Best Hairbrush Poems
The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we never overcame her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only managed with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things, arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes,
we sniffed her scent, which, more
than her familiar face, identified our mother --
a smell we never could mistake for any other.
It went quickly as her body cooled.
The rouged and pickled carcass they
displayed was more a statue than a person.
We planned to bury her with homely tokens,
like an ancient mummy: a family photo,
a brooch she liked, a pink hairbrush --
and the brass bell she rang to call
her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not
bear to see her leave so finally.
I took the bell from her metal box.
Now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.
The evening air is warm; the sky
ablaze, splashed in hues of scarlet red.
Lost in reverie, she sits on the porch,
on her favourite woven wicker chair.
Absentmindedly, she twirls her finger
round a strand of silver-white long hair,
reminiscing, eyes half closed, hairbrush
resting on her lap beneath a frail hand.
She smiles as images tease her mind,
momentary glimpses of carefree youth
which all too soon disappear, unrecalled,
lost once more in the hazy mists of time...
-----------------------------------------------
5th February, 2016
I picked up your blue hairbrush
I held it a while today
The hair between its bristles
Still smells of your hairspray
I drank my morning coffee
In the mug that has your name
On its rim still dressed in red
Is the slightest lipstick stain
I put your reading glasses on
To read the Sunday news
I went to the bedroom closet
To dust your favorite shoes
Your pillow still lays beside me
With the smell of your perfume
Though you're gone your beauty's there
To fill an empty room
It brought back all those memories
Through all the things I clutched
I've held you close all day long
Through all the things you touched
Embellished by the artist's
softest marten hairbrush
unfolds creatively on the canvas
The view that takes your breath away
when the evening sun is
curved on the edge of the earth
- in the magic hour
Nature's beauty is on full display
It is something exceptional
at every sunset
Notice how the heavens
and the sea is changing
From yellow, orange and pink
- to purple and intense red
Gracefully and powerful
Full of wonder I breathed deeply in silence
observes and appreciates the work of art
So this is it. It’s finally here.
Your last school day has come
No more morning drop offs
No more rushed school run.
No more sandwiches to pack
No more sports kit to acquire
No frantic searching for the socks
Hiding somewhere in the dryer
No more crazes to embrace
No whirring fidget spinners
No scoubidos or scooters
No more school hot dinners
No more earnest pleas for help
Or passionate persuasions
To help with your maths homework
And solve quadratic equations !
A vista stretches far behind
When you were very young
And had to have your hair combed flat
But never in a bun !
Mum was taking all the flack
When your bottom lip would wobble
Armed with just a hairbrush
And a Clare’s, Pink Princess, bobble
Selling cakes and muffins
When cake stall day came round
Besieged by hungry children
At the home time bells shrill sound
Scrubbing out car carpets
With some enzyme killing spray
And vowing I would NEVER
Take you back to “Shakeaway”
No more sunny sports days
Then a picnic under trees
Nor helping at school discos
When the heat hit 80 degrees !
No more frantic walks to school
No chatting at the gate
No more nudge to hurry up
So we didn’t sign in late
No more uniform to buy
No September feet to measure
No school concerts to attend
And glow with pride and pleasure
No more avid watching
For the slightest trace of snow
Yearning for a snow day
Tuned to local radio
No more parents evenings
Time to sort out all the debts
To remember all those good times
and never have regrets.
We will treasure all these moments
Hold them close within our heart
There are other seas for you to sail
So soon you must depart.
These memories are so precious
These moments are so rare
So wherever life’s path takes you
If you need us - we’ll be there.
Poe was always revising his prose between publications. Here are the longest extended versions of sentences he shortened for their final publication in his lifetime:
"We loved each other with a love that was more than love, more love than fit in an empty grotes bag, more than the love of worms if you were a hungry, hungry catfish."
"I became insane, with long intervals of sanity, then more insanity, then sane for a while, then my brain got all twisted up and went mad, then I got better. I've lost track."
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream, within another dream, within a rusty tubular tin box of sewing needles made into the handle of a doll's hairbrush."
"Believe only half of what you see, nothing of what you hear, three quarters of what you taste, one-tenth of what you feel, but the entirety of what you smell."
"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night, as for example bats, yes bats, did you know you could leave the cage door open in the bright of day and your bats will go nowhere."
"Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them, also the neighbor's nippy little dog, egads I hate that dog."
"If you wish to forget anything on the Spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered, then tie it to Spot's collar, and turn him loose in some terrible neighborhood where people eat dogs."
"To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary, also those little candy root beer barrels."
"I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow, but it was Catterina that farted."
