Long Follicles Poems
Long Follicles Poems. Below are the most popular long Follicles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Follicles poems by poem length and keyword.
January 24th, 2023 Hair washing heralds huge happening
Hark….the herald angels sing, and twitter
for mass communication
mediums stop the presses
when I, a regular schlemiel
take shampoo to mine matted mass mop
(no less than once a week)
of straggly follicles, and commence
to dispense with the heady eco system
viz rare crop of flora and fauna
(some rank as endangered species)
rub and band together
to scratch envy of
flaky key neigh bring ponytails
and create quite an niche,
and where also can be found
lousy knit wit vendors ready to scalp
and give shaft to razor sharp purveyors,
who mane lee scout out available
head and shoulder room to nap
without a stir, tub bed down
(praying Holy Scott no wash out
nor Harris mint occurs),
or burrow vis a vis,
where subcutaneous porous droplet size
watership down pieces
of prime residence found
counting one mister comb lee
bald bold faced realtor
amidst competing rival
bulb buss Edward scissorhands
(with knot to heavy a price toupee)
affianced to rapunzel,
whom he sheared split ends
as her barber of civil,
one dapper dander ruff dude to offer
lice cent shuss insects a tonsured
cut above other stylish habitués
preferring to fraternize,
glad-hand, and hobnob
amidst a cluster of big wigs
housed by yours truly - Samson
in gleaming puffy pompadour
pads tightly secured
with the best dreadlocks,
which harum-scarum
green barrettes serve
as first line of rinse able defense
IdentityGuard (with franchisee
Bob O Link averse to split hairs, but fierce
as a Mohawk and ring leader
to protect any curl of mine)
waving away intruders,
who if insist tubby persistent
and tangle with fate
cannot expect camaraderie
from buzz cutting crew i.e. the fuzz
to give expletive filled lathering,
severe shame poo wing subjugation
plus an up braiding experience),
and teach stragglers
they will suffer
a real perm in hint bang up job
if they brazenly brush
against brylcreem of the crop
rooted as rightful heirs
(hairs) of tousled doo mane,
thus concludes my tail.
Postscript: Yours truly
an aging long haired
seventh generation pencil neck geek
finds ultra joy when
volunteering for kitchen duty,
hence imagine the hypothetical picture
portraying Geico caveman
mimicking pseudo dawn of humanity.
(We may appear to be different we all belong to GOD, Now Realize That)
A young boy sat down by the roadside
Watching all of the other children playing
He let out a long and lonesome sigh
All of the sudden the wind came by and blew his cap from his head
The child ran as fast as he could trying to hide the shiny spots on his head
Without showing the world all of his dread
For the other children's parents did not understand his condition
Thinking it was quite contagious and forbade their children to play with him
Hence, the saddened young boy ran as fast as he possibly could
It seemed as though he could not bear it any more
Because of the stares from those who hadn't understood
Finally a little girl wearing all white held out her hand
She didn't show fright for she too was in need of a friend
She promised his honor she would defend --
He asked her name she replied "Alopecia Know Moore"
She then claimed that she'd come down to even the score.
The little boy exclaimed "Oh how will you ever do that!"
She replied, "by re-educating those ignorant people and their brats!"
So, she began to sing a song loud and strong
This led them to believe that their thinking was wrong.
"You couldn't catch it like ring n' de worm
Or all de fungal diseases that make one squirm"
Soon all sat back and relaxed while she put their minds at ease
She had caught their attention for sure, and then she began again,
“The condition is one that attacks the immune system
Through the hair follicles... this young boy you should not tease
For his beauty shines brighter than any of you here --
So what, if he has only loss a little bit of hair;
His handsomeness shines like a beacon from within
You can't catch it if you rubbed his skin
You'd might learn to love him, if you'd just make him your friend."
The children look round at their parents with inquiring eyes
Wondering why they had told them such lies
The parents became ashamed allowing the children to become friends
They all found that day that beauty lies deeper than ones skin
Through the re-education they now know
More about Alopecia and made some new friends...
Growing my hair down below my knees...
stimulated courtesy follicles,
where Coconut, Olive, Grapeseed,
Jojoba, Amla and Vitamin E oils
allowed, enabled,
and provided head start
germinating peach fuzz into brown strands
after Flaxseeds, Pumpkin seeds and Fenugreek
being sprinkled on my scalp
yielded a bumper crop of hirsute weeds
occasionally tripping me up
analogous to hallucinogen
causing a public health hazard
warranting, necessitating, and goading me
to give shout out for stylist
to tender mine lovely brunette locks,
which might be repurposed into a wig
for patients undergoing chemotherapy,
or afflicted with alopecia,
(the partial or complete absence
of hair from areas of the body
where it normally grows; baldness).
