Redheaded Poems | Examples

Don Fell in Love

Don was heartfelt, honest and sincere
When he fell in love with Miss Lynn McVere
She was flamboyant, redheaded, her ego overblown
Not her! Said his family, you are pure and home-grown!
She is as fake and strange as you are real
But Don could not change how his heart could feel
Falling in love was easy; he loved Lynn true.
They stayed married a record number of years, sixty-two.

feeling superior to trolls

they live in the toadstools of Venue Valley
materializing only when wanting to do mischief
or to frighten a superstitious human

I heard them giggling once,
but they did not appear to me
trolls are fearful of redheaded girls

We have a reputation of turning them into toads
or bats, cats, snakes or worse
it is our Celtic heritage on speed

come on out! I teased them
there was stony silence
I knew then how they feared me
it made me feel superior to trolls

the terrace

I fell asleep outside,
on Lisa’s windy, 50th floor terrace.
It was indulgent, sensual
and lethargic - it crushed.
I forgot the time.
The sunset was intense,
a violent shock of color,
like an existential smack in the face.
I felt a lot of joy.
I’m feeling optimistic.
We leave for New Haven tomorrow.
I believe in the future.

Leeza popped her head out of the glass doors,
she was wearing a small, pale, skin bikini,
“Wanna go to the (indoor basement) pool?”
I stretched like a cat, “Sure,” I purred.
.
.
a song for this:
Hit My Heart by BOY
Relax by Vacations
.
.
Our cast:
Leeza, my roommate Lisa’s 14-year-old skinny, redheaded beauty of a little sister.
Lisa, one of my Yale roommates whose parents live in a Central Park South, Manhattan Highrise

she thinks she is petite

Marvelous redheaded ballerina think she is petite
I think her overconfidence is truly rather sweet
Her tutu is a bit snug, but I find this endearing too.
Grateful that I no longer feel I have to wear a tutu.

The Fries

Tomorrow I’m eating fries, Marion,
It gives me full of pep,
Yellows, walleye, salty,
I will eat hot fries.

Tomorrow I’m eating fries, Marion,
Belgians, sweet flamingos,
Walloon girls, redheaded girls,
Out of the oven, all hot.

Eating fries is not stupid
English, golden, or Norwegian,
The fries it gives a hell of a peach
Tomorrow, Marion, give me the fries.




Demain, je mange des frites, Marion,
Ça me donne voyons, une sacrée frite,
Des jaunes, des dorées, des salées,
Je mangerai des frites chaudes,  moi.

Demain, je mange des frites, Marion,
Des belges, des flamandes douces,
Des wallonnes, des filles rousses,
Sorties du four, toutes chaudes.

Manger des frites, ce n’est pas bête
Anglaises, dorées, ou norvégiennes,
Les frites ça donne une sacrée pêche
Demain, Marion, tu me donnes la frite.

God Made Him That Way

"Here comes trouble" some people said,
just because his hair was red..
He saw he was different with his bright,
red mane but knew on the inside he was
likely the same..
Most days he just stood there and smiled
as they chanted "you redheaded step child".
At times he was wounded by their troubling taunts,
their teasing echoed in his head, like ghosts, they'd haunt..
Labeled a "fire cracker", he rarely exploded. He took it
all in and eventually imploded.
This poor little boy longed for some one to say,
"He has red hair cause God made him that way."

Outside

 A redheaded pileated woodpecker hopped up a tree
Barn swallows fly around me
Doves were cooing down in the dale
Other birds joined in, I even heard some quail..
    

While walking the dog in the late afternoon..

Tea Time In the Tree House

It is tea time in the treehouse
There is a hedgehog entertaining a rat
They hear some loud jackhammering
Rat-a-tat-a-tat-tat-tat!

Is that a redheaded woodpecker? Asks the hedgehog, mad.
Don’t know says the rat, but this drumming makes me feel sad.
The woodpecker’s beak came in through the outside wall.
What is going on in there? His voice was loud and tall.

It is teatime said the hedgehog. You are welcome to come in.
I need a little help first, said the woodpecker. Can you push my chin?

Ginger-Bred Boy

A redheaded stepchild, he lacked savoir faire;
seems all that he did brought his parents despair.
He made them some gingerbread, did so with flair.
Just for spite, he included some bits of his hair.

