Best Locks Poems
Susie’s flowing blonde tresses
were her pride and joy
they shone like a halo above her head
and framed her delicate features
From the moment they met
her boyfriend called her Goldilocks
Five years after they married
cancer cruelly crept into their lives
Skilled surgeons removed her lump
but chemotherapy took its toll
and clumps of hair clung to her brush
They both sobbed bitterly
as her husband turned on the hair clippers
which buzzed across her scalp…
in the ultimate act of love
Goldilocks Zone Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
04/11/21
What's so strange about it?
The way it curls like a baby or
The way it stands out on it's own
The way it swings when I walk or
The way it catches your stare when I talk
Natural roots, they spring into trees of knowledge
The offense you take, the regards you make and
Hassles I get when going state to state
It's like my whole life's at stake
Damn gimmie a break
(So) What's the big fuss about the Natural Lust
Rejection to European Beauty Standards is what I truly adore
We need more Natural sisters MORE MORE MORE
MY LOCKS IS NOT A STYLE, NEITHER A FAD, NOR IMPRESSION
MY LOCKS IS A WEAPON, IT HELPS ME FIGHT AGAINST OPPRESSION
I'm not afraid to show it and I'm not afraid to grow it
Information, dedication, and confirmation is wrapped up in my hair
which wraps around my crown-
So thick, So tough, So strong, So long
So Black and untrapped just my appearance is an attack
Come into job interviews with my image misconstrued, unculture myself
Just to fit what works for you
Cut my hair for what?? NO! Just Leave Me Alone
One half of one percent is still the wealth we own
So if I cut my hair off, what will the Black man own?
Dear Southern Gals
Savannah - oh honey
You beautiful Belle
Your locks long and loose
And silver as well
Muted mementos
Of suffering of pain
Of tears you have wept
Long rivers of rain
Georgia - oh honey
You dear southern Belle
Your story is cruel
And shameful as well
Your tresses have witnessed
In somber green gray
The heartbreak the pain
The ship of that day
Oh Savannah oh Georgia
You dear Southern Belles
We hear you forever
Plead guilty as well
Now savour your beauty
The new dawn can’t wait
Start combing your hair
It’s time for a braid
Nicole de Jager April 2018
Sublimity ...
Bandit of my breath
Summer blond tresses, pure
Splashed with amber bands, aglow
Slowly twisting down to soft, stretchy curls
Bouncing on your shoulders with heavenly mirth
Like a child bouncing her bed Christmas morn
Exquisite texture, as combed Turkish velour
Meant for the delve of only tender hands
Loving fingers that honor privilege
Every touch savored, adored
Each strand a rarity
A golden thread
Ephemeral.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice 9 Any Theme Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Golden Locks
within the minute of retreat your back is tuned to your enemy's chorus
harmonic to your freedom, measured by compassion, anxiously seeking their humanity
thought ascending from stars see's an ounce of mercy surrounded in darkness
a defeated purpose which drove them to the heavens
those who have reserved hope find some place to accept the truth
a test of how far our courage outlast the chaos from all life's passed
mystery's enlightened path never reached the end of suffering
to the likeness of a fumbled method
we could now follow like the atoms of Eve
disconcerted absence to our eutrophic eyes
spreading legs like artificial soul
momentarily creators of their own excitement
movement supported by those who think your great
everybody who realizes the dream
shape your reflection and let the background find it's own feet
Apparent peace soon merged with equality
freedom's lark rests on the soles of a war monger's foot
peace showed up in a fresh pair of socks
the talking corps relates a message conspired by his earthy tones
sighting the great spoils and burnt offers of a desired sin
while designs of old are searched for something missing
past events re-invented an old tool of the government this ambiguous wireless chip
lets us say all of thing they can tax and the rest we make it our garden patch
“She knows everything about everyone. That's why her hair is so big. It's full of secrets.”
~ Quote from ‘Mean Girls’ (2004)
Secrets in the locks of love
she knew everything true,
well, sort of,
as true as any gossip could bring.
Plastic rollers, as useless as her friends,
curled from her lips in hateful sprout
and spewed vile comments from her mouth.
She grabbed the secrets of others and shared them.
She didn’t mind her tangled ends belied her credibility.
Curling her mind around the struggle,
when all was said and ends began to fray,
it was she who brushed the cares away that day.
Trudging through the snow, her cubs lag behind...oblivious
Haven't seen a seal for days, perhaps weeks
There are few ice-bergs left to hunt upon
Adrift in the ocean...think again
It's not a coincidence fossils of mammoths are being found more than ever
Soon you won't need your pithy pants...or snow shoes
Soon...someone might be sleeping in your bed
Pithy Pants 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Maureen McGreavy
2/14/2019
Thrashing like Medusa's locks,
water-whipped kelp, lash and flay.
