Straight Hair Poems | Examples
These Straight Hair poems are examples of Hair poems about Straight. These are the best examples of Hair Straight poems written by international poets.
I don’t want to ‘curl up with a nice book by the fire
on a long, cold, snowy winter’s night’
No! I want something riveting
a story with some punch! to challenge me
and my prehistoric convictions
Can it sit me up straight in my chair,
hair, not hearth, on fire? If not, count me out
~ my heart's not retired
individual
suited to your taste
shocking or simple
Yule Brenner shaved
beauty shop Bertha
mohawk friendly
fixed and fancy
pony tails
curly or straight
beads and bows
one lone braid
pigtails
messy
coiffured
hair
Where wall meets ground
and nothing's round,
by God's design
on that straight line
a lizard's found.
Where wind blows air,
a child's gold hair
flies all around -
a princess crowned
laughs without care.
Nobody knows
where the time goes.
On that day, fair,
a boy was there,
the day he chose.
There’s a nadir of personal despair -
In feminine terms it’s - No hair, no flair!
My hairy genes caused me lifelong distress,
I longed for a look I didn’t possess.
I daydreamed of golden locks as a girl,
Blessed with neither a wave nor with a curl.
Straighter than hay mine hang in disarray,
Cradle to coffin - lifelong bad hair day.
And so pertaining my hapless hirsute
I was braided, I ironed in my pursuit.
Slept with hard rollers, a perm I did try,
And lots of hairspray, that’s how I went by.
In vanity’s name I bent backwards in vain
Since straight and straighter my old locks remain.
No quiescent coiffure is meant for me -
Distressing tresses are my destiny.
I stare at the nostalgic art
It is straight out of the fifties
When women were dying thei hair
Turquois to match their turquoise car and luggage
Or pink to match their pink car and luggage
I stare at the art; remembering my youth
Thinking pink hair made sense
it did in the fifties.
Curly's twirly
frizzy's dizzy
Straight ain't crazy
wavy's straight
Hair can define
personality
Even predict
sexuality
When I was growing up, the child I used to be
awakened every morning by the smell of his coffee.
Mami would make some breakfast
a bowl of cereal would do.
She claimed that it would make us strong
and help with grades in school.
We would hurry to be dressed
before we were told twice.
The morning ritual would always begin
with Papi and his coffee.
We would sit very still daring not to move,
as he plastered our hair with some Dixie Peach.
He combed every strand of our long curly hair,
before pulling it back as straight as could be.
In a pony or pig tail and tight as it could be
For as long as I remember, I will always miss you see
The time that Papi combed my hair
When a child I used to be.
There once was a cute little girl named Sue
Smack dab down her forehead, a curlicue
She so much wanted straight hair
She planted an iron there
Now, instead of hair, she's got barbeque