Long Hairs Poems
Long Hairs Poems. Below are the most popular long Hairs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hairs poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s a milestone at least, chalk it up as a feat,
That your younger self never thought you could meet.
But how does it feel, this crossroads you face?
It’s a case of you got there, it’s no fall from grace.
Are there any advantages to this dreadful affair?
They call getting old, it’s simply not fair.
It’s gone in a flash, yesterday I was ten!
Only to be reminded, that was way back when.
I snore all the more, the hairs are a pain,
Grow in all the wrong places, again and again.
And the hairs on my head, they see not the sun,
Receding to follicles from whence they begun.
As grumpiness sets, becoming part of the psyche,
Talking to oneself becomes ever more likely.
The stares from the driver pulling up alongside,
Are testimony to the depths I reside.
Don’t get me on sight, or my hearing, please no,
In chatter I nod but it’s only for show.
I recognise no-one at distance these days,
I’m waving profusely to strangers not phased.
It has its advantages though, I’m assured.
Free prescriptions for one, I’ll maybe be cured,
Of the ailments, I once couldn’t pronounce,
That now lick their lips as they poise to pounce.
It’s funny though, your priorities differ,
From the innuendoes that caused you to bicker.
It’s a new priority, what will be will be,
Live in the present, the future ‘we’ll see.’
Those dreams you once had to get to the top,
Are now different dreams, as the ego you drop.
You can reminisce, with some sense of pride,
The events of your life, it’s one hell of a ride.
At sixty there’s wonder, enlightenment.
No stature, no dreams, no entitlement.
It’s life you revere, just making the best,
Of this world we all cherish, we’re merely a guest.
Poetry on trial?
I’m going to indict poetry, for infecting my soul
Does it serve any purpose, or has it lost control
This may seem quiet strange, perhaps unorthodox
Peruse this if you will, whilst it’s head layeth on the block
No need for a foundation, build it in the clouds
But it does require structure, interwoven by shrouds
Mocks me with Humpty Dumpty, as my life falls to bits
Sends me down a path, of bifurcation and twists.
Yes poetry is stealthy, it attacks from every side
Attempting to outflank you, then pounces in surprise
Soon levity returns, it wants to chill you out
Where did this come from, shaketh your head in doubt.
Bow before it in deference, or leap into the sky
Cut to pieces on razor wire, see the birds that flyeth by
Pit Romeo and Lothario, in a competition of charms
Find a new born baby, dead in its mother’s arms.
Send shivers down ones spine, Hairs stand on your neck
Deal out a winning hand, then rearrange the deck
Be a photon of light, amongst trillions on our sun,
Reminisce ole times, when life beheld such fun.
Be scarred by it’s violence, Drawn into the mystique,
Blown away by the punchline, The havoc it can wreak
Drown in melancholy, or bathe in its delight
Overcome tragic heartbreak, awestruck by it’s might.
Empathize with the poor, in their cornucopia of dirt,
Curse the wealthy no better, in their hubris of self-worth,
Surrounded by loved ones, on your terminal breath,
Then Cryo-frozen in a machine, trying to forgo death.
So yes I’ve tried poetry, it was given a fair trial
Now to pass sentence, and do so, with some style
I condemn it to life, with no chance of parole
Simultaneously I grant pardon, for it’s me who lost control.
By
David Kavanagh
Waiting for trains used to be our great fun,
And added much joys for us cute children;
One hour, they announced, hours long continued,
With games after games, our wits got renewed...!
Hours prolonged; games, like us, got very tired,
We felt as though, by journey, we were hired;
No waiting rooms; no least village lounges;
We slept on platforms and did much scrounge...!
Whenever we could hear a long whistle,
Our hairs stood puzzled like hare hairs bristle;
No time to know time as sleep got brim-filled,
Travelling by dream-trains, we got well-thrilled...!
When 'Khaki-clad' woke us up frequently,
We kept squeezing our eyes not so gently;
We were like toys of china, they did feel,
Our life-trains, to them, we did not conceal...!
When, ultimately, the train did arrive,
Elders woke us; our spirits could not thrive;
Sleep, seemed our gloriously gifted gift,
Not to be lost for mere train benefit...!
We woke, in the morning; alas, did find,
For sleeping there long, we're heavily fined;
Our voyage, as started, seemed did not end,
Trains of travels, yet, in mind, did get blend...!
16 March 2022
We went headlong into Joshua Tree,
the four of us.
Flower maps, Del Taco stops, cigarette butts, and Steel Kettle
armed us through the hot desert air.
This was a time when my voice was lost,
that passionate pointing of your being.
I worked my way through the weekend like the cursor unguided,
drifting across the computer screen.
And this was okay. We find things in the desert.
Traces of the forgotten, colors blooming from
endless rock and sand. Friendship and intimacy
playing like the praying of folded hands, fingers
of the landscape entwining with the fingers of man.
It all seemed so untouched, we felt,
as our own lives spilled out of us drip by drip
across the fire, seeking new bonds
and dropping old baggage, sparkling and crackling
Into dark cool night.
The all-revealing sun in our mornings set sweltering
the space between our hairs, above our eyes,
within our speech, making slick and dizzy
our touching as we hiked, hopped,
climbed, and perched unforgiving surfaces.
Back now, after the drive, the plane, the park-and-ride, and now the office...
my voice still fills a few feet from my body,
though now I know it's still with me,
naked, exposed and wanting as it was
laid out over the natural scars of the wild desert.
I heard it's call, I heard my name,
and knew all that I was, and am, and will ever be.
