Best Uncombed Poems
I remember you in all your faces
from the photograph of a young girl
surprised at being looked at, and later,
Sun brown and strong over the garden hoe
or throwing your head up to one side
around the nanny's rump to milk her.
I remember your white face in the doorway
when you came, night-dressed and uncombed
to tell us to settle down and go to sleep,
The smiling face as you put the lemon pie
to cool just inside the back screen door.
My favorite! I said. You said you know!
Best of all was the face that stayed
indoors while we stripped the hollyhocks
of reds and pinks for dancing ladies.
In the quiet afternoon, our small voices written
on the warm green breeze.
Then came your grandmother and great-
grandmother faces, made up of babies
and children and of the old women
Who used to be your daughters.
Now one more pose
one more shutter click.
Move slightly to one side, just out of
camera range. See the set?
The scene plays on; the mouths are
Still moving. You can look at it
from this point of view:
all glass and the sound of a bell.
Take up the shimmer and enter the sound;
everything is possible. You and I
will be girls together, hold hands and
Swing one another in wild circles.
It's all right; you know all the others
and the rest of us will be there soon.
Categories:
uncombed, family, grandmother, old, paradise,
Form:
Free verse
Insanity
That insane
In the dark corner
of the narrow lane
helpless and hesitant
because she’s dumb
That insane
laughing on her voice
scratching her body,
and innocent face
blackened of
taints of madness.
A little lady in
tattered clothes
alone in crowd
searching someone
of her own.
People laugh at her
and she laughs back
with dazzled eyes
in sparkling
lights of motor cars.
Does she really
know-fast moving vehicles ?
Is she aware of her
empty stomach ?
Is she aware of her
nakedness ?
Does she feel-
strokes of sun and rain ?
Quiet in the corner
with dusty body,
sleeping on newspaper
with uncombed hair.
Scary children call
her devil but she
was scared of
own loneliness.
Wondering how her
people left alone !
Wondering at Almighty
for giving no identity !
That insane
may die some
day, free from
insane world
in same dark corner
in same lane.
------------------------
Categories:
uncombed, anxiety, destiny, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
''Bare''
Dead whilst alive,
Forgotten yet solidly visible,
Underestimated but still the best there is.............
The sound of disappointment!
I am searching for a boy long forgotten,
Left for the bushes, never returned,
Still finding himself among st devours of life and thorns of deception,
Running for the hills,
In search of his purpose.
My peers Doctors,Soldiers and Focused!
I lay awake with my hair uncombed, blowing trees day dreaming of what
would be.....
The stains within the heart visible enough to bring tears into my
mama's eyes "Where is my boy?"
So lam running and running,
Never stopping, my blood pumping,
My spirit diluted with doubt and impatience,
My mental troubled with anxiety, panic attacks .....screaming and
bleeding ,
I hold on! I bow my head! I leave it all in the hands of Christ! I
still fight.......
I am looking for myself.
Categories:
uncombed, anxiety, art, change, courage,
Form:
Free verse
I was one of the cool set,
navy blue duffle coat, scarf around
my neck, seated at a table
in Pepe's Coffee Lounge
discussing Baudelaire
and T.S. Eliot and the demise
of the political elites.
The conscription ballot hung
over our heads helmeted
in a flowering of uncombed hair
in the winter of 1966.
We thought the world was about
to tip, that the old regime
was coughing its last
on Craven A and Camel cigarettes.
Booze was cheap and jobs
chased us down the street.
In a hundred buried silos,
annihilation was just a push
of a button away.
We partied hard beneath
the threat of that mushroom cloud.
We're old now, sit under the cloud
of our own thoughts, replaying
scratchy, worn out tracks
retrieved from the sleeves
of our neural LP's.
What we tore down back then
has been replaced with more
sinister demons that eat away
at the collective soul.
In the end, everything
is just reabsorbed.
Some of us still frequent
coffee shops and discuss
Baudelaire and T.S. Eliot,
still write poetry,
shed a tear
at the melancholic beauty
of a setting sun.
Categories:
uncombed, nostalgia, social, sunset, time,
Form:
Free verse
Some boys forget their mom's words,
they leave for school in a mad rush
with uncombed hair looking like nerds;
in the classroom they have a crush.
Liz, their teacher, wears tight jeans,
they can't concentrate on the test;
she's happy for attracting the teens,
their girlfriends notice their unrest.
They hate their beautiful teacher,
but her vulgarity makes them sneer:
her character isn't worthy of cheer.
When paper planes start a warfare,
Liz's hair seems a style so rare;
all the boys laugh: it is a snare.
