Best Hairstyles Poems
It to took me many years
to find someone I could trust ,
so many different hairstyles
colors black, blonde and rust,
but this time you surpassed yourself
that ash blondes just the job,
and to top it off
you cut the perfect bob.
I am me
Do U like what U see?
Honestly
I wish some secrets could be washed away
Just tell me
I heard from so and so that i'm pretty
But I've never heard it directly
Family and friends don't count
They would never call me ugly
The mirror tells one story
I hear so many different opinions
When I look in the mirror I feel confused
I know exactly the reaction I will receive when I leave
I know what pants will get attention
and what hairstyles will get compliments
Yet I walk out the door and I'm still confused
Cause the only opinion that matters is you
Will U like this shirt?
Will U notice me today?
I am me
It shouldn't matter what U see
But it does
Cause my heart is a dictator
My brain is caged
So when my heart says something
My brain says what does he think?
That makes me afraid
Our family came together again yesterday, (which is the reason for this poem)
and, as is our tradition, we took a family portrait before everyone headed home.
Why do we take so many family portraits….it’s quite simple to explain…
because no matter how many family portraits we take…no two portraits are the same.
Every time our family walks out and then back in through our front door
we’ve all changed a little bit…from the portrait we took before.
Sometimes those changes are obvious…the photo captures a singular time and space
new clothes, new glasses, new hairstyles…is that another wrinkle on my face?
Often, however, the changes are more subtle and only our heart is reawakened…
to the metamorphosis each family member has experienced
since the last portrait was taken.
Which is why I pause as I look at each new family portrait…pausing is a must…
It gives my eyes a chance to see the smiles…the changes…
and my heart time to adjust.
I imagine the reason we take so many family portraits
so many times throughout the year
is to remind everyone that whatever changes we go through…
your family’s still here.
Which is why when our family comes together…
even for a little while….
there will be a moment…
sometime in the evening….
when they’ll be asked to SMILE!
As The Rising Sun, The Dawn Came In Softly & Slowly;
&
So Did My Suffering.
Maybe Unexplained Or Unexpected Feelings;
Which Have Been Ignored;
A Sudden Melancholy Skulking In The Silence;
Awaiting The Arrival Of This Day.
The Days Have Regrettably Passed Since We Parted Ways;
About 4 Years Ago, & I Now Wonder If There Was Anything I Could Have Done;
I May Not Have Needed To Spend As Much Time In The Closet;
I Probably Need To Have Paid Closer Attention To How You Felt About Being Anonymous;
Or;
To Anything Else That Would Have Kept You By My Side;
I Am Sorely Missing You Right Now.
My Thoughts Are Hitting Barriers, & My Tears Are Falling Like Waterfalls;
All With Photographs Of You;
Including Your Wild Hairstyles;
Wild Kissing Technique;
All-Gleaming Beard;
Lovely Eyes;
Beautiful Voice;
Undetectable Abs;
&
Silly Smiles.
The Monotonous Music You Listened To In Your Place;
I Can Still Hear Them Playing In My Head From When I Visited;
I Still Occasionally Hear Them In My Brain;
Which Is Shocking, But I Genuinely Miss You & Those Awful Songs.
Sitting at the very top of my closet,
a small cedar chest, with treasures I did deposit.
It was Christmas gift my sweet cousin gave,
for years it has sat there, as if in a grave!
With broken hinges and a defective lock,
I will now open it; take reflective walk!
Amongst my treasures, is my grandma’s script;
written May fifth, Nineteen-seventy-six.
It must have been sent just before she died.
Because that was the year, my daddy cried!
Withered, torn, and barely legible,
to part with it, seems unethical.
Some special notes from Marie,
That date back to eighty-three.
She and I were the best of friends,
and we kept up with all the trends.
Eighties hairstyles: yea, we did rock,
To ACDC, and not ever to Bach!
A faded card from a stripling lad,
my high school sweetheart, I must add!
A ticket stub from a real Pecos rodeo,
I suppose this was kept for braggadocio!
A red toy convertible Volkswagen bug,
My dream vehicle, when I was young and smug!