As a knobby kneed, puny,
scrawny, wimpy kid whose,
(back in the nineteen sixties),
his parents decreed their singular
(painfully shy dorky, geeky and nerdy)
old school boy who sported a buzz cut,
which found him reacting and responding
(in short order rebelling)
passive aggressively by
refusing to bathe
until mommy dearest demanded
(well nigh upon
the bewitching hour of midnight)
to witness her son soaked
and essentially marinated
(until my skin shriveled like a prune)
in the (clawfoot) tub
lest he stink to high heavens,
and given a serious dressing down
by the timely principal Mister Clock.
Far back as I can remember,
the significance of hair
assumed an outsize role,
whether enviously eying other lads
their thick straight hank,
or nowadays bristling
with self reproach
cursed with thinning
greasy limp strands
(interspersed with gray)
experiencing shame being seen in public,
a disgrace to our family name of Wagstaff
and an embarrassment
to the human race
ofttimes associating
myself with Samson,
whereat emotional, physical,
and spiritual strength
rooted (pun intended)
within each hair shaft
(the visible part of the hair
that sticks out of the skin),
and rooted in the skin and extends
down to the deeper layers of the skin
surrounded by the hair follicle
(a sheath of skin
and connective tissue),
which is also connected
to a sebaceous gland.
Urges ushered Est’bel out of her abode –
a cottage cobbled together from cobwebs and clapboard –
and she scuttled forth,
her nesty hair tousled
by a leaf-laced breeze
In her bony hands she clutched
dregs of a nightmeg broth
in a porcelain jar stoppered
by a coffinwood shard
Her bare feet stepped on thorny twigs
but she felt them not,
for her soles had been hardened
by countless treks across hot coals
washed up from stygian shoals
Leftward she turned,
meandering down the narrowing, twisting path,
where uprooted mandrake tendrils
clutched at her anorexic ankles,
while ravens pecked at her frayed follicles,
until she snatched a leaf
from a passing philodendron,
folding it into a tri-cornered hat
and plunking it atop her pate,
rakishly askew
Dewey sap from twisty-trunked trees
dripped onto the nape of her gnarly neck
and a raven on a nearby branch
cawed his amusement,
earning him her owlish scowl
She spied a row of rotting poppies
and plucked a bunch,
sticking them into a crevice of her hat,
then stepped onto a walkway of cracked shale slabs,
which shunned her footprints,
replacing them with snail streaks
to mark her passing
She made her way to a listing tombstone
atop a gnarled knoll encased in gelid moonbeams
and fringed by shushing sawgrass
She took a small vial of indigo glass
from beneath her shabby shawl
and pulled out a stopper made
from a finger bone of an unfaithful lover
whose pickled tongue hung from a
silver chain around her neck
She poured the contents of the vile vial
into the porcelain jar and
listened to the fizz.
It subsided into sloshes,
reminding her of the sounds
issuing from demented shells
snatched from the forlorn shores
of stygian shoals
She gaped at the sky
as an owl flew past the moon,
stirring the dark craters,
which broke up into swirling spirals,
sucking lunar beasts beneath the surface,
where they dissolved in the ceaselessly sliding sands
And Est’bel raised the jar to her lips
and drank a toast to the moon,
and awaited the enshadowed shades
drifting down the snail-slimed pathway,
propelled by a leaf-laced breeze
Island of fantasy
No swim wear on Bikini Island after all those testing years
waiting for the hidden radiance to…stop this is reality
I need to escape from where into what or do I when
one flash and blip in the history of time and my projections…
So here it is the nude beach stripped from another reality
granting a moment here or then stranded in magic another truth
in the loops and coconuts circuiting in the mind grapes hanging low
sweet and sour Me Robin’s son Friday or not…forever and another splendour
Essence food and shelter in abundance too much too plenty so
I’d rather bring a friend my lover soul-mate curvaceous sparkling
inspiration expiration joined in motion rhythm rhyme sequential
horizontal upright teasing poet tree in motion exploding fusing solitude
Cinnamon bark and musky flavour salt of the ocean chilli peppers
soul on soul skin on skin soul on skin intermingling penetration
of ideas creation words artistic dependent independent work in progress
giving taking heading truthful tongues lips balsam for the sun and tanning life
Books and poetry are also intimate wise companions mentors faithful fellow friendly
fire water earth and aerial dreams conjectures built up climax rest regeneration
and I suppose we like to write our own of rainbows thunder lightning comets
starlight moonshine distant proximity close by far away lands in kindness loving
Lotus flowers in perfusion fragrant storms meditating torrents stillness for
the mediation stories lived experience speaking hearing narrative exploration
where they rest on beauty interwoven follicles frolicking whims of nature nurtures
exude petals inner peace and outer seminal gentle epitome of sensual wisdom reason
But wait...why search on other ocean’s tide lines why run away from what there is
the island carol coral reefs and rainy forest dew in sunshine sweet perfume of life...