Corn On the Cob For a Country Boy

I carry a salty plate, hot and buttery,
piled high with Summer’s best corn on the cob —
kernels with a juicy crunch for a lucky towhead guest.

Fresh milk and a boy’s best friend nearby.*
A smile and a wink from the farmer’s wife.

The redheaded charmer, his white teeth
sink deep, chomp their way along each row.

My yellow cobs bright like noon sunshine —
rays of childhood devoured after saying grace.

10/7/2019
Realism Art Poetry Contest
Image #3

*boy’s best friend - his dog

The Little One

a redheaded ball of curiosity
cute as a button
eyes dancing with smiles
he has a crush
searching for his little one
taller than he
she with curly hair
a room filled with happiness
piano keys and joy
it made me
cry

Merry Christmas

The Transients of My Youth

THE TRANSIENTS OF MY YOUTH


Old and wrinkly, whiffs of cigarettes and whiskey; his sparkling blues tell me there is bubble gum and a surprise; I check the long pockets finding smiles and candy, feeling loved and dandy.


Southern Antebellum, with manicures of rouge; kind but broken, drinking fermented raspberries and booze; her man is gone, a war still on; hopefully some funds will help move her on.


Irish and grumpy, redheaded and rockin’; football with silence, movies of canned violence; double features and fries, we have a good time; he buys me a watch, a keepsake.


German Muslim sister and stressed; Turkish dancing at night, in memories blessed; chocolates swirl round, but starving she falls down; night 


Burly and bearded, stinking of failure; he is noisy and imposing, promising messy favors; overweight and hungry, despite Nordictrack endeavors; addicted to cookies, a humongous bummer.

My Redheaded Angel

I have a redheaded angel
she's very special you see;
all of the world adores her
they ask why she married me?

I tell them love is the answer
and love is terribly blind;
fortune was mine completely,
thank you for being so kind.

I rarely see her get riled;
she seldom, if ever, gets mad:
everyone thinks she's a wonder,
that makes me terribly glad.

What makes this readhead an angel?
What makes her an artist's dream?
She can sit and relate to anyone,
she's a beacon that brightly beams.

The greatest of all her assets,
is patience, for patience is kind:
She creates pictures of understanding
to give others some real peace of mind.               Robert Davidson

Beauty Is

Spreading like wildfire
through a kerosene soaked forest,
infecting the mind with
its inky black threads.
She’s too fat,
he’s too skinny,
her hair isn’t perfect,
his face is full of pimples.
No matter how they try
no one is able to reach perfection, 
society’s picture of beautiful.
Perfection is not beauty,
it is cold, lifeless, unreal.
Beauty is the freckles
on the little redheaded boy.
Beauty is the curves
on the girl’s body.
Beauty is the gap toothed smile
of the boy next door.
It is the face
of the girl determined
to overcome her troubles,
the glasses on the shy
girl in class.
It is the hands of the worker,
the mind of a poet,
the creativity of the artist.
It is the voice of the boy
singing off key to his favorite song,
the eyes of the girl
who see’s truth.
Beauty is everywhere,
it is life itself.
Each person holding
different aspects of it
within them.

Mountain Birds

“SQUAWK, Squawk, squawk” ,the Bald Eagle’s song of Freedom, Liberty and Serenity

bird Houses, in my backyard are filled with baby Chickadees , Whining , is their Song
If they Knew by the end of Summer, in stillness before the Rain: Phoebe - Tranquility
 the clouds Thicken and Blacken : the Chickadee puffs her chest, sings Phoebe song
The rain  softly Crying a Phoebe’s resounding  echoes , Chickadees, duel Ability
 the sky is blue:  the wind is calm: a single Phoebe "warning" believe in Her Validity

His Bright Red Plumage
He can not hide from my Eyes
Tapping and rapping, His song 
There’s no Special  beat
A Redheaded Woodpecker
Tap, Tap, Tap, Rap, Raps his Song

So close sits this Robin beside me
No Songs, just the Promise of Spring

Inspired by the Contest : " For(Four) Beautiful Birds" 
Sponsored by CONSTANCE~~A Rambling POET~~
Written :  May 1st - 2nd, 2011 By HGarvey Daniel Esquire
                              5th Place

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