Categories:
uncombed, boyfriend, character, crush, funny,
Form:
Sonnet
have you ever seen
a bird uncombed
or a kittens hair disshovled
is a lions mane unmanagable
or a rodents fur in stubbles
the wolves teeth
are always straight
never a miss aligne
and animals feet we always find
fur and claws well defined
the peacock and the parrots feathers
may never be refined
no dog or fish will ever lack
beauty for hair or fins misplaced
tusk and horns ballence an image
to an animals face
love and grace are given
because of place
and yet we know not
of their existance
as an animal race
can an animal care for theirs
like we care for ours
can an animal ask for care
without it's animal powers
was there a command
given of God
to do amazing things
to nurture to feed
protect and lead
without there being an exstream
yes this love
can be written
in the human heart
just as the bible says
how wonderful this love will be
when this love starts
(to be continued)
Categories:
uncombed, age,
Form:
Alliteration
Orange, black, and white
Keep it pulled down tight.
Sits on my head with pride
Taking care of my uncombed hair
Ageing with daily wear
Threaded with the letters OSU
Eskimo Joe wears one too.
Categories:
uncombed, funny, school, sports
Form:
Acrostic
Wrinkled, but beautiful still
Even in decrepit apparel and uncombed;
Jagged skin and sensual fragrance lost
But still spongy her touch is and the smell
Only thing I’d miss the most in the universe.
Toiled through hardship and still indebted,
Altruistic she- uncared and unattended her own needs,
But protected her offspring despite dearth
From cold and famine, the fatal scourge,
And well-groomed into esteemed mortals.
In spite piercing pang and pain within
Beautiful soul, still smile on the parched lips,
For bold but tender my darling is,
So kind at heart and divinely soft in speech,
She is, perhaps the surrogate of Goddess.
Aged and hoary now appears my hero,
But conversant, cultured and well-versed,
The fount of worldly wisdom she is
Who speaks of art of living and greatness-
The lessons from myriad mistakes of her past.
Dearest and my favorite, still the one I so adore,
And now Silver Jubilee of our intimacy,
Fonder my heart becomes of her, my love,
Indubitably the most desired and undeniable,
Only is she the joy and ecstasy of my life.
Best friend she is to me since infancy
With whom I played and quarreled often,
And my sweetheart, indeed my first love,
With whom I had my first kiss and shared a quilt-
My beloved mother- the creator of this poet.
I love you, mom.
Categories:
uncombed, mother, mother son, universe,
Form:
Quintain (English)
She had beautiful hands, I remember
Strong and brown and crude under the choking lamplight
that wintry autumn of the potato blight
I saw them cringe and turn over and over
She thought I’d fallen asleep, but no
I watched her silently in the dark, well past midnight.
Her hair was rich and long, I remember
Coarse and uncombed and tangled on sweaty afternoons
One sweltering midsummer before the monsoons
we crouched in the fields and together worried
Masses of hair spidered across her wet cheeks
Sweat or something else, running down those weathered prunes.
She had eyes like the sea, I remember
Stormy and clouded and murmuring of a shipwrecked sorrow
That spring day the wind swept away the morrow
she stood with her back to me and hung her head
I saw her weak frame jolting and stiffening
and my infant heart was splintered by an invisible arrow.
Her voice was a melody through the reeds, I remember
For fifty years her lips could give only sighs
Unbroken silence shivering beneath frozen skies
Her throat rippled when she looked at my blossoming face
Quivered and quivered in a song of muted melancholy
Then one day away she flew, like a flower, without goodbyes.
Categories:
uncombed, childhood, death, motherautumn, day,
Form:
Free verse
My infancy was the time for imagining your unique beauty
As the saprophyte danced in the magical fountain of ambiguity
You ingenuously stole my pulverized heart with your duality
Your ironware, I mean those muscles, were more than fruitful
Just like inner potency to inspire my spirit; they were my infinity
Because the dancing spirits obliquely touched me as I sat there in a tree
Dacoity imbued their roaming minds until they were ultimately free
And once I became as diametrical as the tides, I traveled across the sea
Let's take a kiosk to the dutiful trees that enchant me
Otherwise, the spirit within us will conically
Travel to an extraterritorial place which has yet to be freed
Like the uncombed hair of an angelic weeping willow tree
With its wild gamekeeper who keeps score of my latent thoughts
Such quandry thoughts will never cease to amaze me, verily
It's better not to be complacent about the future that humans will face
An annuitant flower bud will grow and expand our shared, ancient garden
Such flowers will invoke the threader in our imaginative minds
Your skin silkily makes everything resolve itself for me so that I finally smile
And you make peace with the challenges that prevail all the while
Because you're the one I love, the one whom I'd not beguile.
Your name evokes perfection
All the while, my beloved connection
Categories:
uncombed, dream, love, word play,
Form:
Free verse
Wild Hair
Will you please
Stop complaining
I like it just the way it is
I don’t want to change it
Too bad that it is not to your standards
I like my hair long
I like it uncombed and wild
It does what it wants
When it wants
No brush or comb can tame it
You are not going to change that
No matter how hard you try
Let my hair grow like an ivy
Wild and free
Reaching for something to grab onto
It has wanted that since the day I was born
It will be like that the day I die
That is how I want it
That is how it will be
No matter what
Categories:
uncombed, angst, hair,
Form:
Free verse
I saw him sitting on the street,
With open arms and folded feet,
A beggar with a bowl,
He had on him a tattered jeans,
And matted locks that proved his means,
A poor and hungry soul;
I saw him coming out his car,
A rockstar with a new guitar,
The hero of the crowd,
A tattered jeans he had on him,
Uncombed long hair, unshaved face grim,
A rich brat spoilt and proud;
The beggar sat with hair not shorn,
Coz of no dough, his dress was torn,
I could understand that,
But that rich guy in clothes tattered,
Inspired by a beggar battered,
I think fashion fell flat.
