Best Hairspray Poems
With no toilet seats carelessly left propped up
Oh, now I can be such a comfortable pup
Please take your Playboys straight out that open door
Then shut it quickly; I can take no more!
Be gone with you, take all your shoes
Your hairspray, make-up and your girly blues
Three weeks of the month you loved me fair
For the other week, I lived in fear
MY shoes? Why you foul beast! Your odor eaters
Didn't work! Your smelly boots rest in sewers
Where they belong with that greasy hair goo
That left ugly stains on pink pillows once new
Your pants were too tight, I couldn't get them off
I can now wear my own; no longer you'll scoff
And as for your cooking my health has improved
Your name on the rent book, phew! finally removed
The credit card tab from your pub is gone now, too
That hussy barmaid can deliver it to you
And your shavings that clogged up my bathroom sink
Will be mailed to your mistress fast as you can blink
At least she knew how to look after a man
In bed with you was like a flash in the pan
At least barmaid Betty purred when this Highlander taunted
She was sensuous, delectable and she knew what she wanted
I'll remember you most when viewing pond scum
You sure were a loathsome son of a gun
I'm leaving this pit, too, so what the heck?
I'll send a new address for the alimony check
You'll get your money like you earned it before
Dancing naked on the pole in the floor
I took you in, clothed, cared and fed
But it wasn't me that was in your bed
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
The red balloon of my childhood
chasing rainbows
the rush of ozone
hairspray
wait…
that’s my sister’s parade
big hair
I was nowhere near
with babies
early eighties
Oahu
oh to be a child in the wild
spray of the playful
sea, still
i felt like a child
riveted by waves
riding
the boogie board
not grown up enough
to surf
the burp of fantasy
precious buffet
of paradise
the red balloon loose
i chase its caboose
living
in its wake
10/22/2021
The compact disc now adds full sound.
Our mothers preach from all around.
Explicit lyrics and songs of sin.
We sneak in vodka, some rum and gin.
KISS, The Crue and Guns N Roses.
They play the gym, big hair now poses.
I see my sweet across the stage.
J Geils we dance, rage in the cage.
The smell of hairspray and old spice linger.
We dance real close, ballad of Winger.
The high school dance I sure do miss.
My first real buzz, my first real kiss.
Our parties raged on past the dawn.
The after party still parties on.
Our hidden drinks from all of the teachers.
Come dance with me, under the bleachers.
3-18-20 : "Kim Rodrigues' DWM Contest"
Deanna likes her old fashion pink plastic snap curlers.
Has brought them to Ethyl at the beauty shop since 1968.
Hair has survived fifty-one years of the same style
Unfortunately, when she gets there she is told Ethyl has passed.
She trusts none of these other whippersnappers.
What would they know about pink snap curlers?
She doubts they could pop them together, let alone brush her out.
Teasing is probably something they have never been taught.
What about the special cans of hairspray Ethyl keeps for her?
“I can do it, Miss Deanna,” one of the young ones says.
She shakes her head sadly.
She did not even get here until about twenty-five years ago.
What would she know about it?
She leaves clutching her pink snap curlers, angry at Ethyl for dying.
This is her third bad experience this week.
What is up with all these seventy year olds?
What is this need they have to die?
I make a cup of coffee, and bathe in its perfume
And add some chocolate cookies til my diet must resume
I pray the photographer doesn't see that I have gone food rogue
Cuz like he said, "Chubby chicks will never grace a page of Vogue."
I'm careful because my Chanel gown is white and never sold
In the kind of stores where I can shop, or any shop, I'm told
And very soon they'll call me back to set to vamp and pose
Hair perfectly coiffed, make-up en fleek and Louboutin on my toes!
"I've chipped a nail," I mumble and three stylists all jump
And while they're at it one applies some hairspray with a pump
A gorgeous man in best black tie approaches me and grins
"I am your partner for this shoot. Cheri, you are so THIN!"
He takes my hand and helps me up, I teeter on the heels
He holds me close and says he needs to take me for some meals.
He bends his face and parts his perfect lips to plant a kiss
But instead I feel a liquid spilling and wonder "What is this?"
Loud noises filter in my brain and break my daydream's hold
The liquid was my coffee spilled and sickeningly cold
I grab a paper towel to wipe it off my kitchen floor
But being nine months pregnant makes it hard to do, for sure.
I refocus on the noise I hear and realize it's my boys
Two-year-old triplets ready to trade a nap for toys.
I pass the hallway mirror, see my hair a mess, I'm round
Not the model from my dream, but it won't bring me down.
