I’ve always loved the color pink.
It is the color of ballerinas, barbie dolls, butterfly clips,
And other silly things like those.
Pink is cute
Pink is frilly
Pink is girly
Who would love this fragile color?
Certainly not a strong girl like myself.
Why don’t I like a strong color,
A mighty color,
A fearless color?
Why would I love the color of weak?
The color of soft?
The color of meek?
I do still love pink.
Pink clothes,
A pink rose,
Even a pink nose.
It lurks on the covers of my notebooks,
On my hairbrush,
Even my mouthwash is pink.
Although bolder colors call, I still always chose pink.
Why?
Because kindness is hard.
And because meekness takes strength.
Because living life in love is a choice.
Pink is the courage to be kind.
I've always loved the color pink.
I remember brushing my hair in the dark
hearing the electricity zap
my twin and I used to touch the air, getting shocked
laughing about it
this was enormously fun when we were ten
He primps that dome like it’s his crown,
A shiny orb, the talk of town.
Shaves that bowling ball twice a day,
No rogue hairs dare to stay.
Refined olive oil, scentless, slick—
His scalp’s own secret, glossy trick.
Then Axe spray rains, a scented storm,
Because the ladies find that charm.
Post-shower, towel wraps so neat,
Humidity’s spa for his heat.
Pores open wide, like welcome mats,
While he admires himself in flats.
Mirrors lurk in every nook,
Catching every shiny look.
Not married yet? “I’m picky,” he grins,
Waiting for love to roll right in.
On his dresser, a brush sits proud—
No bristles live, it’s just a shroud.
A hairbrush purely for show,
To tease the girls who don’t quite know.
No follicles, but full of flair,
Hair-care metaphors everywhere.
A follicle-free knight of sheen,
The baldest king you’ve ever seen.
Embellished by the artist's
softest marten hairbrush
unfolds creatively on the canvas
The view that takes your breath away
when the evening sun is
curved on the edge of the earth
- in the magic hour
Nature's beauty is on full display
It is something exceptional
at every sunset
Notice how the heavens
and the sea is changing
From yellow, orange and pink
- to purple and intense red
Gracefully and powerful
Full of wonder I breathed deeply in silence
observes and appreciates the work of art
A photo on a dating site
How gorgeous that girl looked
By text we flirted all that night
And I was truly hooked
She looked like a celebrity
Like Marilyn Monroe
With sexy eyes and pouting lips
And slim from head to toe
We texted till we felt at ease
And then we made the choice
We swapped our numbers eagerly
To chat some more by voice
She said some sexy things to me
(And some that made me blush)
I praised her lovely curly hair
She praised her own hairbrush
But I’m a proper cockney
And it turns out so was she
One thing she did the same as me
Was say ‘H’ silently
So when we met I got a shock
It seemed I’d got it wrong
Her ‘H’ had not been silent
For an ‘H’ did not belong
She hadn’t used her hairbrush
And her airbrush was long gone
Because the girl in front of me
Looked just like Elton John
______________
[‘Goodbye Norma Jean’ from ‘Candle In The Wind’
by the aforementioned Mr John]
A small hairbrush
On a small shelf
Over her bed
We had talked together
The night before
Not about the weather
Hurricane
Raining; 40 days and 40 nights
Had we talked about the weather
We had talked about things
Things difficult to talk about
Hard to continue, hard to stop
I had seen her comb her hair
I had not seen her brush it
It was a small hairbrush
A brush made for smaller hands than mine
I could picture her mother; brushing her hair
A memento; of mother lost
I showed her the brush; standing in front of the mirror
Picture a beach: children playing under the sun
Picture a beach: winter storm coming on strong
Picture a mirror: two faces
Picture two facial expressions
Changing; like waves on the sea
Picture a bed
Picture two people sharing it
Close encounters
I decided to by her a gift
Thought about what to buy
Not a hair brush
after months
many moons
taking to my
hairbrush
pulling out
the hair that
my brush had
pulled out
from my head
and beard but
what to do
with it as it
seems a waste
to throw away
so pondering
thoughts thinking
recycle
so first i tried
to be a cat and
swallow then
throw up
but
hairballs
aren't any
fun so then
drying it out
trying to
push it in
as if lint
into my
bellybutton
but it was
too small so
next
puckering my
lips as to kiss
adding this
hair to where
my mustache
already
exists
it tickled
my nose
to sneeze not
wanting none
of this
so thus lit
the lightbulb
above my head
a great idea
super gluing
back where
it had
come
from
touche
toupee
Maybe, if I brush
My hair a certain way, then
Hide that bump right on my chin,
Or push my fingers
And pop it out, courage now
while I look for my hairbrush.
I rowed my boat
to my favorite spot
The water was cool
The sun was hot
I took my pole
And loaded my bait
Put on my hat
And started to wait
I hoped for a big one
Or so I thought
At the end of the day
Here’s what I caught….
