Once upon a time, as the fable goes
There were us, your dog and my cat
Behind the fences the big outside was
Suggesting the stuff that we used to get
Pharmacies, hospitals, vets, hairdressers
Asda, the Co-op, your long earrings
Your roses and hyacinths, Uniglo dresses
The golden rings on your fingers
Your laughter when you threw your head back
And we drank wine talking about
Everything until we blurred into black
And the dawn was close to come out
Bottles of Lucozade, pods and sensors
Your blood glucose measures and pills
Your vapes, your questions and my answers
The photos you took from Coombe hill
I can't seem to put it into consistency
Into a somewhat coherent narrative
Can’t glue back the broken vase in subsistency
It seems like forever preparative
Here’s the apple tree in the sunset rays
With the apples down on the ground
Once upon a time, as the fable says
There were us, but we can’t be found.
in the seventies we all wanted to look like Farrah Fawcett of course
She was a gorgeous blonde actress, her smile was a heavenly force.
We ran to the hairdressers to get the Farrah Fawcett cut.
None of us looked like her, so the cut was kind of a bust.
There's a little town in Ouyen Vic.'' Under 1200 people so
I'll tell you bout aspects; of it sort'a quick!
There's Clarys slate bush etching, in three d real fine.!
And a little hairdressers that comes to mind.?
The conveniance store.' And theres some more.!
Like the old English banknotes found under
Its timber hall floor.' Also Kingdon chickens thats out a bit'
Where I worked a time 'come to think of it?' There
Was that pet Emu..Dang! I've forgot its name?
It would steal your food, just take it plain.' Away
From your hand, on the way to your mouth!!
Maybe thats the reason i left the South? I reckon
I'll get back there one of these days..And lay a
A fresh sandwich upon that old birds grave.!
Past original lethal practice
today modernly assumed
and legalized
as hairdressers, Delilah
still Cuts the hair of
her lover Samson...!
The truth is that people think I am the best listener in the world.
I have mastered the face and the expressions of the most interested.
I can toss out the best impression of a person who cares.
I am doing it correctly, for waitresses sit down and tell me their story.
I scoot over for waiters, hairdressers and bartenders too.
A few well placed “hms”, “wows” and “oh, mys" make me fast friends.
Most are self-involved, care not if they learn anything about me.
They want my deeply empathetic hazel eyes to pull out their truths.
I am an actress, playing a role, giving them what they need.
Wondering why they are too selfish to ask me anything about me.
I am the world’s most notorious imposter of a listener.
Many times I am on autopilot, not hearing a word they say.
Sadly, they hug me goodbye and tell me how much it means to them.
I spied eighteen ‘yeti’s in line
One even looked like Frankenstein
Since lockdown’s been lifted
For haircuts they’d drifted
The barber’s skills made them look fine
Slight tongue in cheek observation after our barbers and hairdressers have been allowed to open
06 08/20
Oh bother I look like a badger
and I do not have any hair dye,
But I’ve discovered the perfect product
on its coverage you can always rely
It’s a temporary spray on hair colour
believe me it really is a godsend
as my hairdressers closed cos of covid
and it’s driving me right round the bend!
I shake the can for about 30 seconds
as the mixture’s in need of a mix
then spray it onto my grey parting
my hair’s fixed in a couple of clicks!
If your hair‘s in-between a colour
please take notice of my handy tip
buy a spray on temporary colour
to remove your silver landing strip!
For my sweet on line friend Sundae
05/19/20
The cleaners are closed
The barber shop too
Pandemic madness
For many, quite a few.
Hairdressers slam shut
You cannot buy wood glue
Schools not open
Because of the dhrammed flu.
I stood in the middle of a rose garden
I watched nature map out its own pattern
I quietly listened out for the budding
And heard the sound of a bee buzzing
I stood in the middle of a rose garden
I saw withering evened out by blossom
I sought after a floating flutter
I sought after the wings of a flower
What could be missing in this scenic botany?
Aroma and beauty is not the only expectancy
It feels like a beauty parlour without hairdressers
It feels like a sweet flavor without taste-testers
The greeter of the flower buds
The day watch of rosariums
The symbol of a warm welcome
Is in the romance of a butterfly
Daylight misses their soundless claps
Daylight misses their flight
We clipped their colorful flaps
When we killed all the butterflies
So much for my ideas of slowing down,
Taking it easy just sitting watching TV.
I moved to a peaceful seaside town,
Since then I have found a few things occupy me.
I play bridge at least three times every week,
Read poems with a group on Thursday afternoons,
For extra fun I can find anything I seek
And I can write about it and put it to tunes.
On Tuesday mornings I see my four men
In the U3A song writing group that I run.
They compose their music on my key board and then
I write some words and another song has begun.