In this wonderful stack of silly riches,
A valentine note puts me in stiches.
Penned by my husband’s masculine hand,
he expresses his love sure is grand.
And that is why he feels me up,
I think I’ll save this loving cup!
There is a chart I do recall,
It prepared me for something small.
A little prayer written down,
nine months later she came around!
With a baby girl I was blest,
As she feed upon my breast!
A Western Union telegram,
I took a second to exam.
The name written in black ink,
is to me my missing link!
Her presence always made me calm,
She lives heaven, she is my mom!
You asked me what’s in my treasure chest,
precious memories; who would have guessed?
Thanks for this time of reminiscing,
Oh’ how this life is sure worth living!
It might be time to toast some champagne,
To the future, and to memory lane!
Sun-faded cardboard photographs
of 1970’s hairstyles
were tacked to
the brown paneled walls.
His counter was cluttered with
the shiny tools of his trade,
a chipped glass bowl
laden with lollypops,
and a jar of combs
in blue liquid.
National Geographic,
Sports Illustrated,
and Life
were spread out
like Chinese fans
on the coffee table.
On the shelf,
above the coat hooks with
forgotten umbrellas
and orphaned scarves,
and smelling faintly of cigarettes
and of mystery,
lay a stack of glossy Playboys.
I was tall enough,
but not brave enough,
and that brass ring
was never grabbed.
I sat in Gino’s cold
metal and pleather chair
and thought about
warm flesh and silky hair.
I pictured a model
on a bearskin rug
in front of a crackling fire,
clutching a champagne flute,
or a long-stemmed rose,
or another pointless prop.
Images cavorted as
Gino’s quick hands
floated around
my teenaged head
and his silver
and snipping scissors
danced the Barber’s Waltz.
Comb, snip, snip
comb, snip, snip.
Puckered red lips
blew kisses and
high heels clicked
through my head
between clouds of talcum
and splashes of hair tonic.
What a large pineapple laughing in a row. Heads and toes. Arms and legs. In suits. Laughing cheering. Pompousness' of an elite bunch of abusers. It is unwise and unhelpful to cause a stale tail on a cosmic cat. Acclimatize then to an attunement of alteration from a mobile mustard pot. People playing peapods pleasingly. And a glass of water sings a well known hymn. And a very fat cup in a dress dances. Jiving jiggling motions. In bowl like hairstyles. Wig not a wave. And play bingo in a tent. Measured a light bulb then? Good good good. And looking into radiation for radiance is just not going to work. Ok. Typification of topiary is prevalent in mansions weighing over 100,000,000 kilos. But kilowatts can be utilised to calm waves of magnitude. Thus eradicating spores of selfish genealogy. Privatization public pubic punishment pranged. Prancing . House of a digital dog download. Circulating medium capital. Creating characterisation. Colonics coming and going to see more of the world of goo dolls and other countries and a half day on a bus. Perhaps it is a great magnet of bean. Undergrowth uniquely underwent underwater unseen understanding undergrowth uniquely. Battalion. Extraordinarily zzz ten hash browns on a bike ride. Denominational. X z
So many of us will sell ourselves for the "hype"
Just for a moment in the limelight
Selling their souls for minute of fame, just to see their names in the big bright lights
It can't be easy living in a lie
You can't pay your bills but you wear million dollar hairstyles and name brand shoes just to maintain the "hype"
The Bling Bling life and the social media likes that's all in the "hype"
Driving a Range Rover and you still paying rent. How does that spell sense ? Just to be in the" hype " in the limelight
Fame must have an expensive price
You sleep with Dick, Tom and Harry just to be on the arms of man that the media calls a star
Yes, the "hype " has an expensive price
You sell your values for a moment of fame, all in the name of a" HYPE "
What an expensive price to pay for moment of fame.
The clothes first worn were fussy
However, a sure sign trend.
The women's most natural mat bags,
Matched the naughty pearls on their necks.
The pleated skirts of the oldies,
Danced through comfy, trendy shoes,
And the feathered hats of the mothers,
Entrapped the dancing curls.
The shoes men fit were trendy
with crafty stylish twist,
The slim-milk-socks of the mud feet,
Worked with a cream underneath.
