Long Hair Poems
Long Hair Poems. Below are the most popular long Hair by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hair poems by poem length and keyword.
So many days later and these days have now turned into years so much so that it looks like time is turning grey
She is the good to balance out my bad so one could say these are my silver linings, up floating in the clouds when we are vibing together
Simplistic conversation with complicated silence, no matter the situation we conquer time so I know we have what some would call timeless
This must be why every time you are lying next to me and your smile seems to hold me as my arms protect you time seems to matter less
They say less is more, life is about the little things, and happiness is found within yourself
So, please forgive me if I space out when you start to tell me about your day, because it’s not that I don’t care
I am just trying to capture every moment and picture you give me before I get lost in the way you turn away right before you smile, or the way you eyes
sparkle in broad daylight, and I could never forget how excited you are to see me when you get home from work
I had to find myself in order to find you because you always have to dig through the dirt before you find the treasure
My queen who always has a natural glow like an iridescent gold
Hair tied up or in a bun with your favorite pair of leggings on with a matching tank, I know you like to dress up but even when you don’t I can still see her gold
Tonight was a special night and I am the romantic type so for this 14th day of the second month I wrote you a couple of notes in poka’dot balloons
Just a few things to let you know I noticed you and the feelings we get seem to match when we are together and when we are apart
Pop one balloon a day to see a little something I appreciate about you
p.s. are you floating with me when you read my notes in a balloon…
We raised our sights in the autumn season,
brilliant and vivacious shades, full of life.
Vivid crimson, scarlet, rust, and yellow rife,
The maple trees in the grove praised the region.
Getting a clear grasp of the near atmosphere,
hear the stones beneath our feet squish and shift.
Consider the dust piles that our shoes drift,
Feel the brisk breeze tickling our hair, yet each spear.
The autumn leaves on the trees had fallen,
During the seasons, I am lured by the radiant sight.
The harvest was plentiful, a summer delight,
Pumpkins, squash, and yams were then sullen.
Birds expecting winter fly over a deep blue sky,
For the rest of the fall, the butterfly urges you to stay.
Bonfires and ethereal smoke swamped the air
and piney fragrance with a dash of seasonal flair.
Pause, sight, the river flanked by a large stone,
toward green and withering vetch stalks.
Stay close to increasing beating whacks,
Azure Creek has a gentle, placid tone.
Squirrels brace for fall by saving nuts and seeds,
They relish crisp fall days but dread winters.
and spread an abundance of lusty splinters.
Come jog with me, which allows clean air to renew yields.
2nd Place Contest Winner
Written: December 09, 2022
Still-Life Autumn Scene Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Wan and weary in sultry heat
he walked on and on through dust and dirt
off the bustling street, looking for a shade
Paving his way through by lanes
at last reached a quiet spot,
full of green cover.
Like an Arab coming upon an oasis
amid the panting sterility of the desert,
he rejoiced.
It had an air of monastic seclusion
a mysterious charm and a sedate calm!
Here he sat under a poplar tree
Soon was lost in a reverie.
What thoughts coursed through his mind,
he had no idea but found himself in a cave.
To his horror, saw a human countenance,
staring at him from a dusty corner
A shriveled old man with a gnarled face,
and projecting cheek bones
resembling a mummy, curiously preserved!
But it moved drawing closer… still closer
He noticed the man’s quaint appearance-
flowing black garb, flaming eyes, and grey wiry hair.
A chain of skulls was tied around the neck
and sinister objects were strewn around.
No doubt….
a necromancer……!!
Without a second glance,
he ran…….. and again ran!
What would have happened if he had not run?
For a moment he couldn’t think.
What was it that he heard?
was it the thud of a coconut falling
or the barking of a dog?
Now he knew it was all a dream.....
a dream within a dream while he fell off into a snooze,
sitting under the Poplar tree!
With a kind of embarrassment, he realized;
even if he had not run, nothing would have happened.
___________________________
November.2.2022
~ Placed First~
I Chose to Run, But Had I sTayed... Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Some people wear smiles out in public
as if those smiles were sewn on their faces.
Often they are adorned by costly apparel.
The women, in flattering makeup and
with hair beautifully coiffured,
flaunt gowns created by renowned fashion designers
and accessorized with glittering jewelry
and expensive heels and handbags.
They are the rich, the “beautiful people,”
social butterflies in a rainbow of colors
seen attending their special clubs and functions
or charity benefits,
where they flit about with others of their elite class.
I have seen them on television
and representations of them in movies.
I suppose viewing them impersonally this way
is the closest I will ever get to them
as I sit watching them from my well-worn sofa,
knowing that nobody can have a life
so seemingly perfect
yet marveling
at their rainbow colored camouflage.
For the Rainbow Colored Camouflage Contest of Ir0nic ZiNk
You have an Alice band, keeps your hair in place,
Dum and Dee said you're so modern, have an interface,
long time since Terry"s tea party, we were timeless,
the Mad Hatter said: 'Poof!' Couldn't care less.
The Doormouse nudged himself awake, for Godssake.
'Can't you let me sleep, I'll decide when I wake,'
The Queen had decided on independence for Barcelona,
'Can not be, ' they wailed, "Shut up, ' she said, 'You're another bloody moaner.'