"I fell violently on my face, rolled to my side, grunted horrible grunts of gruntlyness, then flopped onto my back and waved my arms all about, still grunting."
"Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all, while Catterina licked her paws and I felt around in my pocket for my last dime but all I found was a raggedy little hole."
Alopecia
I'm lying across my purple bed,
Staring at my vanity.
I just wish I was dead.
I'm losing my sanity.
I can't stand taking these meds.
Their killing me, you see?
I'm a mess.
I'm not lying, I'm as truthful as can be.
I used to be pretty.
Now I'm ugly.
I miss my long beautiful locks,
Now they've all fallen off.
I sit up on my purple bed,
Facing the vanity.
My useless hairbrush is there,
And I'm screaming profanities!
What is it doing there?
I can't brush what isn't there!
Ever since I was diagnosed,
I've been feeling sick in the head.
My parents gave me these meds.
They'll make you feel better they said.
Now I'm drugged,
And I feel unplugged
What is the point of the hairbrush,
When there's nothing to brush?
My sister has stopped talking to me,
Pretending things are the way it's Supposed to be.
I miss my former beauty.
I want my hair and instead all is see is,
Bald, ugly me.
Instead I just sleep.
In my eyes I see,
My self-pity hole,
That I've dug so deep.
In that dark, dark hole,
Is that useless hairbrush,
And ugly me.
The hairbrush you held
With your delicate hand
Still holds your hair
As if you were still here
Your scent lingers on
Long after the love is gone
If this hair is dead
You’re alive in my head
My hair is unkempt
My beard is uncut
The lights have not been lit since
In darkness, atoning for my sins
The leaves remind of you in the pool
The waves remind me of your curls
Of your wet hair that so perfectly fell
In the heat of passion I loved to pull
Sometimes people ask me... What's in your purse...
So I tell them the best that I can...
Lipstick, chapstick, matchstick
What’s in your purse?
Billfold, change purse, money counter, and clip?
Aspirin, Tylenol, Tums, coupons and stamps…
Tissue, pressure bandage, Mom excuse tablet!
What’s in your purse?
House keys, car keys, skate keys and a toothbrush.
Toothpick, dental floss, yesterday’s movie ticket.
Magnifying glass, insect book, handy magic cards?
What’s in your purse?
Personal stuff, extra stuff, and just stuff.
Needed stuff, wanted stuff list…
And all the stuff I meant to take out.
What’s in your purse?
Crayons, a pen, a magic marker, and chalk.
Hodgepodge, glue stick, and tape…
A clown an elf and two small mice.
What’s in your purse?
Bird Seed, fish food, and a safety pin.
A feather from a goose, an empty candy wrapper.
A small notebook with and without lines.
What’s in your purse?
Gum, a straw and an eyedropper.
A paperclip that floats like a boat,
And a folding flying airplane.
What’s in your purse?
Flashlight, book light, nightlight.
NASA blanket and plastic rain suit.
Hairnet and socks that match.
What’s in your purse?
Paintbrush, hairbrush, dog brush.
Playdough, finger puppets and jelly packets.
A flashlight, a monocle, and a bingo dabber.
What’s in your purse?
A calendar, a phone, and things that I have to have.
Pictures of those I love.
And a little cross…
What’s in your purse?
Jesus!
I lie here waiting patiently
Just to gently stroke your hair
Unless you think you need me
It seems you just don’t care
You sometimes forget about me
And leave me here alone
I always feel so neglected
When you leave me here at home
I am not the only one
That is in your life it’s true
I know you have another
With you all day through
I heard you say you wanted
A new one because I am old
You are going to replace me
How could you be so cold
I have been the very best
That I could ever be
Always right here ready
If you should ever need me
Gently take me in your hand
And hold me nice and tight
Let me have one hundred strokes
Before you turn out the light
What am I?
Your hairbrush!
I’ve already packed
Everything you need
For your trip, Little One.
“Yes,” she said,
“But I’ve never been
To Chicago before,
And I just might need
My old hairbrush
And this book I used to like,
And…” it all went
Into her backpack
I smiled then
And again later
As we walked the long concourse.
Steps faltered
And tears of fatigue flowed
Down my daughter’s face
Until a loving elder brother
Took the unnecessary burden
So we all
Could make our plane.
I shoulder my own
Unwieldy baggage,
And trudge with faltering step,
Tears of frustration
And fatigue
Rolling down my face.
I fail to acknowledge
That Father has sent me
Already fully equipped,
And I’m reluctant to release
My unnecessary burden
To the Brother who
Would carry it for me.
