Donald Trump made nothing so great again
Except his big hair fancy once again,
And the poor old puppeteer of punch lines
Faces a boomerang of mines.
Donald Trump,
Fell into a foreign policy slump.
Forgetting the Strait of Hormuz,
Forced he’s to focus on Hairmuz.
Donald Trump's coiffeur of hair,
Kept his critics in utter despair---
If held together by sheer will power,
Or industrial-grade lacquer?
In Las Vegas Donald Trump
Tried to give the economy a bump.
But no one paid him as much heed
As his massive golden mane did.
Donald Trump’s fuller head of hair
Left media memes in a frozen stare.
The AI-made serum played magic trick,
And his thin thatch turned unto bushy thick.
Donald Trump
Caused rumour mills to take a thespian jump.
And photo shops were suddenly busy
With an over-the-top teased-up medley.
____________________________
Happenings | 13.08.2026 | America, art, humour, political, satire, Clerihew
Ever sit forever on the can
as your backdoor ran, spoiling your plans
Or fall asleep at the keys
type a zillion zzzzzzzzzzzzzs
Eat a sloppy joe with your fingers
Leaving plenty for the ants who linger
Forget your cap when it rained
Ruining that new hairstyle once again…
Join the club of the ‘less-than-perfect’
of us who admit it, there is surely no surfeit
Something as simple as walking Black in America can be a risk, especially for Black males. They are sometimes labeled as suspicious, not all the time, that’s why I said “sometimes.”
They can be harassed, singled out, targeted, stopped, questioned or even arrested just for being Black.
Suspicious can be considered as, walking Black, the type of clothes you’re wearing, your hairstyle, for walking in “their” neighborhood. I don’t know a single person who owns a “neighborhood,” but whatever. It can be if you’re walking in a group, walking by yourself, if you’re walking with your hands in your pockets, the time of day, the time of night, walking too fast, walking too slow, or even to meet a quota.
So keep in mind, while walking Black in America, you may be considered a “high risk,” and it’s a possibility you “might” get stopped, so I ask that you please be compliant.
Be safe, be careful, be vigilant, be blessed, be aware, but do not afraid.
And last but not least, Be Proud!
You have a right to walk, so walk with your head held High. Walk with Boldness, Walk with Confidence and Walk with Integrity, but do not walk in fear.
here's to whimsical
blonde with blue tips and shaved sides
bobs, long, curly, straight
I have a strict morning routine,
my hairstyle is touchably clean.
Sometimes the curls go wild,
mirroring every thought growing.
Natural on the wind showing
an angle when profiled.
Never afraid to start over,
a new look’s a reinventor.
Taste is shown with a cut,
bringing about a toothy grin.
Radiating beneath the skin,
it’s that swag and a strut.
Way too feral to be tied up,
an iced coffee without makeup.
Real in the rawest way,
I can be out the door in five.
Free-spirited brunette’s alive
at the start of each day.
‘Nappy’
They call my curls a mystery,
An enigma to unwrap -
They feel the need to touch,
Then laugh when I get mad
They call it a crime scene -
‘How nobody could love that’
They call her wild and untamed,
My hair is not to be shamed
They treat my hair like a game -
‘Guess what hairstyle she has today’
They question the growth,
As if it’s one size only -
A black girls hair created the word diversity
The intricate pattern of curls,
How we are not restricted to one pattern
My hair is not an exhibition,
It’s not for your eyes to consume
My hair may be art,
But just like the mona lisa -
Touching is not allowed
MIRROR, MIRROR*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wearing a green gown, stood Starr~
a squirrel princess known near and far.
In front of her mirror she did prance
With an ego royal, filled with self-romance
“Mirror, speak of my beauty. Show me some devoir!
The mirror was wise, tried not to speak.
Thought of the princess as ugly antique.
“Your hairstyle is a horrible a mess,
And that old dress is just not noblesse!”
“Have you lost your mind, you glistening freak?!”
“Me thinks I have. What’s come over me?
Of your beauty I unequivocally agree.
I’m just a lowly piece of glass,
Who spoke out of turn, with sass.”
He paused then said, “Princess, you’re the bees knees!”
*Note: The phrase "Mirror, mirror on the wall" originates from the fairy tale "Snow White," where the Evil Queen asks her magic mirror who is the fairest of them all. This line has been popularized in various adaptations, including Disney's animated film.
Don't make a difference, gender/sex
Strands of different textures
Styles so profound with variety
Stiff, sticky, tacky, wet, or dry
Products keep it tamed for styles
Wavy, curly, straight, stringy or locked
Red, blue, green, pink, purple, or rainbow
Color(s) bring a uniqueness to a hairstyle
Hair is just an extension from the crown of the head
Its our own way to express ourselves unapologetically
Start a new style from scratch
Add extensions for any new look
Shaved head; no need for styling
Hair can carry power or hold trauma
No matter style of your crown, you matter
Only you can decide what works for you
Always remember your are amazing and beautiful with or with hair.