The make-ups followed the hairstyles
With united, wispy ends,
And the men's white scarves on shoulders,
Spread on with mild scents.
I OPEN HER OLD DUSTY BOXES
FILLED WITH HER MEMORIES
PICTURES OF FAMILY, FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES
MANY OF THE SAME PEOPLE AND SOME NEW ONES, ONLY CHANGING CLOTHS. HAIRSTYLES AND POSITIONS
OVER THE YEARS IN VARIOUS HOUSES, ROOMS AND LANDSCAPES
AND THEIR PLACES IN THE STACK OF PHOTOGRAPHS
THEY POSE, THEY PLAY, THEY PARTY
FROM BIRTH TO BIRTH
THE WEDDING, BABY AND SCHOOL CLASSROOM PHOTOGRAPHS
WERE ALL KEPT NEATLY IN CARDBOARD FOLDERS WITH CUTOUT FRAMES EXPOSING THEM TO HER
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PILE BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPHS
AND THE COLORED ONES
NEXT TO THE MARRIAGE, BIRTH, AND GRADUATION CERTIFICATES
ARE DEATH CERTIFICATES AND MASS CARDS
GIVING US THEIR NAMES
ALONG SIDE PICTURES OF SAINTS
MANY OF THE EARLY BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPH OF HER PARENTS, BROTHERS AND SISTERS USED TO BE KEPT TOGETHER IN TATTERED MANILLA ENVELOPES TOWARD THE BOTTOM OF THE PILE
AT THE TOP OF HER MEMORIES
A FEW OF THOSE MEMORIES
VERY SPECIAL TO HER
USED TO BE KEPT IN SIMPLE VICTORIAN FRAMES
ON HER BEDROOM BUREAU
ALONG WITH EARLY PICTURES OF ME, MY BROTHERS AND OUR DAD
THE LATER FAMILY PICTURES OF BLACK AND WHITE AND COLOR WERE KEPT IN TACKY ALBUMS
THAT AGED WITH US OVER TIME
AS THE PEOPLE PASSED ON
NEW ONES TOOK THEIR PLACE
ALONG WITH THE NEW MASS CARDS
GIVING US THEIR NAMES
ALONG SIDE PICTURES OF SAINTS
THE NEW WEDDING, BABY AND SCHOOL CLASSROOM PHOTOGRAPHS
WERE ALL KEPT NEATLY IN CARDBOARD FOLDERS WITH CUTOUT FRAMES EXPOSING THEM TO US
I DO NOT RECOGNIZE MANY OF THOSE IN HER EARLY PHOTOGRAPHS
BUT THERE IS NO ONE LEFT TO ASK AS TO WHO THEY WERE
THE DIARIES, SCHOOL AUTOGRAPH ALBUMS AND PERSONAL PHONE BOOKS IN HER WRITING
THAT I HAVE FOUND IN THE BOXES
WILL GIVE LITTLE CLUE AS TO THE REAL PAST
THEY, LIKE THE POSED PHOTOGRAPHS
WILL GIVE TO THOSE WHO WERE NOT THERE
ONLY THE VAGUENESS INDICATION OF SPECIFIC SNAPSHOTS IN THEIR TIME
WITHOUT ANY OF THE CONNECTING TISSUES.
PART OF THE MEMORIES FOUND IN THE SMALL BOXES WERE THE PERFUMES, JEWELRY AND PILLS THAT SHE WORE
THAT GOT HER FROM ONE EVENT TO THE NEXT.
THE MEMORIES THAT WERE IN THESE BOXES
ARE ALL GONE
OUT INTO THE WORLD
AND ALL THAT REMAINS
ARE THE PAPERS AND THINGS THAT ONCE WERE
LAYING IN THE BOXES IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER COLLECTING DUST
AND WAITING FOR SOMEONE
SOMEDAY
TO PICK THEM UP
AND WONDER WHAT AND WHO THEY WERE.
Ear muffs perch on little heads
In poof or sparkly style,
While furry pom poms bounce on hats
Engendering a smile.
