Scalp Poems | Examples

floridas electric chair

they sit him down like a tired old man
in that throne of leather and iron—
old sparky, they called it,
like it was some friendly dog.

they strap the wrists, ankles, chest,
tight enough to stop god himself—
one last insult to liberty.
the sponge is wet, because dry
means fire, and lawsuits.

the mask goes on—black as every sin,
but it’s the switch they love.
fingers twitch, a nod from a judge
who’s eaten too much for lunch.

then—crack.
a snap of light no eye can see.
his body lifts like a puppet on strings
jerks, clenches, convulses,
the legs slam the frame,
his tongue thick in his mouth.
smoke rises from scalp and thigh—
a scent like roast beef 
and shame.

they wait.
they juice him again.
and again,
until he stops pretending to be alive,
smoke wafts from every orfice in her body.

OLD FRUIT

You are getting on, old fruit
Too obese to wear your new suit
Your face resembles a wrinkled prune
Old age is showing on you too soon,

What has happened to your lustrous hair
Your scalp is shiny and noticeably bare
Your jowls are hanging lower than your chin
My word, I cannot believe what a state you're in

Shoulders that were broad and strong
They are now all hunched and look all wrong.
Your knees are knobbly and a little bent,
The left leg forgot where the right one went.

I can not understand you when you talk,
Your brain, not your legs, has gone for a walk
Your eyes look blank, staring into space
You have lost touch with the human race.

We lost touch over the years,
After sharing much laughter and some tears
I have just seen you interviewed on TV
Old fruit, it was a shock to me,

To see you sitting in a chair,
With all the hoi polloi and fanfare there
Smiling happily from ear to ear
Holding up a glass of cheer

With the TV presenters and your guests
Wishing you the very best
And the audience stood up to say
Many happy returns of your 110th BIRTHDAY!

Kundalini

Shhh, silence! Don't bother this Tibetan monk
Just leave him be; he is peace personified.
Far removed from our disintegrating world ...
                                                      he's mindfully chi

A w a k e n i n g stagnant energy in him,
He's got what they call "Kundalini" in spades;
he's who he's always wanted to be, and more;
                                                  heightened awareness

A peaceful stream runs through the core of his soul.
Divorced from his surroundings, body and mind.
He drives chakras from the tip of his toes to...
                                                        the top of his scalp.



.

Oh, My Hair!

My hair! My hair! Where has it all gone?
I had more yesterday, long and blonde
But now it falls, like leaves on a tree
How could my hair be so mean to me!

Well, I must admit, I was not fair
Can I help if I wanted blonde hair?
It was my trademark, it made me fine
But now that's gone, I can only whine.

Each three weeks, I punished any brown
with peroxide, I'd disdain and frown.
I'm sure it burned and gave my scalp pain,
but how lovely to be blonde again.

But now revenge has begun in full.
(I think it has broken all hair rules!)
First, it traded my sweet blonde for grey,
Then, not long after, that went away.

Then white appeared, what? I am not old!
Who said this tale just had to be told?
I still have some hair, but it goes fast.
If I lose all, a blonde wig will last!

Now the lamplight flickers

I’ve bloomed well past blossom season, no fleshy pink 
petals here. Wrinkles appear now. Feet left by crow. You 
see the grey in the brown, see a patch of scalp showing.
You see the change in my gait, see my once brisk pace 
slowing. But what you don’t see is me: I am no longer 
desirable, desired, nor worth a smile, a glance from afar.
I’ve grown out of season, a dead drink left atop bar.  I cling 
to youthful glow for that is when you saw me. Now the 
lamplight flickers, the bulb is on its last. A livewire fuse close 
to short. As I pass, you might see a shoulder hunched, an 
eye cast down. You see hands that surely once held a lover’s, 
lips that had stories to tell. But that clock is ticking and so 
you turn. And what you don’t see is me. I’ve written words 
you might read, taught things you might learn; once, you 
saw me dancing under club lights, saw me whoosh by on 
rollercoasters. But that hand is moving, and you’re conscious 
that time wants to flee. You see a body, a person, a 
frame with history. But what you don’t see is me.

Desirable, Desired

I’ve bloomed past blossom season, a frame held by flesh, fragile.
Wrinkles appear now, near feet left by crow.
You see the grey in the brown, see a patch of scalp showing,
you see the change in my gait, see my once brisk pace slowing.
But you don’t see me. I am no longer desirable, desired,
nor worth a glance from afar. A smile. You don’t see me.

A Reflection on That Time I Let My Husband Cut My Hair

He said he’d watched a tutorial.
He said symmetry was a myth
fueled by Big Geometry.

I laughed. That was my first mistake.

My second was passing him the scissors
without asking him about his dominant hand.
(It was vibes. His hand was vibes.)

Snip.

He called it edgy. I called it
accidentally spiritual—
because seeing your own scalp
before coffee
is a kind of awakening.

He apologized by making pancakes
in the shape of angels.
I joked, You know these look like ghosts.
He replied so sincerely, I don’t see it. 

And that was the moment I knew: 
this is who I chose. The kind of man 
who conflates confidence with capability, 
specters with satiety, and bad haircuts 
with love. 

I could have done worse.

That bald spot grew over,
like a lot of mistakes—
as if nothing had happened.
But when I hear the snip-snapping
of blades testing the air, I still flinch. 
Just a little.

Which is to say, I’m older now,
but still not immune to vanity, 
or apology, or pancakes, 
especially when they’re fueled
by good intentions.

