gave myself a haircut
no training or certificate
no license
no degree
my favorite haircut ever
Every snip feels off.
I stare at my own hair.
The sides are sharp today.
The top does not feel right.
I run my fingers through.
It is different, maybe odd.
I pause, not sure I like it.
I hope it grows on me.
Maybe they will like it.
It could be a better look.
Could even catch some smiles.
The girls might notice too.
The mirror feels more kind.
The cut starts to take shape.
Maybe it just needs time.
It might be working out.
I take a breath, step back.
Maybe it is bold, maybe fun.
A quiet pat on my back.
Light catches every line.
I let myself smile a little.
It may be different, but I like it.
I own this change, I own the cut.
It feels good, it feels like me.
I walk away with a small grin.
Feeling good about what I see.
Different, yes, but bold.
I like this new cut on me.
Grandma said she would take care of the kids now
I knew things were tight, gramps had run off with the cow
and a woman, but we were sworn to secrecy about that
Grandma took her anger out on us. Now I have to wear a hat
I once sported a manly beard,
a beastly beard had I.
But then on the farm, at the crack of dawn,
while my lady cheered,
she chopped it off, and while the cows mockingly mooed,
I quietly cried.
And with that, a little something inside of me died.
I would venture to guess it was my manly pride.
She brushed and whispered into my tickled ear
"Brian, how I pined for your lovely face,
and your youthful countenance.
You don't need a mane to rival a lion in ferocity
-you're sensitive and wise,
I can see it in your eyes,
and your words they always seem to make sense."
Who was I to debate with her?
Her words would lose weight
if I failed to concur.
I let you cut my hair.
Whether you were doing well
Or about to make a fool
Of your only daughter
Completely irrelevant
As I focused on your
Darting nervous eyes
The wrinkles in the corners
Tightening with ever pass
Of those clunky barber scissors.
I realized you had no idea
What you were doing,
But I couldn’t bring myself
To pull away from hands
That grasp frantically at love
Like it would vanish if I so much
As peered over my shoulder
At the piles of hair collecting
Between our feet.
I took my son to the barbers today, and I sat there and I thought about how it compared to when I was small,
All of the equipment is battery driven, but way back when it was scissors that were usually blunt,
The seat for a child was a plank of wood, but now they have a comfortable seat to make them feel good.
They asked my son about his style, but a long time ago it was just short back and sides.
The tools they use today seems to be all throw away as I look around the shop,
but a long time ago they were sharpened on a long leather strop.
My son got to choose who cut his hair, he chose Rosa, but I had only one choice, old Bob Fenner and I am absolutely certain he charged less than a tenner!
As she waked through the door I could tell by the look in her eye
Exactly what she wanted and I would be the one to give it to her
Sitting her down I wrapped her firmly and released the golden locks
Which flowed like silk down her sides
My well-oiled tool stroked its way thru her thick mat of hair
Giving her what she wanted as best as I could continuing my motion
First from the rear, the from the sides and finally from the front
As I spun her around to see she begged for just one more inch
Telling her I would do my best I obliged and finished shortly after
As I uncovered her she rose from the chair beaming with satisfaction
I asked if I would see her again, she did not respond
I knew she would return again just as before and I would be ready.
It’s true, she didn’t ask me to do it.
But I could tell the first time we had dinner together,
When she mentioned the appointment with her stylist,
That she’d not be displeased if I made an appointment of my own.
I now look back and see that as a turning point in my life
No less disastrous than the one that reduced
That other slayer of Philistines to similar misfortune.
But I’ll rattle these temple pillars yet.
Just give me time.
he sits
she cuts
hair once dark
like nights
of passion shared
now white
with streaks
and still she cuts
remembering
this once bold man
strong and full of challenge
mighty shoulders
arms that lifted her with ease
squeezed her breathless
brought her to her knees
with love
now flaccid weak
balding gray
this man she loves
so dearly
fades away
through her tears
she cuts
remembering
his loving touch
with hands
firm and smooth
marked with veins
that pumped
his hearts longing
through his body
to her loins
and now
a morning kiss
a peck goodnight
what love remains
she cuts.
King of the Jungle
Queuing with my homies
Houdinis every one.
No sharpened tongues, but scissors,
To calm the shaggy throng
Not all blokes in this queue,
Despite lockdown's grooming blooper,
As I stand here and review,
Will contest my Bradley Cooper
Alas, Delilah wins.
It's time to shave my greying locks
Hirsute-less head, Yul Brynner,
Now the look my ego rocks
Now a simple peasant
With falling dreams, so vain.
No more the Isolation King
With glorious flowing mane..
My crowning jewel.
Majestic theft!
The jungle cries, her heart bereft..
As gothic curls now hit the floor;
The swooning fans will be no more
And yet..
Enthroned here, buys me precious time..
To formulate this simple rhyme
And meditate upon what's passed
As hairy shoes I have amassed.
I dwell on more important things
While scissors snap, and clipper sings
Of friendship. Love.
Of breathing air.
Despite the loss of debonaire..
The blessing of recaptured choices.
The privilege of freedom's voices.
And now my head, so strangely free;
Reminds of who I'm meant to be.
Jinjagoliath
13th April 2021
Barbershops all closed,
a Covid nonessential.
I clip my own mop.
Before today, the last time
Was on February third.
I looked a mess; if you had seen me
You would have concurred.
For shorter hairdos need a trim
More often than the long.
That in-between length somehow looks
Just ultra flat-out wrong!
But now that my reflection,
Which the mirror does display,
Looks a whole lot more familiar,
I must cover up the gray!
The Haircut
Written: by Miracle Man
5/16/2020
My hair is too long due to barbershops shutting,
I trim best I can but my hair sure needs cutting.
Today, on the street i stand silently waiting,
this one man barber shop now has me debating.
Gloves on, face masked, thinking is it worth my travail?
and my glasses start to fog each time i exhale.
It appears COVID-19 has ushered the mullet back,
but all things being equal I won’t hear much smack.
Flowing gray locks blown by the wind.
gives me a look of a hippy woman,
wearing bell-bottom jeans with a wide belt,
a big-collared shirt covered with a vest of felt.
Time for a haircut.
Hanging onto my hair length makes me feel
secure as I look at the mirror and realize that the
only things which changed are the color and my age,
one time it was chestnut brown which was the rage.
Time for a haircut.
I have to admit, I am no longer the raging beauty,
the flower child of the sixties who drove from town to
town in a van painted with daises looking for eden,
a hidden commune called Woods of Sweden.
Time for a haircut.
The time has arrived as I make up my mind,
cutting my hair is accepting my age and not hanging
onto my past as a young woman who knew that one
day her fountain of youth would slip by and be done.
Time for a haircut.
Got a special “old man” haircut today
At 84, still got lots to comb and display
Gonna go on TV
Feeling free
A new star would emerge in the world of ballet
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