08.23.17
Contest: Form T
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Theme: Tattered
Form: Tail-Rhyme
Categories:
uncombed, fashion, satire,
Form:
Tail-rhyme
Thou Art Face Book
Face Book thou art mean to me
will you be my undoing?
From my public bursts of anger
to my public boo hoo hooing.
Opinions that I once confessed
like I like dogs, not cats.
Or how I hate republicans
and I hate democrats.
Sometimes getting full of me
in my boxer underwear.
As I sit here in judgment
not shaved with uncombed hair.
Sitting here behind my screen
not believing what I see!
Reading posts from some unknown.
Did they mean that for me?
How dare they think they know me
as a lump forms in my throat.
After all! The things they know
are only what I wrote!
Woe is me cruel face book
it seems I cannot win.
I get set free from drama
and then I'm right back in.
Betty tossed her salad
Bobby told some lies.
Jerry needs a bath real bad
before he starts drawing flies.
Emma left her lover
Tom found somebody new.
I saw a home made movie.
It looked a lot like you!.
Edwin C Hofert
Categories:
uncombed, abuse, analogy, conflict, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
shoes untied, hair uncombed
waling the streets so all alone
tatted clothes ransack house
eating out trash cans day N night
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
has a cold, twenty-four with a runny nose
stands on a corner everyone disowns ya
no place to go, no one goes by him
he poses sitting on old cardboard boxes
watching the people go by in buses
HE IS HOMELESS
BUT HE HAS GOT JESUS
HOMELESS
AND ALTHOUGH HE IS A MESS HE IS STILL BLESS, HE IS JUST
HOMELESS
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
not fit to live but fit to give
you go by him and ya hearing
you hear him talkin to himself
murmuring passages sounds like scriptures to me
and why oh, why is he so happy
and why oh, why is he so happy
Lord God why or why is he so happy
(HUSH......................there is a pause in this song a stillness
wait for it
wait
résumé???)
HOMELESS
not fit to live but fit to give
you go by him and ya hearing
you hear him talkin to himself
murmuring passages sounds like scriptures to me
and why oh, why is he so happy
and why oh, why is he so happy
Lord God why or why is he so happy
no! family none than admit to be his
no job no wants to employ him Well!!
not even a place to say shelter's keeps him hid or telling he they're full
tattered clothes undeserved
tooth's in decay why is he so happy pains everywhere
why does he sing and shout (a loud)
why where does his joy come from
HE IS HOMELESS
BUT HE HAS GOT JESUS
HOMELESS
AND ALTHOUGH HE IS A MESS HE IS STILL BLESS, HE IS JUST
HOMELESS
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
HE HAS God's grace and this is sufficient for him
Written Words by James Edward Lee Sr. & The Corinthian
Arranged music by The Corinthian
July 3 2007(c)
From Anthology "Something To Sing Praises"2007(c)
Categories:
uncombed, america, analogy, caregiving, hope,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
The Cry Of A Child
The cry of a child, sometimes we can hear. The cry of a child
sometimes can be seen. We should all be on the lookout to
see when a child cries.
Abuse can come in different forms.It is not always sexaul
abuse. It can be physical, mental,or verbal, but it is still abuse.
A church one day, invited group of kids for a retreat. The kids
would have a week of fun. They would go camping, swimming,
play games and attend church services.
Since the first day - the paster notice a little girl, that did not
talk to anyone and kept to herself. The pastor decided to focuses
on her. The pastor noticed that she was dirty, had old tennis shoes
and her uncombed hair was all over her face.
The pastor took her to the side and asked her, why she didn't talked
to anyone. She answered - because, I am mean dumb and ugly. The
pastor told her - no, you are not. God did not make you dumb, mean
or ugly. Who told you that? The little girl answered - my mother
always tells me that.
The pastor told her to join the rest of the kids. Then he asked some
ladies of the church, to buy her a couple of dresses, some shoes and
other things that she might need. Then to clean and dress her up.
The next day they took her to the church service.
Everyone was amazed at how pretty she looked. As the days went
by, she learned to get along with the kids and could even smile now.
When the week was over - she was a different little girl. She had
confidence in herself. She went and thank the pastor for making her
life different...
03/12/2013
Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Note: This is all true. It happened
to my brother at his church. We should
be careful - what we tell our kids, we
could ruin their lives before they start.
Categories:
uncombed, sad, cry, day,
Form:
Free verse