!
Oct. 12, 2019 for the contest of Line Gauthier: Living the Dream
So She knew
That declaration of love
It took me by surprise
We hadn’t spoken for decades
The cut off when I didn’t reply
Later the daily prayers she sent up
I still did not know
Then the bald picture
It frightened me
She asked how I liked it
I replied in silence
She sensed my shock and lied
Its my new hair style
I completely missed it
She called to say Happy D died
I was sad and cried a little
We grew up together
They were both my (girl)friends
She asked me to send a donation
Then sent pictures at the funeral
She looked healthy with her white smile
When we parted as teenagers
That smile always stayed with me
We used to be mischievous
Playing in the rain all wet
Everybody knew then she left
And now two more pictures
She had lost a lot of weight
I barely recognized her
A gold ring on her withered hand
A grandchild on the other
They were dressing for church
Several months passed
I called again in vain
Finally the news came
She was gone …
She couldn’t wait for me
I have been thinking of her
Those days long long ago
I would wait up to catch a glimpse
Or perhaps to talk as she came by
I remember her other leaving
Like this one without goodbye
She had shielded me again
I just now caught on
Mrs Gladys Wackjob:
“What the goodness is wrong with this hospital,
I receive better service in a restaurant.
You nurses sit there doing nothing while my
Husband is dying. Why isn’t anyone talking to me.
And you little miss perky nurse, Yes you,
With the 80’s hair style. Are you actually old enough
To be a nurse. What the heck is going on..”
Nurse Rachel:
“I worked very hard at Medical School I gave up
everything. I didn’t have a social life. Yes I am old enough to be nurse.
We are doing everything we can but your husband
is very ill. Instead of yelling at me you might go and hold his hand.
Mr Jason Rightbrain,
“What is this crap. I ordered eggplant parmesiana.
This looks like cow manure. If I want to throw up I would
eat my x-wife’s crap. What is wrong with this place.
Are you really a Chef or just grabbing boxes from the
supermarket and heating them in the microwave.
I can’t believe this. And you think I’m going to pay
for this rubbish.
Chef Greg.
I gave up a good job working in accounting for this.
I loved the idea of serving people food. Three years
at College and I tried so hard. I think I’ll give up now.
Mrs Jane Wiseacre,
Are you Mrs Watson my daughter’s Teacher. This report says
my little Felicity is an underachiever. What on God’s green Earth
does that mean? I help her with her homework.
She wanted to go to ballet. No No No Not on my watch.
She works harder than any of these loser kids why isn’t
she doing well at school. Are you even a real teacher you look like
a waitress.
Janine Watson:
I tried my best with Felicity. I gave her extra attention
but sometimes you just can’t reach some kids.
They have shut off from the world. I can’t imagined why.
I have to go for a long walk now.
She who appreciates the little things
The effortless gifts that life can bring
She who sees beauty in a stranger’s smile
A hand written letter
a fresh hair style
Her dreams of travelling
still just desires
Through her journey of life she has done what’s required
She who deserves a whole lot more
Could loose hours in an old book store
But there never seems time to just be her
Each whirlwind day passes as a blur
Yet she still takes delight in sand between toes
A Green light at crossings
Fresh Footprints on snow
has no idea of the lives she has touched
To many she has been a crutch
She who has wished a thousand wishes
But finds gratitude from her grandchild’s kisses
Inside I’m aware she’s fighting her tears
Saved up from many lonely years
Thinking nobody really sees her at all
“ Have I ever been free ?” She cannot recall
But I can hear her silent sorrow
And vow to brighten her tomorrows
Because I can see there’s so much more
Locked behind her guarded door
Day one out of the womb – had a full crop of hair,
black like my daddy’s (it later went more fair).
Early childhood – Mom kept my brown hair short
because I’d twist it into knots. What a silly sport.
Peanut butter and some gum in my hair might stick.
Never a long hair style could I ever pick.
Pre-teen years – at last I saw my dark hair grow.
Pony tails and pig tails were ways my hair might show.
Junior High, late 60’s, hair piled high like a hive.
A wonder that no bumble bees were seen in there alive.
My hair was also parted always on one side.
I’d wear curlers in a store. Did I have no pride?
High school days – hair longer. In boring math at school,
I sat there pulling off split ends. Must have looked a fool!
College days – used a cheap product from the store.
“Sun-In” gave me reddish-blonde. I used it four times more.
The 80’s – got a perm. The curls were tight. Had oodles.
Now I can have sympathy for cockapoos and poodles.
90’s – used extensions. A lot of folks I fooled.
Strawberry blonde seemed to be the color then that ruled.
New century. New color. My hair was very blonde.
There were two guys in a tram in Rio that I conned.
My friend who looked American knew every word they stated.
About my natural color those guys in Portugese debated.
They finally decided my blonde was natural.
I got a kick out of those young fellows’ folderol.
Later on, my hair got over-bleached. I showered, and
lots of strands of it crumbled right into my hand.