The tortoise taught us how to make love, mimicked
the Queen, clapped his hands and said: 'Off with his head,'
Tarts were ready but black as the ace of spades,
brought uncerrmoniously by a train of waiting maids.
The King chastised everyone including the seven of clubs,
decided the whole lot were boring, went on a tour of Wonderland pubs.
Footnote: The Queen admonished the knave
and said: 'You"re not alright Jack.'
For years, perhaps a decade,
the silver box had lain within a wooden
shell, a box within a box,
a larger casket quieting
memories too painful to revisit;
yet, too precious to throw away.
The bedroom held much more
within four walls, another sheltering box,
another type of tomb.
The box had sat unopened for so very long,
each memory waiting deep within a gloom.
Bedded in a bower of crocheted lace,
it lay, embraced beside a picture frame
of he and she.
A lifted lid, an open box, a silver casket
removed, it’s open now, jewels spill forth,
his gifts to her.
Jade for luck, gold for her ears,
bits of cinnabar blood-red, fans of scented
sandalwood and combs of tortoise
for her hair, emerge.
A decade now locked out of sight,
a box within a box, boxed in—
is what she was—
Time to let go, she thinks,
but, then again, she smiles;
closing the lid of silver bright,
she’ll keep this yet awhile.
Published by Autumn Sound 2013
Time guaranteeds no gain
But often delivers pain.
She promises changes
And often mixes them with more of the same.
If we work at it, she will smile upon our frames.
If we pursue God, we will likely be spared lots of shame.
The passage of time will reveal some things strange.
She will also disclose other things rearranged.
Overall, the time journey is a good one.
A couple of years ago, I noticed my ears growing hair,
But my eyes had not changed their color.
My facial hairs are mostly gray, and streaks of white
Flashes throughout the hairs of my head, so unlike
'once upon a time'.
060920pS
The tower dark and cold, a conquest for the brave.
My hands shake, a sign.
The bed unmade, Mother’s throne.
My cheeks lift, freedom.
The jougs bite, a bit looser.
My talons reach for it,
Click. Thud.
The crickets and wind sing, a perfect recipe.
My limbs remember the weight, stillness lingers.
Hunger gnaws where helplessness once slept.
Instincts awaken, survival bound.
"Mother could not keep me bound forever."
The trap is set, candle in the window.
Bread in the oven.
My brave knight, come rescue me.
The song rides the wind, siren slick.
My hair, golden destruction.
A noose spun long.
The pig comes, snorting vows and steel.
Exhausted, he falls, butchered clean.
My hands steady, my stomach full, sleep calls.
The jougs returns, familiar, a crown.
Mother must never know.
For she will do to me.
As I do to the brave.
The silent lure of blankets’ soft warm touch.
Swinging in the arms of those I knew and loved so much.
A belly rub or tickled toes, a pointed finger touched to nose.
All this I’ve often come to miss along the road of time.
Cuddled deep inside, a rocking warm embrace.
Swung and held by loving parents; Home. A mother’s face.
A sister’s shout, a tug of war
Hot chocolate shared with toast and more.
Tag and hopscotch, roller skates; first kisses and first dates.
All this I’ve often come to miss along the road of time.
The smell of summer morning air; sunlight on my sweetheart’s hair,
Time when school was out at last; new sneakers helping me run fast,
Skinned knees from climbing trees; watching shadows grow,
Peeling scabs from all the cuts that heal before I know.
All this I’ve often come to miss along the road of time.
Finding each new day’s surprise, not knowing, then discovering,
what’s right before my eyes.
Joy inside each moments leap, life too full, to stop for sleep.
My breath suspended in unending rhyme;
All this I’ve often come to miss along the road of time
And Love, Love, Love, so many shapes and times and tune;
Love, Love, Love, Embraced and gone too soon.
Dreaming of awakening, then waking to a dream.
So it always has become; forever, it would seem.
All this I will forever miss
along the road of time.
i
The women tell me, “Man, you’re old;
don’t be so bold.
Look into a mirror
to make it clearer:
your hair
ain’t there.”
But I can’t see what lies
above my eyes.
I do see more reason to play the game,
when Death takes aim.
ii
If wealth with all its money
could make us never die,
I'd give my life to earning,
and then, when Death came by,
I'd pay him and forget him.
But there’s no way to spend
yourself into forever.
So since my life must end,
what good does money do me,
or why then should I mourn
the certainty of dying,
which comes with being born?
My riches are in friendship
and drinking wine at ease,
and moon-lit celebrations
of Love’s solemnities.
iii
Old Gyges had a ton of gold
when he was Asia’s king;
his treasure houses leave me cold,
I don’t grudge him a thing.
What counts with me is scented hair,
rose garlands, and today;
so let’s drink while the weather’s fair:
tomorrow’s far away.
— from the Greek
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The poems are selected from the Anacreontea, a collection of anonymous Greek poems written in later antiquity in the style of the earlier Greek poet Anacreon.
Please note that this translation is Copyright 2026 by me, even though it is being translated from a text that is in the public domain in its original language.
Please note that I never have used and never will use AI to compose or revise any of my writings.
A random comment on poetry in general: A poem is self-expression, but the self a successful poem expresses is that of the reader, not that of the writer.