Best Hairs Poems
I have just two grey hairs in my mustache
That keep growing back,under my nose
Why there's just two
I haven't a clue
Soon to be joined by many more,I suppose
They say grey hair grows with wisdom
But with just two hairs under my nose?
No matter what I do
They keep growing through
The beginning of wisdom for me,I suppose
Two grey hairs I've plucked and cut
From my mustache under my nose
For now there's just two
Soon to be joined by quite a few
A lesson learned in wisdom for me,I suppose
Dan Kearley:2-15-13
Mysteries of Human Hairs II
Hairs, O hairs, O’ lovely ravishing hairs,
It is also a hard truth of the world and
Of our human life and air that,
Even some saints too have fallen prey,
Before your enchanting beauty and your alluring colors.
Many mighty kings have lost their crown and kingdoms,
In the ever tempting beauty of your magnetic curls and shines,
To get hold of you, O’ lovely hairs.
Kingdoms have fallen like the house of cards and
Even most powerful men of this earth,
Have lost the edge of their swards,
Before the shining, flying and mesmerizing,
Beauty of a women’s hair and its penetrating charms.
Hairs, O hairs, O’ lovely ravishing hairs,
While many have lost their life and kingdoms,
There are few such lucky lovers of hairs, as well,
Who have remained unnoticed, unacknowledged and even unseen,
Although they enjoyed and relished the beauty of your colors, and
Have felt the softness of your hanging hair locks and curls, O hairs.
What wealth and gems you hide in your treasure,
Making many men and even women,
Mad, before the lovely ravishing beauty of you, O’ Hairs.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 28th Oct 2010
Edited and rewritten on 28th March 2012
There is nothing like a good haircut
which may appear shallow from
a certain point of view
but personally I prefer nicely shaped hairs
Yes. It might seem
narcissistic
superficial
frivolous
and just plain silly
Really, though, is hair unimportant?
In the cosmic scheme of things
that's quite possible
actually probable
certainly true
But we're not talking about importance here
This is about . . .
let's face it . . . self-image . . .
everyone needs a good one, I'm told
You're quite right
Outward appearance
may be immaterial
not worth our concern
But darn it,
I want to look in the mirror
and at least be satisfied with my tresses
the fine silky hairs
jungle king's proud possession
hunters' obsession
Revised in two parts
Mysteries of Human Hairs I of II
Hairs, O’ hairs, O’ lovely ravishing hairs,
Fascinating and beautiful, you often resemble,
When nicely looked after and softly taken care of.
Hairs O’ hairs O’ lovely ravishin hairs,
Your beauty and elegance, has often inspired,
Your softness and shines have captivated many and
To put their hearts on fire,
Your aroma can evoke to extremes,
Passion and lust like streams.
The lustrous beauty of these hairs,
Have raised thousands of wars sacrificing millions,
To win only a Helen of Troy and
Even great warriors like Ceasar and Antony became a prey,
Before the killing magic of your arts and flying colors.
Even the ravishing beauties of these hairs,
Have charmed many eminent enemies and warriors
Besides the millions and millions of moving lovers since ages,
Who fall prey to the loveliness of these alluring hairs.
Hairs, O hairs, O’ Lovely ravishing hairs,
Your graceful presence, has produced men of letters,
Your locks have killed many, in the history of the world,
While many have altered their existence, completely,
To win, the beauty of your hanging hair locks and curls,
Even the dullness of your hairs too,
Have often inspired many wandering lovers and singers.
Hairs, O hairs, O’ lovely ravishing hairs,
When you hang, you look like dark clouds,
Playing on the forehead of a woman,
By watching such clouds many get lost,
In the colors of your showering rains.
Many Writers, poets and artists find their inspirations,
Under the love and softness of you O' hairs and
Many have produced things of beauty and joys forever,
While many have found the goal of their life,
In the beauty of your lustrous curls and colors,
What a strange it is, that still many
Would like and love to get sacrificed,
In the enchanting flames of hairs, like small flies forever.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 17.10.2010
Revised on 28.03 2012
Found my first grey pubic hair, got so excited
But others on the elevator were quite divided
One said that's life
Another gave this advice
Hair will still grow even when on autopilot
The Good Book states that Jesus knows the number of hairs on your head,
And I assume He also knows the color be it blonde, purple or red.
I would also presume that His calculations are somewhat lessened over all,
Considering those members of His flock who are as bald as a bowling ball!
(Matthew 10:30 & Luke 12:7)
Whispers of Autumn
Whispers of wet winds on mellowing leaves
Herald coming of the autumn season,
Strip tress of their clothing, lead them to grieve
As swarms of swallows seek warmer regions.
The sky is oft spanned with gilded leaves in flight
Whirling with whispers of wild autumn winds
And coming to rest on the ground with fright
After their dance in the air with a swing.
Whispers of dry winds in autumn of life
Beckon grey hairs and wrinkles on the face,
Weather our strength as to tread we do strive
And as leaves, the ground we wish to embrace.
Whispers of autumn turn leaves yellowish
And curl human lives with season`s anguish.
Here looking inwards while sitting in wards.
Never bored watching bulletins and staring out the window at the billboards with eyes that's been pulled before and my thoughts still talk forth.