Hitler's final attack on quote unquote
undesirable humans from the bile's of slave
ships prison camps European complete
infestation thee German female cock roach
feasting on poor captured humans and their
belongings during world war two carried to
America in the cracks boxes on boats
going for tea I turned on my kitchen light
what an ugly sight she stood there long
dark itchy hairy legs lips lined with flesh
pink liner she awaits a light in order to
scatter through any crack to slide into
homes windowpanes paneling door frames
once in side she scurries inside cupboards
closet prancing through old clothing one
in her nature she releases a powerful yellow
stench staining walls and furniture finally
the hairs on her legs make a god awful
sound alerting her the owners are coming
prowling in the darkness she hides inside
pages and pages books old letters photos
receipts leaving black dusty feces spreading
fecal matter carrying hundreds of eggs on
her back her selfish nature allows her to
actually breed alone without a spouse a
mate multiplying within the darkness of
Lucifer’s lair night crawlers leaving disease
and carney in her wake feasting in left
over scum crumbs damp wet old wood
someone screams look the time it takes
to open book splat swat frightening all the
guess truly horrifying to see exhilarating to
just smash or watch her run back up a tree
February second - requires one
with acute hearing to cock, and ear
turnips tickling the nose nostrils
delicate hairs (instagram ideal outlook) subtly,
markedly, lively..., yet gently flair
soon harkening shrieks
of delightful analogous funfair
no stranger to Renaissance Faire
of pitch perfect gamesomeness
will seem as... otherworldly pleasant
ah heaven sent giftware,
where all creatures great and small
sing psalms, upon arrival when hardware
trappings of winter shucked witnessing
unrolled welcome Scottish mat so hare
and tortoise can race,
cuz vernal equinox, sports a linkedin
improvisational, ebulliently
educational, cerebral, audiological...
twittering melange I will hear,
and grateful no defect doth impair
ability to revel silence, slake, soak...
insatiable thirst even prodding junketeer,
panhandler, vendor...
the last named,
perhaps selling kitchenware
knicknacks, keepsakes...
to hippies (think yours truly)
with long wavy hair
interwoven with Kahila
Garden Lily, Laurel, Maidenhair...
profusion of sensual delight
brings Mother Earth near,
the body, mind, and soul
espying frolicsome *****sapiens
donned with minimal outerwear
infusing all living things
common native plants and animals
in conjunction with resident outlier
particularly those pining
to answer call of the wild overdare
ring and bee zee lee court'n prepare
ring to beget young as
singular requisite quintessential profiteer
fluttering, instagramming emoji,
sans shutterfly puppeteer
as audience visually already reddit
regarding acting entire scenes,
viz Biblical Genesis answering prayer
particularly if gnostic, heterodox, *****...,
finally relieved, sans polar vortex
albeit somewhat rare
atmospheric phenomena, how ideal
if said rabid Jack Frost
would sink icy bite - part
and parcel green gang
at much more favorably time reappear
during oppressive heat spell during
sweltering triple digits temperature
summer re: time of year.
In the night when all was still
I felt my spine a tingling chill
Goosebumps 'tween thy rising hairs
When I saw a ghostly figure on my stairs
My eyes not blinked when we stood froze
That tingling chill crept to my toes
I thought, "Dear lord- is that my brother?"
And then, I heard a whisper from my mother
Son, your brother and I are in God's home
Where all the good souls go and are free to roam
Your aunts and uncles are all here too
And many friends that you once knew
Friends you've known throughout your years
That said good-bye and you shed tears
Don't look down, lift up your head
Things aren't too bad when we are dead
Our souls are free and full of bliss
In this place we're at, called... "Happiness"
*Dedicated to everyone.
Do birds sow or reap? Do they gather wealth?
Does the sun or shower cause birds’ ill health?
A few worms and a few grains suffice them.
Do they gather any gold, pearl, or gem?
Why worry when you labour, filled with hope?
Can't you, with life's every thick and thin, cope?
Fears spring from dark deserts of dearth of trust.
Don't lilies with spring and summer adjust?
Has any king like a bird been in zest?
Has any queen like Daisies ever dressed?
Isn’t each of the grasses and hairs cared for?
Trusting the divine, fulfil each day's chore.
Forget fears of health and wealth. Be blessed!
Do you lack faith? You asked. Why are you stressed?
Exhales, crackles and gasps ,
jumping hairs and sickening visions as the wind whistled pass;
a quiet question knocks the door of my mind, who am I?
Picture me in a yellow sun dress, head up, confident and proudly African.
I sway effortlessly through a field of red roses with my nigro hair struggling to flow in the dry wind.
I looked happy with my wide black nose glistening in the solar heat.
Above me was a clear blue sky with floating mushroom clouds ready to pop and
a sun peeping through, like God’s eye on man.
I inhaled the dry dusty harmattan breeze, laid back on the dark brown soil and watched black kites fly,
then, a thunder rumbled in a distance and it began to rain.
The rain washed the colour off the flowers, turned the sky grey.
I was left running to find a cave, but everywhere was open, and nowhere to stay,
so I let the drops of acidic rain, turn me white and my identity fades.
I talk to my chest hairs every day
Hi there, you seem well endowed
You're coming along quite nicely now
There's four of you, you must be proud
Not long ago, you were only two
But as one thing leads to another
Passions explode in your frail bodies
And with hairy love you're smothered
At first signs of life, you waved with joy
As two tiny sprouts first appeared
A loving impression of a hairy family
My tears ran down to my beard
A shining example of a loving community
My beard started out like you guys
But that was quite a long time ago
Now a gathering of three hundred and five
The true measure of your value to humans
And the bliss your existence inspires
Unknown to many, the reason you exist
Is to absorb sweat as we nervously perspire
©Jack Ellison 2012