the envelope of brightness togetherness carnal mingling intellectual fulfilment
is here right here when we beam out from fantasy and run from insular fight or flight
06th June 2016
the clock has begun ticking and in 14 minutes this
piece will be over with you and i if we both decide
to accept it have begun on something of a journey
together one in which the both of us should most
assuredly gain and lose such is the moral of the
story that only our forefathers who built themselves
on lying and thievery amidst the subtle guise of
religious piety and political idolatry could handle
throwing it off their table like the scrapping
remnants of a meal well-had by a family whose dog
has sat there staring at them persistently and
without any sense of shame whatsoever biding his
time and no doubt in this hot weather sweating
bullets underneath his thick coat of fluffy yellow
lab meets some other kind of fluffier dog mutt
extravaganza the fact remains that the writer got up
too early today from what can only be considered
as a partial rest and while they are quite conscious
of the fact that there are those out there that do not
get nearly as much rest or even quite possibly
no rest at all in a day this does not in any way quiet
the writer’s own mind from mumbling to themselves
why can’t we go back to sleep why must we stay
up and stare at this screen batting away in this
batting cage with no special purpose holding through
each swing as the balls come flying at us and
we are barely awake the sleepy stuff buried in the
little corner crevices of our eyes still cementing our
vision shut and we tilt our head from side to side as
the pain in the neck shoots up the back of our head
curling itself round the bottoms of the hair
follicles that stick up in shivery amounts dwindling
down the roller coaster of a forehead and typifying
itself at the downward slope of the nose writhing in
the air as it coasts off and into the abyss which can’t
be anything less than the beautifully exciting finish
of the 14 and as we revel in the last few seconds we
hear the bed calling us back and who but a fool
can resist the gift of a little extra sleep
Crackling like lightning the scent of rainy sundays and sweaty youth enters my lungs like undesired medication
foot steps and introduction of generations and blood lines fills my head like crazy family stories
This time of night reminds me of you
I walked past the french bistro and absorbed young skins and loud jazz rumbling like a giants soulful baby
I watched day turn to night and rain drizzle upon this illuminated darkness of melodies and heart grabbing stares
Paranoia captured my follicles
and I swear that man on the train with poka dots and stripped hands
looks like you
I walked past the french bistro as my hair began to gather the memories of the year
and the world seemed to mirror my thoughts
this time of year reminds me of you
I remind me of you
I keep waiting for a newness to enter my heart
so Im not chained to my love for you
I forgot all our times together
because they remind me of wine dipped, swollen, broken hearts of mine
wanting to grow and develope more then ever I only revert back to ghosts of reality
The bone marrow inside of me was stolen by santa
and each joint of my body has gained such a heaviness
its hard to get up
from pillows of dusty broken skin cells
Shoulder whipped and ankles cold lonesome electricity
pipping in darkened roofs
hooved horses bellowing
below
me
whispers of cloud catching voices that aren’t you
and hands that roughen me
toughen me
lost to the shell of you
lost to the sparked foutainhead that spouts your
linguistic melodies in my head like torterous
hellish
key board clicking
ticking me away from existence
jumbled in condenced barren faces
desolate land erupt me
oh places places places
that feed me into monstreous children
forsaken
silly folly I forbid you to drink me dry
darken me so
leave me lonesome
take me holy
Thought I heard you whisper but it was only the mosquito sucking my rotting blood
This part of me reminds me of you
{"MY dance in the downpour was cut short, though, even for a second I felt my worries glide off from the tips of my fingers as the precipitation stuck against the flesh of my skin. My heart palpitated against my ribs, and the notorious monotone voices apprehending inside of me were meager.
I lost friction, I was dampened, I was coercive until I wasn’t.
My nucleus stopped ramming against my rib cage, my cranium stopped doing a one-eighty, the goosebumps that would make my hair follicles arouse were notoriously gone. Shrouded with the droplets that camouflaged my tears, the pernicious allegations for once presumably evaporated.