A watering can, a rubber boot
A curling iron and a flute
An old ice skate, a bicycle tire
A picture frame, a ball of wire
A basketball, some braided rope
A hairbrush and a telescope
I now know why
I didn’t get my wish
The signs say’s “No fishing”
Cuz there aren’t any fish!
Is the logic of a lioness the same as a dogfish? Or a display in a shop window of pretty pink kittens? Very definite is a definition of derived detail. Oh look over there. Quickly. The window in the furniture store has become quite alive. The chair is moving away from the table and the table leg is attempting to snare the chair but it isn't working. Oh such commentary of the wall clock. Standing proudly on the street. Admiring the sun clad people in shirts skirts and shorts. Ready for a little time in the waves. But waves are not wiry nor weaves. And a polish arriving is a main line attempt to break into a glamorous mermaid glass. And so it has a day in the country air to dash up and down. Chasing sticks. Sticks sticking salivating salty sprat of spray. But not in a yawn is a yard and no harsh hound is a hateful hasty hairbrush. But hairbreadth is said to be useful for a comb to attempt keep fit and therefore remain toned. Ha the undertones of an untamed unfathomable unicorn. Ha a beak of a silver cup chatting. Xxxx intoxication z z z z at nineteen peeled grape slices to zero ground driving drips. Z z z z z
Alopecia
I'm lying across my purple bed,
Staring at my vanity.
I just wish I was dead.
I'm losing my sanity.
I can't stand taking these meds.
Their killing me, you see?
I'm a mess.
I'm not lying, I'm as truthful as can be.
I used to be pretty.
Now I'm ugly.
I miss my long beautiful locks,
Now they've all fallen off.
I sit up on my purple bed,
Facing the vanity.
My useless hairbrush is there,
And I'm screaming profanities!
What is it doing there?
I can't brush what isn't there!
Ever since I was diagnosed,
I've been feeling sick in the head.
My parents gave me these meds.
They'll make you feel better they said.
Now I'm drugged,
And I feel unplugged
What is the point of the hairbrush,
When there's nothing to brush?
My sister has stopped talking to me,
Pretending things are the way it's Supposed to be.
I miss my former beauty.
I want my hair and instead all is see is,
Bald, ugly me.
Instead I just sleep.
In my eyes I see,
My self-pity hole,
That I've dug so deep.
In that dark, dark hole,
Is that useless hairbrush,
And ugly me.
The didactic duty of a hairbrush is to skim stones at toll gates. But harmonising at a concert of trumpeting elephants is just not audible and therefore unsatisfactory to an inner ear. Peace sign then. Emblematic embroidered embryonic events. Good. A tidal flow is a force field for atomic injestion whilst a wheel whirs. Ignorance is a slug whose portly face is glazed in a stare of a sloth. Capricious and captivating to horse faces with many many bags. Wow. How amazing it is. Simply astonishing really. Aromatherapy of a plant base. Great. Trying taking training teaming tampering trampling trafficking traders. And a large hundred foot daisy with a huge welcoming smile. Hugs from the leaves. Hahahaha and a small darting basin. Xxxx dodecahedron z
The evening air is warm; the sky
ablaze, splashed in hues of scarlet red.
Lost in reverie, she sits on the porch,
on her favourite woven wicker chair.
Absentmindedly, she twirls her finger
round a strand of silver-white long hair,
reminiscing, eyes half closed, hairbrush
resting on her lap beneath a frail hand.
She smiles as images tease her mind,
momentary glimpses of carefree youth
which all too soon disappear, unrecalled,
lost once more in the hazy mists of time...
-----------------------------------------------
5th February, 2016
The hairbrush you held
With your delicate hand
Still holds your hair
As if you were still here
Your scent lingers on
Long after the love is gone
If this hair is dead
You’re alive in my head
My hair is unkempt
My beard is uncut
The lights have not been lit since
In darkness, atoning for my sins
The leaves remind of you in the pool
The waves remind me of your curls
Of your wet hair that so perfectly fell
In the heat of passion I loved to pull
I’ve already packed
Everything you need
For your trip, Little One.
“Yes,” she said,
“But I’ve never been
To Chicago before,
And I just might need
My old hairbrush
And this book I used to like,
And…” it all went
Into her backpack
I smiled then
And again later
As we walked the long concourse.
Steps faltered
And tears of fatigue flowed
Down my daughter’s face
Until a loving elder brother
Took the unnecessary burden
So we all
Could make our plane.
I shoulder my own
Unwieldy baggage,
And trudge with faltering step,
Tears of frustration
And fatigue
Rolling down my face.
I fail to acknowledge
That Father has sent me
Already fully equipped,
And I’m reluctant to release
My unnecessary burden
To the Brother who
Would carry it for me.
And in my obstinance
I just might miss
My flight!
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