Hoods with fuzzy fake-fur trim
Are pulled ‘round reddened faces
As well as ski or baseball caps,
Which stay in men’s good graces.
Winter headgear keeps us warm
But fashion counts, as well,
Until we step inside to find
Our hairstyles look like hell!
time
distortions of memory
tricks played out
of things thought but not
old photos tell stranger tales
of two dimensional places
of younger eyes
and tender faces
8mm and slideshows
or lockets clasp'd
kodachrome and sepia
and oh! there's a cameo hidden
in the back of grandfather's pocketwatch
(it isn't grandmother and her name sounds French!)
but they're hollow records
of voices, laughter, or
the way someone walks
as unique as snowflakes
but prints fade out like streaking tracers
soon only one or two aunties
remember who's who in the zoo
while great grandkids think the hairstyles look quaint
and one of us really seems to favor the guy on the right
but move on to pictures of ourselves, will ya!?
not knowing that it was a good day in that shot
or if war was over, weather hot
but time exposes our brief latent images,
f-stop for all in our pin-hole lives
love, hate, joy, grief parallax'd into flashbulb shadows
and afterimages fade
carbon arc'd
onto dusty shelves
carelessly aperture stopped
into old shoebox albums
and broken frames...
It's Mighty Funny
It's mighty funny,
That you call me ugly,
But you are trying to look just like me,
Everything I do,
From the hairstyles I wear,
To the way I dress,
You always seem to copy,
You tell me I'm nobody,
But you see my talents and my rewards,
And can't congratulate,
But roll your jealous eyes at me,
You obviously want everything I got,
Because you feel everything about me saids,
I'm hot and your not,
You obviously don't like yourself,
That's why you want to be somebody else,
If you hate who and what you are,
Than that's to bad,
But to hate, admire and envy me for being what you want to be,
Makes me glad,
All you are doing is showing me,
How much you hate being you,
And how much you would love to be me,
Your telling me it sucks being you,
And it's wonderful being me
Would you do the do
Hairstyles stick up just like glue
You’ll do the do well
Entrant into Paula Swanson’s “How Due You Dew” contest
Clump of earth. Green glow. Clump of concrete clapping. Green glow. A grouped nylon is akin to a skinny pair of trousers swinging in a breeze. Twisting with furry knees. But not ever in trees. It is the pointed cradle fork that envelops a mysterious marshy rock into a music score. How rather talented. And how rather quaint too. But a tulip in a tutu is quite wild so shut the door on a barm cake. Ok then. Good. So don't put it down carry it. Vast amounts of miles. And don't sit down. Twenty three hours of sit down in a basket looks rather like a very large dog snoring in a bed. Rather remarkable when the banquet begins. The very long jewelled hands beckon to the plates. Then consume. Vast amounts. While the skinny cat looks in from the window. It might be thrown a pea. Hum. Not substantial is it? And very very very unfair, feudal and unbalanced. Economic egg eats erotic éclairs. In a bistro. Large belly grumbling in hugh waisted pants. Circumference of injections cannot control countries. Calling the rain. Singing to sun beams. In an iced cave. Or a tree. Moat built around a house to house a lord is quite similar to a ladle entering a soup. Or a kettle whistling to water. External shroud. Internally baked. And the state signal of a lemon with pursed lips is spitting words like a sour lemonade. With hardly any sugar. Snow then. Beams budding booming bricking bridges bringing benign baked bomber blooms. And the dusk brings the tailored iconic broom heads. Watch for the tightly woven hairstyles then. In suits. Lean lanky laviscious lecherous limpets. Often dress in red gowns. And hide hair in wigs. But no gigs or pigs. Ok. Ridicule not a rabbit ear or tooth of a rhino. Smiling sunnily. In pendants. In palaces. Paint no fallen star on an erotic empty feather or a leaf. And flock is not a fleeced sheet nor sheets of printed plagiarised rubbish. Zoom then burn. And when burning swim. Very good. Hahaha lettuce loving leeches. Hahahahha twenty cows plus sixteen minutes equals moooo. Xxxxx derogation dogs. Xxxxx humanitarian z this is the p y q reporting from 89.0. On a windy day. Ooh. X. Z 0%