And angry waves pummel rocks,
while morphing into a spray.
The sky's a cauldron of clouds,
churning like a dark witch's brew.
And wrapped in ebony shrouds;
not a single star shines through.
As lightning ignites the dark,
thunderclaps make the ground quake.
And gusty winds leave their mark,
debris swirling in their wake.
The moon, a shade of curie;
can't pierce the storm with its beam.
And trees, fearing its fury,
bow when the wind gets extreme.
The storm wails throughout the night;
filling rivers with its tears.
Yet, exhausted by Dawn's light;
it suddenly disappears.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, such beautiful hair
I bet it needs a lot of care
Oh how I love these lovely blonde locks
And those blue eyes, ever ready to shock
The tower in which you so sweetly sang
And all around the echo of your haunting melody rang
Often you’d let down your curly tresses
For the young prince’s hot caresses
Those wild kisses and encircling arms
Away from prying eyes of people on the farms
The evil witch in her scarlet coat
Would come visiting by the boat
And sternly call from right under
Her shrill voice would ring like thunder
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair
That I might climb the golden stair
Enchanting is this love tale
That children have heard all around the vale
And preserved to be retold again
The world will a lot from this gain
25/07/2011
By Tahera Mannan
For Linda’s ‘Disney’ contest
ST. Paddy Day today. I'm wearing my green, and I celebrate with my 100th poem posted
since coming here before Xmas! and I will probably lay off the limericks now until next year!
With hair much too short, one vain poet
took magic beans so she could grow it.
Like Jack's giant bean stalk
quickly grew each gold lock!
Now her hair has no place she can stow it!
Growing my dread locks in Trinidad
Was for all the right reason
But some didn’t understand
They think I was a bad person
I remember early one morning
Going with friends to the river to bath
And all of us had dread locks
So people would look and be afraid
People we knew all our lives
Some we went to school with
Now the look at us passing
Like we are from another planet
Being Rastafarian in this society
The police harass us all the time’
To them you were guilty
With out committing a crime
It’s legal to buy cigarettes and alcohol
Get cancer or drunk and fall down
But when choose to grow our hair
They point fingers saying we’re wrong
A true Rasta follows the holy book
Samson had seven locks of hair
And see in the vow of a Nazareth
Its there so very plain and clear
We use to read the holy bible
The bagwhat gita and noble Quran
The only way to gain knowledge
Is to read, discuss and understand
my friends were kind and humble
Don’t drink alcohol, don’t eat pork
But people see them on the street
They would go on the other side to walk
We use to Smoked marijuana
At night after the sun goes down
Like two joints among six of us
Rocking to some bob Marley songs
The police had the right to abuse you
And send many innocents Rastas to jail
And the judge will ask for a lot of money
So they can never get out on bail
And for me being an Indian Rasta
Some times it use to be hell
Then we got tired of the harassment
And a lot of us cut our dreads as well
Bob Marley and I look the same
All of my friends use to say
And cutting my dreadlocks
Is a mistake I regret up till today?
I leave all my dread locks pictures
In Trinidad when I came to the USA
And many years after I went back
They were destroyed or thrown away
This is just a part of my life story
A little history of my background
Sometimes I want to keep on writing
But if I don’t stop my poems will be to long
Old Lady Long Locks
Lived in a long box
But one rainy day
The box washed away
Now she lives in a barn full of lots
Of golden-brown hay
Old Lady Long Locks
Lived in a long box
But one rainy day
The box washed away
Now she lives in a barn full of lots
Of golden-brown hay
Goldie Locks
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Goldie Locks
I did not know your name
You swayed your hips
With small steps
As you pass me by
I did say hello to you
You did not answer
You growled a little smart
And bluffed a little bark
Which caught my heart
I could not say goodbye
It would have been a lie
I could not take back
You were too
Cute for goodbye
It was too smart
When you looked at me
Up and down
My heart began
To skip a beat ..
So I picked you up
And brought you home
My little hazel
Brown eyed puppy
And called you
Goldie Locks.
Way down
Years gone by
Without tears
You met a pug
Called Mulligan
And had
Lots of pup's.
Think outside the box
Shed your shackles, chains and locks
Break through all the rocks
Stones will drag you down
To the depths until you drown
An albatrossed clown
Free your soul and mind
Be in one day at a time
And you will unwind