I walk into the boys' room and all three reach out to me
And the hugs and kisses given no French model could exceed
I love my boys, I love my life, even in a cheap stretch jean
But still and all, I did enjoy my lovely little daydream!
1/13/2017
A fugitive from society,
A fugitive from the makers of the nook,
A prisoner in my special school,
A convict to the female OT department, look.
Not needing occupational therapy from a woman,
From a girly woman who had no depth,
Who used Yuhu to stick a philosophical view of life onto her,
Who used bobbles, hairspray and lipstick maroon;
Who represented inequality in healthcare,
Where there’s so many more women than men,
Who validated your parents fully,
Before they cheered up your ben,
They didn’t meet me, but did play,
Without going out of their way.
But it was all my fault abstractly,
Although i know it was not because i was only two and three quarters,
When i replied to the doctor that i was ok when i was not,
When i answered to him about what was within, about what I’d got,
Instead if replying to him straight.
The other doctor, the school doctor has done fine with me though,
And i never ran away from him,
So he helped me with my problem at university,
When we were both studying to win;
I could talk to him at anytime at school,
Supposedly, because the other kids shunned me for talking to him too much,
Since they thought that my slow physical development was funny,
Not worth inquiry or pout,
When i found it an injury stout.
But I learnt that society wasn’t the initiator of school medical structures,
That they were different, that my culture was not delinquent,
And that i fitted in neatly and with eloquence,
To gain my independence and not sin;
By intelligent society i was accepted,
And could overcome and win.
I am from bobby pins and countless bottles of Aqua Net hairspray.
From yellow blankets and pink satin, Russian Pointe shoes.
I am from the yellow house with the brick red roof on the corner of the street.
I am from the sprawling orange tree and its sweet smelling blossoms and the mile-high Oleander bushes housing hundreds of pesky orange caterpillars.
I am from annual Thanksgiving reunions and southern belles. From Gaetano LaMarca and Prince Pasta.
I am from “When I was your age…” and the Thanksgiving talent shows that Aunt Laura always seemed to coax me into participating in.
I am from “Tomorrow is another day” and “5…6…7…8!”
I am from the body and blood of Christ and the musty incense of Easter vigil mass.
I am from sticky and sweet monkey bread and unbearable, soggy, and glutinous southern casseroles.
I am from the WOP’s of New England and the Jet Ski that sent my grandmother tumbling into the ocean and the origin of Prince Pasta Wednesdays.
I am from towers of elaborate handcrafted Clarice Cliff china and the antique armoires that hold a million memories of the past and a million more to come.
Aussie Mousse
Do not heed to the woman doing your hair
Mousse Styli santé ' committing one hard stare
Sprays raid every time she speaks Sally & Sheila,
keep your bottle above the temperature peak.
Aussie style, alcohol free verse
All the hairspray in the world
Will never shy away your phat
Splat ‘splat’, your ignorance is fat
Pick up that double chin,
My good friend'
All that blubber!
Will never burns like rubber!
Here is a buck, Color your hair blue
Like the horizon in the sky
That picture on your wall will never do
Something in your right eye' is a lie'
Shed off a few pounds Add some flexible support to your Wonderbra
Your hairs all flaky Your hairs all sticky How about adding,
Aussie to maintain that look?
Your old one's wearing off
3-29-12
There’s Father’s Day
There’s Mother’s Day
Why can’t there be Brother’s Day
Maybe in the month of May
Set it up without delay
A Brother’s Day
Mom and Dad would probably say
A brother always gets his way
On Brother’s Day
Where would all his sisters stay?
Why – far away
On Brother’s Day
Lunch would be a big subway
Eaten at a small café
On Brother’s Day
And Mom and Dad would be OK
With dinner on a TV tray
On Brother’s Day
Dinner maybe fish fillet
As his entree
On Brother’s Day
Or maybe something done flambé
Anything in big display
On Brother’s Day
And maybe an ice cream buffet
Or a big parfait
On Brother’s Day
And maybe he would get to play
With modeling clay
On Brother’s Day
Or a game of old croquet
Munching Frito-lay
On Brother’s Day
And you can bet there’s be horseplay
Full blown chaos – no halfway
On Brother’s Day
No cutesy pie in no beret
No Tutu from no ballet
On Brother’s Day
No girlie-girls with their hairspray
They can all just sashay
On Brother’s day
Every brother would hooray
If they could waylay
A Brother’s Day
It’s no cliché
Brothers everywhere will pray
For Brothers’ Day
My neice has 4 kids - 3 girls and a boy and the little guy was feeling left out and
wanted to know when Brothers Day.