The women visit Fridays. We have fun,
Writing rhymes, banging bongos, blow didgeridoos,
Each week there are many things waiting to be done
Bells to shake, guitars to play, so much to choose.
Hairdressers, library, lots of jigsaws to do,
Trips to town, trips to do weekly shopping,
Mah-jong, Scrabble, flower arranging, cooking too,
Tea dances, line dancing from foot to foot hopping.
Each week at the local coffee morning
I get to hear about all that is being planned,
There’s knitting, card making, keep fit and it’s dawning
NO TIME FOR TV I’m too busy, understand!
An unfortunate calibre is a turtle turning in a towel. Vast vistas vacate villages videoing vests vehemently And all the time the sleeping beast snores as the cattle drive by in their mooving mobile manufactured machines. It is never wise to sit and stare at such a display of destruction. For restrictions can even be found in a tree root. Thus enabling an atomic automobile in an apron to attempt a curling dive. But not in a hairdressers nor in a cotton cottage garden. So one two three then whisper to the whales. How rather gallant. And how perfectly formed is a fine angled sheet on a washing line. Motionless but moving. Slight tepid breezes to assist drying. And a little flirtatious dove sparkling with a neat tiara and wand. Over a grey. Through a black. Olive oil and a sultry smile from a doorstep snake. Writhing in a wild wind. Such craftsmanship in an opaque skyline. Visionary visualising via very vertical vortexes. And quite often a radio held cup is indifferent to the fall out from portrayed portion of potatoes. Hahaha sensory steam hahaha lake learning laughter hahaha stem cell of sand xxxxx hypnotising hypothetical hippopotamus xxxxx bionic bread xxxxx vertiginous Z.
People often say now I understand
When they hear that I'm from Paree
Not Gay Paree silly, but redneck
In the heart of Tennessee
I am the newest style of hairdressers
Here to lay out all the facts
I no longer work on the tops of heads
But straight out of the pits
It all happened when I got bored
With the every day to day
Trimming of the head left me feeling dead
That's when it hit me..."Underarm Braid"
That right there was my life saver
That right there was my turn around
If it didn't make me world famous
At least it did on this side of town
Now people come from as far as Nashville
To have their underarms done
I even gave a left and right pit Mohawk
To the Governor's daughter and son
What? Did you think I only braided?
There's so much more that I can do
Just ask the Punk Rock Chick's that wait in line
To have their armpits colored blue
My older clientele have let there hair grow out
Since it is they learned
I'm now specializing in for both women and men
Their favorite sets and perms
So feel the freedom of the pits
That hippie chicks have long since known
Here at Michael's Salon Of Pits
We'll do something special with that growth
Girls always shopping for a new dress,
Painting their nails to look their best,
In front of the mirror putting make-up on,
At the hairdressers getting it done,
I think they all need a good rest.
Dear Lord, I’d love to meet you. I’ll just check my diary now
To see when it’s convenient, so I can squeeze you in somehow.
Oh dear, it seems on Monday night I won’t be free.
I’ve made a new acquaintance, who has invited me for tea.
On Tuesday, I’ll be at the hairdressers fixing a new style.
So I’m afraid that day won’t do, ‘cause my hair might take a while.
I can pencil you in on Wednesday between twelve and one.
But I’m conscious that my meeting may go on and on and on.
Ah, Thursday might be better, but it’s very, very tight.
I’ll be preparing a meal for friends coming over that night.
Friday is not looking good; I’ve a report that needs completing
And after that, I apologise, I’ve booked another meeting.
Saturday is family day; and we have so many things planned.
You know how family is important; I’m sure you’ll understand.
Since I’m going to church on Sunday, I’m sure I’ll meet you there.
I guess we can catch up between the worship and the prayer.
But right now Lord, I’ve got to dash, I have no time to speak.
So hopefully we’ll rearrange and attempt to meet next week!
©E.E.Ogbeta
The dreaded Cancer, seems to me,
gets much too much publicity.
In restaurants, both fast and fine,
at parties up and down the line,
in hurried conversations at
the place I buy food for my cat,
the barber or the hairdressers,
wherever gather hims and hers,
the Cancer Chat is all the rage.
Why, one can hardly turn a page
of any monthly, weekly, daily,
but there is “Cancer” hearty-haley
written or advertised about
as if its fame must be spread out
to every cranny dark or light.
You’d think Cancer was boon not blight.
And clearly there is some obsession
within the medical profession
for keeping Cancer at the core
of physiological lore.
They pet- or ct-scan every inch
if we complain of ache or pinch.
Mention a pain, from toe to eye?
They’ll send you for an MRI.
Amounts of money much too great
are spent, as if to celebrate
the lure of Cancer’s beck and call—
I’m sick and tired of it all.
But please...don’t tell another soul
I’m sick and tired. Just say “he’s whole”
if they should question, give that answer
or I’ll be suspected of having Cancer!
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