Our Kitty Kat has the sharpest claws
Right to the very end of her paws
When angry or upset ,she's a fright
So I try to be ultra polite -
Giving her books ...my fingers shake
Those almond of eyes stares like a quake .
Likewise called Sophisticat by few
She changes her looks, hairstyle anew
Dining with kings, leaders over tea
Her facade quite uncanny, you see--
Meows trail with many accents, her lie
She's Black Sheep's aide ,she's a German spy!
Everyone has an image of how they want to look
From super models on TV to fashion in a book
Super skinny models to muscleman who are buff
Imagine your a fighter who is invincible and tuff
Having fashioned hairstyle with hairspray and holding
Gel.
Having the best of everything expensive perfume
That has a plesent smell.
But to give yourself an image you just might go to far
So just a small reminder except who you are
In love's first glance, I found my delight,
Yet my feelings remain concealed, out of sight.
Clouds of uncertainty sometimes drift near,
Shyness envelopes me, yet I hold onto cheer.
With courage, I wish to express and convey,
"I like you," I yearn to finally say.
In verses and rhymes, my emotions I pour,
She resides in my poem, forevermore.
Her memory lingers, a vivid display,
A distinct hairstyle that won't fade away.
An ocean of emotions, she's a singular wave,
In my heart, her presence is forever engraved.
I, was created
by the dance of nostalgia and stupid pride
I, held captive by eyes
Pinned me down and shaped my style
I suit up and fade out
to a world of nothing
My pilot is on sick leave now
We're in the realm of nowhere
Just the music playing
To the rhythm of the ticking clock
When I close my eyes it's 10 pm, and it's too late to sing
From morning's light till evening's dark all in vain
I've grown old, I have no fight to redo my design
But what do I do when it's 10?
I, was altered
To the artless edible I used to hate
Days, fuse and collide
Yet I know I'm I, regardless of my hairstyle.
You think I'd be growing, overcoming
Yet I decay where no one sees me
With closed eyes, it's ten at night
Monotony repeats, again and again.
Too late for song, too late to dream,
It's ten at night
I always think
of myself and my life
as being divided into
fractions of a whole
Sometimes people told me
I resemble my mother
while some others
say I resemble my father
while the remainder believe
I am a mixed fraction of them both
I really cannot comprehend which is which
One day I had spotted
an image of my mother
on a photograph taken from her youth
I scanned it carefully and took note
she shared many similarities to myself
in tastes of
wardrobe
facial expressions
hairstyle
and even frames of glasses
I may have resembled a fraction
of my father
as a young child
while I may resemble a fraction
of my mother
as I mature into adulthood
Back, back to the joyful wood
where once you played at Robin Hood.
One-time playground, a beauty spot,
is now an Asda parking lot.
Back, back to the school bike shed
behind which you kissed or smoked instead.
You could buy a pack for half a crown.
The school's not there; the shed burned down.
Back, back to your very first catch,
together you were the perfect match.
Wonderful days and nights that were hot.
Now they are married, with children-a lot!
Back back to the car you first drove
that set you free to roam and rove.
Lovely then, but now you're aware
it guzzles gas, pollutes the air.
Back, back to the friends you once had.
They were young, weird, kooky, and mad;
what a gang, you were all wild and crazy.
Now we are all old, fat, and lazy.
Back, back to the old hairstyle,
it was a glorious purple pile.
Your mother and father were both appalled.
Unfortunately, now, you're primarily bald.
Back, back to relive your past,
those times you were having a blast.
Life was fun; it was all about play.
Why did it stop? Can no one say?
Sentimentality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Date wrote: 31st May 2022
I want the rains to come
Dust fills the sky and covers my 'just out of the salon' hairstyle
I shout out in anger but
Puffs of it burst into my open mouth
Choking me...
driving me into a fit of torrential coughs.
I want the rains to come
So i can soak myself in the warm drizzles
In the drips and drops of the summer rains
I want to hide and seek in the cracks of the lightning
the thunderous claps will mask my screams
The drops will hide my tears
Why won't the rains come...
When my heart echoes with my breath
And breaks with every step I take into the unknown
When my knees willingly bend with the weight of my loss
And tears trickle down my cheeks blinding my sight
I can't see you
I want the rains to fall
To hide my pain and wash away my sorrow
It's soft pelts will arouse in me a feeling
some feeling maybe...
For the numbness is eating away at me
Causing me to forget, to surrender to the pain
To succumb to the darkness of a life without you
I want the rains to come
So i can forget how much it hurts to miss you
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