Let's cut our hair
locks lopped off in hopes of
style and convenience
only because everything in the media
had announced it so
to look one of two ways
stupid or not
the dichotomy of breathing
intermixed with thinking
a miscreant's
entreaty
based upon the logarithm of dog drool
of other's crisis mind fux=
a cute bob with fringe
perhaps, a beehive to capture errant thoughts
in clouds of hairspray
like ricky lake eating more cake
like the earthy done shaky
like prickly pear sports shake
like trickling ear sweat bakes
like a crepe
just spend the time
emulsifying the generations
tell stories, freak out the other one
basically, have fun
The scents I remember like hand rolled cigars
Wine cask lined cellars in musty cool basements
Chocolate miniatures nestled in bright candy dishes
Tea leaves and mint steeping in dainty china cups.
Baked goods cooling on the kitchen counter
Roast with potatoes in a rich onion broth
Lilacs and roses lined on back yard fences
Channel #5 clings to grandmother’s sweater
Scents I remember from childhood spent
Fondly reminiscing with a wistful smile
In this sterile world I live in now
What will my grandchildren remember?
No leaves burnt on a cold autumn night
No carcinogens cooked over red hot coals
No second hand smoke that will cling to your clothes
No hairspray, no tea roses, no creams or colognes
No Sundays exploring my old Aunt Ruth’s farm
No chickens or guineas; no old dusty barns
No fresh moved hay or cinnamon apple pies
Just germicide, purified, Ionic fresh air.
We arrived, it was 7 a.m.
Then I was just a small girl
I still don't know why it made her angry
I will never know why
She bashed my head into the sink
After undoing my braids
My head was flooded into icy cold water
My body heated up with hatred and fear
The visuals of her yanking and scrubbing
Remembering that nobody stood up for me
My cousins and sister
They watched tv in the other room
I was stripped naked, she was screaming
I was thrown into the shower
Still nobody stood up for me
And I always wondered
Why my mom put it in my hair, did she forget
How much my grandma hated hair spray?
Late that night
I should never have told my mother
From then on
Every day I was only fed
Chocolate donuts or fruit cocktail
My stomach still churns at the sight of either
Never will know why she did those things to me
She didn't do them to anyone else
I resented all of the the days that
I was stuck with nowhere else to go
My mother couldn't afford a babysitter
And off I would go, sent to her regardless
The irony is, I still wear hairspray
I love it, and not just because she hated it
I understand now
What I couldn't comprehend then
Hairspray doesn't destruct
Or tear people apart
It is made to keep something in place
Unlike her it offers stability
I may never
Eat certain foods again
And I may still cringe at times
When I see a certain knob on a sink
But when I feel like it, I do have
One thing I do that makes me smile
I will stand infront of a mirror
Braiding my long tresses
I smile and spray
Hairspray
Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.
A severe risk as a result of the global warming challenge
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.
It is not due to hairspray or baby oil; it's our fate.
Rapidly melting Arctic glaciers are causing damage.
Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.
Carbon from fossil fuels is the major emission element.
A ferocious shockwave of metabolic blaze stage.
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.
Concerns around the ozone hole depletion sprout.
Sea level is rising due to melting ice and warmer plage.
Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.
War and turmoil look trivial compared to climate.
Despite that our kids are at risk, newly threats emerge.
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.
To allow plant life to thrive, we need to alter our zest.
Retain the air safe and car-free with zero carbon discharge.
Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.
Written April 20, 2021
A MAJOR WORLD PROBLEM Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
I went to bed last night
everything was fine,
I woke up this morning
I couldn't believe my eyes.
My hair was dyed green
a slipper was in the sink,
when I get a hold of that leprechaun
he's going to pay, the little fink.
My cat was on
the kitchen ceiling fan,
my dog was stuck
inside my trash can.
He had put my underwear
in the toilet,
he's going to get it soon
the mischievious little shite.
He put shampoo
in the hairspray,
and my deodorant was
in a dirty ashtray.
Today I won't be
drinking any green beers,
I had just found
cotton balls in my ears.
I went running after him
he slammed the door in my face,
he's going to get it bad
he's got paper thrown all over the place.
He put some bacon grease
all over my stairs,
this mischievious little shite
makes me feel like pulling out my hair.
He hid under the bathroom sink
to hide away from me,
I wish he would just get lost
and let me be.
I grabbed hold of him
and wrung his little neck,
he won't do this next year
that's a sure bet.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Mar.17/2005