And in my obstinance
I just might miss
My flight!
Leaving at midnight on a Greyhound, I'm excited I'll be seeing my baby sister's family for two days and watch my nephew perform in CATS. In my small safari travel bag, these things I have packed:
Deoderant and my toothbrush (will sponge off my nephew for the toothpaste)
Two pairs of different colored contact lenses (gotta match my outfits)
A bottle of contact lense solution
Undies and sports bra
A pretty blue and yellow floral summer blouse (for when I watch my nephew perform in CATS)
Blue stretch denim jeans (and white ones as well, just in case)
Fashionable blue sandals
My supplements and sleeping pills in three tiny containers
My ASEA and COSEVA (They are helping me at least a little)
My cute new pink swimsuit (in case there is a pool somewhere)
My grey short shorts for exercise (in case I find a gym)
One of my favorite t-shirts which reads "I Need More Weekends"
Flat black comfortable shoes
A long t-shirt for my nightie
My cosmetic bag with makeup, face cream, nail file and hairbrush
A jewelry bag containing decorative combs and an extra ring
A pack of gum and my mouth guard
A small notebook and some pens for hopefully writing a few poems
My latest copy of TV Guide (I don't expect I'll be able to sleep on a bus!)
A borrowed book entitled "Uncensored Health You Can Have Today"
Healthy Peatos and "I Eat Bugs" snacks (to surprise my sister)
My purse with money, phone and charger inside (that completes things; the bag is less than 15 lbs. I always travel light because my trips are alway short!)
Date Written: Aug. 1, 2019
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List
Sponsor: Dear Heart
I rowed my boat
to my favorite spot
The water was cool
The sun was hot
I took my pole
And loaded my bait
Put on my hat
And started to wait
I hoped for a big one
Or so I thought
At the end of the day
Here’s what I caught….
A watering can, a rubber boot
A curling iron and a flute
An old ice skate, a bicycle tire
A picture frame, a ball of wire
A basketball, some braided rope
A hairbrush and a telescope
I now know why
I didn’t get my wish
The signs say’s “No fishing”
Cuz there aren’t any fish!
A transparent parrot makes a very big noise when seed arrives to visit. Mr and Mrs seed have fifteen children, eleven thousand grandchildren and one great grandchild. It is interesting to note bar levels for bar levels are neither bare back riders, billionaires, biscuit barrels or broomsticks breaking beers. Carrier pigeons call most effectively in a midday heat whilst flapping to the air like a fly waving to a open sandwich. The sandwich gets quite upset when the flies do this for flies flake flesh and flesh is a mighty weight of acrobatic atomic applets. Apples seek shelter under umbrellas borrowed from the shoe basket in the hall. Then laugh as the humans cannot locate their weather protectors. It is very amusing when chatting to a mild mannered bin for bins contain waste and waste is often wise, witty and witters on and on wildly in a worldwide whorl. Great. How fantastic it is to ask for a cup of tea from a passing family of otters. Otters create the most marvellous of brews and unlike shrews they do not stew their brew. So never leave a hairbrush facing a window if it is painted with silver stripes for such a mistake will be noted by the otters whose fascination with windows and hairbrushes is often quite profound really. Self adjusting images rarely paint landscapes. And a field in a photo is simply philosifying about the growth of potatoe cake plants this year. Ghost of great girth cannot sit on a five centimetre window ledge. And the pretty unicorn in a cloud can canter across the skies at wonderful speeds. Fantastic isn't it. And now that you have learnt all of that it is time to prepare the curry said the little mouse on the turntable. Ok then. Good. Have you a biscuit to eat on the A52? Haha bibbing bubbling bursting brooks baking birthday balloons. Hahaha prism in a circumference equals a happy hexagonal mineral deposit. Traditional turning turbaned turbines. Windmill waltzing with willows. Xxxxx sacramentarianism. Z z z z Z. @ forty foot over a loch
The didactic duty of a hairbrush is to skim stones at toll gates. But harmonising at a concert of trumpeting elephants is just not audible and therefore unsatisfactory to an inner ear. Peace sign then. Emblematic embroidered embryonic events. Good. A tidal flow is a force field for atomic injestion whilst a wheel whirs. Ignorance is a slug whose portly face is glazed in a stare of a sloth. Capricious and captivating to horse faces with many many bags. Wow. How amazing it is. Simply astonishing really. Aromatherapy of a plant base. Great. Trying taking training teaming tampering trampling trafficking traders. And a large hundred foot daisy with a huge welcoming smile. Hugs from the leaves. Hahahaha and a small darting basin. Xxxx dodecahedron z