Still taunted and real torn. My brain is torn. My clothes are worn and I'm worn out like the clothes I've worn since I've been in mourn.
If my secrets airborne are my thoughts seabourn and if so are they off a shipboard. Well formed traumas bounce like a springboard.
I got to reform from this clipboard message. I'm switchboard pressing like crowns with real thorns because I'm crazy with the devils big horns eating grilled corn with allies in this place where bloods borne
Was I still born from a rebirth but stillborn.
This stillwater ain't sating my thirst I will burn up until dawn because the sealed doors stay locked and we're locked in like ill thoughts. During storms and full moons my milk pours on the brick floor surface I'm sick and tick bourne and allergic. Staring in the mirror watch the devil rip his horns and dig out big thorns man I'm thirsty and been scorned. A little walk is all what I'd kill for. The risk warns you till morn so spill your guts and tell more to the billboard.
I talk to my chest hairs every day
Hi there, you seem well endowed
You're coming along quite nicely now
There's four of you, you must be proud
Not long ago, you were only two
But as one thing leads to another
Passions explode in your frail bodies
And with hairy love you're smothered
At first signs of life, you waved with joy
As two tiny sprouts first appeared
A loving impression of a hairy family
My tears ran down to my beard
A shining example of a loving community
My beard started out like you guys
But that was quite a long time ago
Now a gathering of three hundred and five
The true measure of your value to humans
And the bliss your existence inspires
Unknown to many, the reason you exist
To absorb our sweat when we perspire
© Jack Ellison 2012
In God's word we are told
From the prophets of old
That even the hairs
On our head are numbered
What an awesome being
That would care enough
To know when I grow old
As the hairs begins to fall
Keep tract of the fact
That even the hairs
Of my head are numbered
That means for you
Yours are numbered too
(I can't even keep count of the ones falling out.)(Idea from the "Bible" Matthew
10:30.) Maybe free verse tell me if I am wrong.
ALL, HAVE SIMILAR ENDING
Old, white haired, teeth missing
And what's left are not too good,
Every part of the body hurts
At one time or the other.
So what do you do?
Visit the doctor? No.
Just take it to the Creator
and the Redeemer.
Who I know loves us,
More than men ever could.
He has all the answers,
He counts the hairs on my head,
And I lose them also.
That is what sin has done.
My sin? Yes, and no too,
Sins of my ancestors have
Enfeebled them and me.
The way out is not as
Many men plan or think.
We lost our way, His way.
Yes, the way He intended
Is not the way we are,
Too much of the time.
Can we find our way back?
Yes, we can, if we will change.
If we will heed His voice,
And His written word,
We can find our way back.
Out of of all the confusion,
And mess men have caused,
Listening to their own
Deranged thinking.
Pride and selfishness,
The cause in the beginning.
So let's turn around,
Back space and follow
Him who knows us,
And how we were made.
He can make us to be
What He intended for us,
In the beginning.
And, we can end up
With joy everlasting!
Copyright, Kathryn Search
WHEN THE FROG GROWS HAIRS
To her, my sister Santa Pe
Slim and pretty
Our mother wanted to marry
As soon as possible
But she didn't want to do.
Forced, she met a boy
That he loved her
But she didn't even want
Nor in photography.
As he invited her to Cinema España
To see the movie Salon Kitty
A luxurious Berlin brothel
That the Nazis used as a cover
Of espionage and sexual misdeeds
In which Helmut Berger works
That she loves and adores
She accepted the invitation.
At midnight they went to the cinema
And the very naughty
As soon as they sit in the seats
Lights out
Starting the movie
The rogue was going to the chestnut
His sword out and outstretched
With the intention of penetrating
Or that she rubbed it.
-Stop right there, stay still, wimpy
Santa Pe told him.
I know what you want
I know where you're going
I know what you've come for
Do you want to charge the entrance
Sticking your sword up my thighs.
Go dig chives
Or to your mother, fool.
I will give you my love
When the frog grows hair.
He put the sword in his fly
Grumpy, sad and heartbroken
Left the cinema
ting on the mother
That Santa Pe gave birth.
She was happy, very happy
Watching how Helmut Berger
ed good girls
And, once ed
He offered them to German officers.
She also saw how
Some dwarfs with swastikas on their es
ed Jewish prisoners
Trying to make them
Prostitute agents.
Her mother was on the balcony
She was on the balcony
To see if her daughter came.
When she saw her approach the balcony
Her mother asked:
- How about daughter?
How did it go?
She happily replied:
-Mother, he is the third one that I send for a walk.
Nobody is telling me:
"Open your clam, Margarita
That I want to charge the entrance”.
With my clam, mother
I don't intend to earn a living.
Orchid buds are soaked in the stream alongside the hill,
Mud-free, among green pines the sandy path lies still,
In the nightfall drizzling cuckoo calls sound chill.
Who dare say that an old man can’t rejuvenate?
The river past the temple turns west in the ultimate,
Don’t sigh over the grey hairs and become a degenerate.
(tran.)
Good to listen to others:
let’s face it, they want
to be heard—why they speak--
even if we have all the answers
imagined
since questions and answers
are more numerous than
the hairs on our heads combined
lessened by the reason for time
our ignorance to not hear
and only be heard….