After that, while growing out dark roots about two years,
I wore a wig until uncolored hair went past my ears.
A co-worker , not knowing I wore a wig at school,
told me that my hair had never looked so cool!
By 2010, my hair was in a rut.
Only one side of it grew, so I’d always get it cut.
Turned 60 and got cancer. Ate better to be stronger.
Miraculously my hair AND nails grew a whole lot longer.
Since then till now, my daughter’s been my dear beautician.
She keeps the gray away and my hair in good condition.
Were my hair not dyed, salt and pepper it would be.
I love my gold-like hair, thick, and long and wavy.
Some people think a woman of my age should wear a shorter “do.”
Decades it took to get this look, so NO (and I’ll keep my cute bangs too!)
As a kid my hair was a very easy fix,
just pull it back with a rubber band into a ponytail.
As a teen a ponytail was not going to work,
off to the hair shop with picture in hand.
I sat in the chair and said,
I want to look like this picture.
I sat dreaming about my great new hair style,
as I looked in their mirror I was horrified.
I did not look like the picture I showed them,
what had happened to my head of hair.
I will fix the professionals,
next hair cut was on me.
That is when I started to cut my hair,
I still laugh when I get asked -
can they have my hairdresser's information.
I have found some great new friends,
hats in all sizes - styles and colors.
HE IS MINE!
His navy blue eyes,
Marvelous smile,
And blonde hair style,
Tis ALL mine!
HE IS MINE!
But he doesn’t know
Because I’ve never told
That he’s in my soul
I am too shy to show
HE IS MINE!
But now he walks with ordinary *****!
He smiles to her! He holds her hand! Why?
Why I can’t be his girl? Why!?
Hogwarts has known me as divine!
HE IS MINE!
Hurry up my supreme elder wand!
This time she must be gone!
Stupefy! Be still
Confringo! Burn her hair
Giggle, I’m not that such a wicked witch
But next I use unforgivable curse
Crucio! Be unbearable pain
She screams but I maliciously smile :)
Now boy let her be
Look at me - Imperio!
You’re under MY control!
Stand by me boy! Hold my hand boy!
And repeat after me, “I AM YOURS”
But these just my daydream!
I would scream in Azkaban -
For what I have done
It will not be begun!
So, they still holding on
Their love still going on
And I still want them be torn
Again I’m not the wicked witch
But I have sworn -
HE MUST BE MINE!
The 60's
The look was penny loafers, bobby socks,
pleated skirts, button up shirts,
bell bottom pants and headbands
Flower children were also the era,
Stood for peace and love also political movement
Listen to the music of the Beatles, Monkeys, Rolling Stones plus many more.
My heart throbbed for John Lennon, so young and in love
In my private time I listen to Liberace on the radio
Danced the Twist, Jerk, Monkey, Mashed potato, and the Watusi
I love to dance at the school Sox Hop dances up on the bleachers
Swinging my long auburn hair to the waist, back and forth
My hips moved to the twist
While everyone else danced on the gym floor
Mom’s favorite hair style, the Beehive
Dad looks so good looking behind the wheel of his 1959 De Soto station wagon
A child’s joy jumping rope, hopscotch, jacks,
Rotating a Hula hoop around my waist
Playing marbles with the boys
My favorite, climbing trees but
It always came with a broken bone
Our 35th president was John F. Kennedy
I was sitting in a swing in the playground
When we all heard he had been fatally shot
I was only 12 then
Tears ran down my face when I heard
People weren’t being treated equal
He stood for Equal Rights
We lost great man was that day
Growing up in the 60s was fun, but also very sad
Contest Name: Decades The 60’s * 2nd Place
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Trousers and tights shirts
Tights and baggy blouses
Buff boots and converse
Heelys without wheels I do
Is what I wear
Is what I am
Is what I be
Under that dress and flats
Behind that hair style and makeup
Is what I pretend to be
Is what people want me to be
Is what they want from me
It’s a switch in personality
From boy to girl
Or that is what they say?
I act boyish?
I am being me
But they just won’t accept me
It’s not like I committed a crime against nature
I was just being me
Acting to be myself
And that is my nature
But what people also say
What I also noticed about myself
I intend to succeed in having
Two personalities
Tough? Soft?
Wild, sensitive?
Adventurous, poetic?
Athletic, lazy
Singer, screamer
Dancer, deep?
Fighter, surrender?
Strong, weak…
Is that what they say?
Or is it just mixed up?
I’m glad I do…
A cup of coffee
It all started with
I asked her
To give me a treat
She nodded and
We sat down
I stared at her eyes
They were enticing brown
Her beautiful hair style
Or her alluring smile
I was getting attracted
She was ordering meanwhile
`Two cups of coffee’
`With some salty dish’
I interrupt
She asked ,
`Is this combo not abrupt??’
`So much of sweetness in
Your company and coffee!!’
