Hairdos Poems

1960s hairdos

in the sixties they teased our hair
with a comb, they put rats in it
making it higher and higher
it could never be high enough or fluffy enough

Combing it out was a nightmare
because after they ratted it they sprayed it
with enough hair spray to choke six elephants
the good old days!

No Such Thing

There’s no such thing as normal
For we’re each of us unique,
From our styles – blasé or formal – 
To our hairdos or physique.

What we read or eat or order,
Where we visit, shop or sleep,
If we’ve come from ‘cross a border
Or tend flowers or raise sheep…

We are like no other being
For, no matter what we’re taught,
We all have a way of seeing
Tailored to the truths we’ve brought.

All our daily interactions,
Each experience we know,
Either blinds us with distractions
Or directs us where to go.

Yet the slights and hurts assemble
And accumulate as well,
Meshed with joys ‘til we resemble
All that lives within our shell.

Mallory Wanted To Be Herself

Millions of girls wanted to be delicate and pretty.
Mallory was not one of them, she wanted to be herself.
The others flocked to the same places
Wanting identical hairdos, copying another girl’s nail art.
Mallory had no time to worry about nail art.
She was learning bone and muscular structure

Millions of girls wanted to be invited to prom
Mallory was not one of them, she was answering her mail.
Sixteen colleges had told her that she had been admitted.
She was making her choices
Eight of them offered to pay her entire tuition.
One offered to also pay her room and board.
She selected that one.

Wind

Windy wild wind whipping flailing and cutting through
You bring us together like invisible glue

Holding hats and huddling hands clasping crunched capes 
Jealous soul you bold barometric beast

Hairdos, skirts, scarves, hats and pails blown away in envious fury
If we could capture you you’d be in front of a jury!

Bras of the Seventies

Silky polka dots, paisleys, flowered bras too.
Printed sweetly in the seventies, reds, and blues.
Debbie had the prettiest that was the big news.
Hers was rainbow in ambry, type of gentle hues.
Bras were more important than any of our hairdos.
Why we needed fancy, did some of us confuse.
Those who did not realize free love was not a ruse.

Haircut

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!

Hairdos and Dont's

Bertha wore her hair in a bun
So tight it made her eyes run
She did not care
For combing her hair
Nor did her mop-haired son

Mustang Sally Dwm

Sixties music was so sublime.
It was bell bottomed trousers and Motown time.
The Tracks of My Tears and Ooh Baby, Baby
Our dances to our parents seemed crazy.

We would slow grind to Smokey’s croon
or do the jerk to a Supremes’ tune.
Afro hairdos swung to Temptations’ beat
while America burned with racial heat.

Soon we would form a Soul train line
where you’d see dances of all kind
hustles, shuffles, splits called ‘’james brown’’
“Mustang Sally, slow your Mustang down”

3/15/20		

“Kim Rodrigues’ DWM Contest”

Predictable

In a world where change is inevitable we never see it coming 
new and more advanced search engines 
hairdos that shock us with color and multi dimensional form 
faster cars that run on solar energy 
foods syringed with synergetic fibre, may or may not be  
lethal to our health...
Plastic trees and recycled items that make us wonder,  
what was it once before ? 
weather buffets that whip us one day and stroke us the next 
hyper media intoxication that makes us beg for temperance
In a world that is one day your best friend and the next 
your adversary, 
I'm glad I have a home to come home to every night 
I'm glad I have a family that never leaves my sight 
I'm glad I don't like change enough to give up being
 "predictable" 
In this volatile world where nothing ever stands still for very long,
I'm glad I reached an age of appreciation, for the same old song. 
  
Dec. 3, 2019

Problematic Love

Let me love your imperfections
(That suggest I've chance to win.)
Makeup, jewels, fancy hairdos
Cover multitudes of sin,

Cleanliness the highest virtue
That I still aspire to reach.
All the rest need heavy lifting,
Something few men learn or teach!

Love me, though humility's not
Appellation I deserve.
Win your trust? My tombstone's shingle -
"Lonely heart - desires to serve!"