Five minutes

Anxiously he waits for his wife
She was supposed to be home at five
He needs to teach her a lesson
He knows she will after this session

five minutes later, she opens the door
Without greeting he hits her to the floor
He promises tonight he will give her a hiding
Never mind the pleading

He beats her face to a pulp
Bleeding from the scalp
He shows no sign of stopping
and she cannot stop sobbing

He starts kicking her
She is full of fear
She tries to get up
She slips in her own blood

All afternoon he had been drinking
Beating her without blinking
Eventually he relents
Now he can boast to his friends.

He is the boss in his house
A complete madhouse
The sad part is she does not report him
He sits on the couch and hums a hymn.

Behind The Asteroid of Just Following Orders

“Let who is without sin, 
                 throw da first stone.”  
                                        -  dat Jesus Guy 

Throughout history 
Many eyes have seen 
Their own two hands ... 

Throw the first stone 
Pull the trigger 
Thrust the sword 
Hang a wigger or Hitler wannabe
Push The button 
Swing the axe 
Flip the switch 
Make Anthrax 
Sign the order 
Gas the chambers
Scalp a brother 
Build the Bomb behind closed doors 
Pull the lever, walk the plank

It’s either us or them has always been 
and seems a thoughtless worthless endeavor
 
So, when does it start, the thinking clearly  
Instead of just following orders
What changes the mind of madness,
Evil must be destroyed to free ourselves 
Does it happen after the bombs drop? 
The Book of Doom 
Says there is room 
For all of us in heaven 
If not, there’s plenty room in hell 
For everyone who just want to 
Keep on following orders 

Blindly, without questioning nothing.

A sure-fire way to create an Extinction event 
is to just keep on following orders 

Who needs asteroids 
When all we need is a little love 
And a lot of ignorance

Today I Grieve

Today I grieve... and tomorrow.
Every tear that falls
on the second jaw
is there because of gravity,

or sorrow has something
to do with it--
my leaking groundward

as fingers grasp my crown
probing deep into scalp
for an answer--

when nothing more is found
but wet scraps of hair.

Loving is learning how to walk again

Did not my eyes got to open? 
Or was I seeing something else?
Was I not watching yours oh right
Forgotting your other half
I just wanted to love you
But you did not let me
Weren't you fine with it?
How can you leave me like that, 
leaking from the side, 
my sweat from my scalp is leaking the facade.

When someone else lead me light through the window, 
and it even reached my toes, 
Why couldn't love,
love again?
Why didn't I wanted to stand up, 
Stand up 
Again?

Why do I feel good lying in spiders poop.
I feel comfort in smell.
Have I got color blind?
I did not mind open my eyes.

Why do I smile and laugh, 
when there Is someones punch on the side of my brain?

I want to lay in here and stay.
The garden which got built, 
I saw it.
But everyone is enjoying it.
I am not everyone.

Dare To Tell

Dare to tell my story, unique and bold,
Compose and consume, my truth to unfold.
Dare to voice my choices, loud and clear,
Dare to stop the unwanted, and calm my fear.

Like a sculptor, I'll chip away the pain,
Furnish my soul, and emerge anew again.
With every step, I'll dare to try,
To win or lose, but never say die.

I'll remove every filthy scalp of doubt,
And rise above, with a spirit devout.
My story's mine, and I'll dare to tell,
A tale of courage, of trials to compel.

But you did rip your scalp off for him

"If we would need a boy for prom and someone would ask us-"
"I wouldn't accept him"
"But I didn't even mention his name.
I meant everybody, who it might be."
"Yeah, I am just saying"
Sigh

Inspirational Music

Shriek permeates bones break
Zigzwang with miasma tang
No one is saying anything 
I’m going insane
Crossroads to make a deal
Instead his scalp I peel
Elitist swine high on the mantle
Pleas to stop as I disassemble 

Cry wolf flock the sheep
Alabaster hooves on concrete
How do you even sleep?
On a conveyor belt don’t you see
Your packages of maggot meat
You hesitate then bite down and eat
Cannibalistically sickening 
Pinky up with red whine to drink

It's important to me
Not important to you
What does everyone do

Another ventriloquist
Another jejune seepage
Another fist up anus
Another one to work your lips

Grrraaaaaaaaahhhhh

Slaves and marionettes 
Stand up your the circus
Clowns in cars trying to fit
Rushing to drop knee, oscillate and submit
You don’t know what darkness truly is
Grotesque being where I sit
Trying to circumvent eager dummies kismet
By all means let me know 
What your master says dear little puppets
In the comments, middle fingers both flip
Hack and spit

holly day in May

A Holly Day in May

the building is eerily empty today, everybody
has gone to the beach, even those in wheelchairs
I sit on the verandah in the hope of tanning
my scalp looks so white in the bathroom mirror
I used to sit in the sun and get a deep tan
which gave me skin cancer
Do the Gaza people sit in the sun away from their
tents, now bombed, because Gaza has nice 
beaches and turquoise water.
The Israel monster regime keeps killing Palestinians 
daily, 60 here and 40 there 
It has been noticed, that more Jews are leaving 
Israel, then newcomers to this Paradise of evil
I went to the pharmacy yesterday and wanted to buy 
a self-tanning product, the person who served me
came from Congo, shamefully, I lost my nerves 
and bought aspirins.
My wife, born in Kinshasa, said I was a racist
Once, when she was a stewardess, she met 
the fabled Roger Moore, I say no more but has
a nice-looking daughter 
I read Joe Biden talking about ********, maybe 
he wished for one
 We all have sexual fantasies, a curse for old men

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