Solely for a brief second, I felt as if nothing had happened in the first niche; or I conned myself into believing that the trepidation would abnormally make me shiver in my skin, my knees would buckle as they hit the pavement with full force, my hair adhering to my face as a leverage lifted me up from my despair that hung me by a lonely thread like a suicide rope.
the ache in my head resided.
Just Maybe, this wasn’t the end for me, my death grip on the Xanax bottle was growing more severe.
I popped the pills in my mouth and let out a sigh of solace, the numbness immediately making a disparity by coursing through my bloodstream, allegedly making their way and ramming against my mind.
I placed myself out of….and I was now rid of that trepidation. I felt like a child again, I was unburdened from myself.
Solitary confinement, I initially rid myself of. Though the chains weren’t releasing me,
the memories were still assembled into torturing me,
relentlessly. Voices adjourning, ramming against your skull amusingly, your eyes cloud and the sigh you release is lost into thin air.
What does serenity feel like? You wonder,
And the adjourning silence is enough for you,
to lose it."}
Aha...At Last,..Bitta Bing Bitta Bang
The Figurative Nail Hit On The Hair Strand Size Head!
Though no physician,
this aging baby boomer
absolutely, intuitively, and
unequivocally sensed hair loss (mine),
at first a speculative rumor
not simply in my (ahem) head,
no matter a minimalist groomer
nevertheless, thinning follicles,
upon dawning realization, sans medical
sought relief thru good humor,
though within this balding cerebral noggin
became repulsive as if my scalp
pulled pate rendered as a tumor.
Thus an unexpectedly present surprise
when in private consultation in the guise
as out patient client (early afternoon
December 19th, 2018),
where I did fraternize
and kibitz with the medical assistant
(old enough to be my...sister),
aye did exercise
mild mannered mien mean, aye do patronize
before doctor Rudolf (dearly
reigned) Roth, a practicing
Dermatologist told me no lies
his instant karma knowledge - mainly his
thirty seven years expertise
sought to excise
a prominent non cancerous mole approximately
centered middle of back
a small patch of skin,
he needed to anesthetize
nonetheless, a reassuring persona,
yours truly did lionize
(not merely, cuz
he received a five star rating,
specialist under auspices
of Penn, Medicine)
in Radnor Pennsylvania),
his modest calm did neutralize
any uneasiness, as did his pronounced
humility earn kudos to idolize
such rarely present gentility, and
unwitting capacity did harmonize,
and maximize significance to me,
asper my thinning limp
hair logically rationalize
identified underactive thyroid gland
(hypothyroidism) tubby,
which didst legitimize
no hair brained rooted concern,
hence...less reason to catastrophize',
which for no reason I
wanted to mildly emphasize,
hence choice to apostrophize...
(sung – in a round pussy willow warble - to the tune of --
Oh Where Oh Where has my little dog gone)
With a flam boy hunt deft jais nais sais quois
firm lickey split tongue
and two bell yule yar pissant
little nappy ruck berry filled up paul ling sacks
viz peppy la pew doth not peter out,
and weathers clawed rained swipes
from hello kitty when faux pas gets swung
assisting climbing Jacob's ladder
(without pussy footing,
orb bing a putz like the president)
advancing quick to attain orgasmic rung
while heading into a slippery sloping sluice
(with prickly endeavor emitting cleat trill
smooth sailing along a ****
re coarse upon phallic shaped pung
crossing la brea tar pits (peppered
with lai bee ha tricky bridge over the River Kwai)
comprising ideal place de la resistance
to woo tang clan foreign nee Kate,
where two puckered rill lee fleshy ruffling rills
tinged pinkish lips overhung
a challenging escarpment,
where many a brave Tom, Harry or Dick get hung
up, particularly while searching for fabled “G” spot,
cuz portcullis hamstrung
even the most fiercely determined
Engleburt Hump per dink
necessitating the moist risky ski maneuver
as most studs know tubby gelandesprung
though booby prize wool worth any slimy setbacks,
where sticky gook gets flung
from angry cat,
who does not in the least find amusing,
and if further pricked with rage
not averse to hurl dung
gar (with) ease at snaky,
retractable hardened beastie boy twill clung
for dear life and limb (er, or twig and berries),
while applying crampons (bivouaced
within his maxipad), viz bung
gull low, essentially a ball peen size cove
hammered out by Dashiell Hammitt, where coiled,
kinked follicles strewn tightly inlet among
pheromone laced verboten fruit.
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