Long Tooth
May 14, 2019

Beautiful Fall

BEAUTIFUL FALL

Brisk the breeze that shivers the pines,
Excites the mind, in throes of daydreams,
About escaping from the tests — that litter of
Untimely pop quizzes of consequence.
Thrust the football — enervate the bleachers!
Irradiate the touchdown of the student body cheeks.
Freeze the lament of leaves in joyous hue!
Unfasten the laces of maple and oak hairdos.
Loosen the season’s best gourds and wild relief.

Fall into the raked leaves of Autumnal bliss,  the
Allspice of uniforms and costumes, the vainglorious 
Lift — running down the padded field and making passes.
Learned in school - the beautiful charm of Fall.

9/7/2018

Animal Life

In the dog-days of summer of so long ago
there were bear-hugging moments I like to recall
Like leafing through pages of ram-shackle books,
that are dog-eared, and faded, wearing hound-tooth worn seams
I had a bull's-eye encounter with puppy-tail schemes

There are cat-walks through memories, over turkey-trot trails 
wearing pigtails, and Mother Goose, and laughter would peal 
Where pony-tailed hairdos would swing like a bell,
and where kids could play leap-frog, and happiness dwells 

We would run like the roosters and bull-doze the grass,
picking puffed dandelions, to blow with our breaths
Spreading the catnip and watching it gasp
Grasping the wind, while it wolfed-down the rest

Blooming sweet dogwood would bend in the breeze
Elephant-ears would line every  path
With cattails and polly-wogs, we would bunny-hop home
for chickpeas, and monkey bread, and gooseberry creams
Then hug little teddy-bear, in our goose-down reclines
while dog-days of summer would live for all time

Death Affair

It’s a family Affair
Even though it’s a time of despair 
We get all dolled up
Beautiful you look as well
Is it not your day
It’s quite hard to tell

Everyone stands looking at you
In new dresses and suits
Even new hairdos 
Party time or a time for grief
Sad one minute 
Seeming happy the next
As we pose to take photos
Next to a coffin filled of death

They drink and they laugh
Even pouring rum at your grave
For some the tears keep pouring 
Or is that water on their face from the rain that’s pouring

They loved you so they say 
Are we mourners or patrons
Cause mourners shouldn’t dress like this
I think not
In the shortest of dresses and highest of heels
No longer will your wounds heal

Deep below you will sleep
That oh so sweet eternal sleep
Wounds heal no more
Cause decay you will soon
Forgive us in the afterlife
For the absence of sorrow
Cause no longer will you have a tomorrow

Harebrained

“HAREBRAINED”



some females are fickle.
there's a boyfriend every
other month.
it's always the same **** 
inside the same changes:
smiles where there were
none.
new clothes where there
were none.
makeup where there was
none.
hairdos where there were
none.
quickly followed by new 
words where words never 
existed. 
it is new, happy and smeared 
with the fresh scent of new 
love.
for those of us who have 
lived,
for those of us who watch
the boyfriends come in and
out according to the needs 
of emotion and sexuality,
for those of us who watch
the riding of the horse,
for those of us who have 
seen the fall before, 
we know the next fall is 
right around the corner on 
heartache street. 


soon the smile will go,
soon the clothes will be a
defining point of laziness,
so too will be the lack of 
makeup.
the hair will return to it's 
careless state.
the words will become less,
down to none.
the smell of **** will fill
their noses as another love
lost, enters their log book
of failed loves.
grab a seat.
the show is about to
start.


By: Chicano Eddie
10-5-2016

Anniversary

Today's the anniversary
Of when my parents wed,
But they're not here to celebrate
Since both of them are dead.

Their wedding picture's in a frame;
They're young and all a'glow,
With hairdos in the styles once worn
So many years ago.

I wasn't yet a glimmer in
Their thoughts that happy day.
The future was a question mark
But they were on their way.

And now our years together
Live in memory's secret file.
On days like this I take a peek,
For just a little while.

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