I smartly answered
`Coffee is yet to come’
She wondered
I started flirting
She never opposed
She smiled
She laughed
I touched her hand
She turned red as rose
We finished our coffee
She paid the bill
We took a walk
Beside the hill
Both felt the breeze
We crossed the crease
I leaned towards her
And gave her a kiss
She closed her eyes
As if she was ready
For the surprise
I was Amazed
As she gifted me twice
This wouldn't happened
If it was not started
With a cup of coffee
I am about to get a girlfriend
I am so happy
He stands in a few distance,
His winning frame charms my eyes:
Lanky shape with flat tommy,
A broad chest seems full with brawn,
A dark spectacle that wins,
His hair style lauds his barber;
Today I have met my dream;
I will not let him slip off,
Now I will hunt my sweet one:
So I flirt and blink my eyes ,
No I have not done enough;
I wave to hunt my target,
My wave still misses his heart;
I cat walk and wind my waist,
Still my love will never yield,
I move to love of my heart;
Hello,I pat him in shoulder,
The guy falls flat on the floor,
In pain I ganash my teeth:
My man is a big puppet.
Heptameter.
26th Dec,2014.
She had a masters degree,
from Trinity Cambridge,
was brokering deals in the city,
with overheard talk re. financial leverage.
Whilst I’d a diploma
from a,
“technical” college.
A photographic memory,
from heart she could recite,
the Shakespeare plays and
the complete periodic table,
and her port and whisky bottles had their own silver labels.
A no mortgage flat, Persian cat and a cleaner,
a holiday retreat on some remote Welsh peninsula.
but despite,
the disparity in background and mental capacity,
we clicked and hooked up and for a while,
lived,
quite lustfullly.
To survive, comfortably,
in her social circles,
I needed to eliminate some of the hurdles.
The barriers that doubtless would have stifled,
my chance of becoming,
economically entitled.
A list was produced, and included employment and personal grooming,
but my care free attitude,
Is what attracted her,
I imagined,
what she found appealing.
But lust is short term and knowing,
knowledge is power I began reading her own books and with time on my hands spent hour upon hour.
I read 1984, so not to be a bore,
at her parties.
I read to Kill a Mockingbird, so I would be heard,
at her parties.
I read The Great Gatsby, because I had to be,
at her parties.
I read Death of a Salesman,
to be life and soul,
at her parties.
I read Great Expectations, to get
me out of situations,
at her parties.
I read The Grapes of Wrath, so they wouldn’t laugh,
at her parties.
I read Pride and Prejudice, to stop them extracting the piss,
at her parties.
I read Catcher in the Rye, so I could look people in the eye,
at her parties.
I read The adventures of Huckleberry Finn, just to fit in,
at her parties.
I read book after book,
but no one gave a flying f*** , about me,
at her parties.
Ironically after reading Gullivers travels,
almost as I closed the cover,
she told me to pack my bags.
It was all over.
I went up North,
got a job,
on a three month trial,
Coincidentally, as a trainee librarian,
at a private school,
near Carlisle.
The acceptance photograph displaying the Chancellor’s handshake,
new wife,village life
and my f*** you smile,
and a perfectly groomed new hair style.
ODE TO A FAN
My fan blows beautiful air,
that minutes ago, wasn’t there.
It begins to circulate wind that was dead,
given it a purpose of living, not dying instead.
It can blow you a new hair style.
It can blow really hard, or extra mild.
Windmills of plastic go round and round,
creating a symphony of wind and sound.
The whir of motors and blades
remind me of a summer in the shade
Position it on the table or on the floor.
Put it in a window, or by the screen door.
It can gently sway side to side
or focus on certain parts of your hide.
On hot days and cool,
for the wise and the fool.
Faithfully serving,
Always observing
You can run it for days,
and it will not whine.
Or get a quickie
if you don’t have the time.
It doesn’t moan, belittle, or complain.
It works day or night, sunshine and rain.
I love my fan, and you know why?
It takes me to a place that passed me by.
6/2013
He gazes upon gracious beauty
perform my ripe flower, my willow,
for him only, who pays, do your duty
dressed in your kimono of wild indigo,
play your melodic tunes, dance, sing,
while he survey's divine innocence
as seductive pleasurable tones bring
lustful thoughts, holding him in suspense,
desire heightens, he peruses your face
ruby red lips, masked white skin
eyes of darkest night, with stylish grace
You glide across, pleasure to begin,
you serve him with such affection,
dignified, delicately choreographed
routine, giving all without exception,
beautiful Geisha of pleasurable craft,
oh my beautiful Japanese courtesan,
your immaculate shimada hair style,
you have made him a very happy man
with artistry If only for a little while.
Sometimes I meet people not even meeting them
When I like what they say
And then I really feel there are things above poetry
Which I love with my honest heart
I will be checking for spelling, grammar, hair style, and regular flossing
Mostly I do it all the time as I love good word but also good
Look
at
My poetry
27.08.2016