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The Barber
I'd like to be a barber, and learn to shave and clip,
Calling out, 'Next please! and pocketing my tip.'
All day I'd hear my scissors going, 'Snip, Snip, Snip;'
I'd lather people's faces, and their noses I would grip
While I shaved most carefully along the upper lip.
But I wouldn't be a barber if ...
The razor was to slip.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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There is no beard so well shaven but another barber will find something more to shave from it.
The barber learns to shave on the orphan's face.
Haircut.
The Barber came to cut my hair,
I told him that it wasn't fair.
My hair had done him no harm,
Without it I would loose my charm.
The Barber he grinned a silly grin,
Said to cut my hair would be no sin.
That I should face it like a man,
But I'm a coward and away I ran.
Do you like sitting in a Barbers chair,
With him chopping away your lovely hair.
Once my head was full of curls,
Covering my face with twisty twirls.
But then the Barber came my way,
I was a child, I had no say.
Off came my curls one by one,
The Barber seemed to have great fun.
Now I'm old and very grey,
I'm nearly bald, my hairs gone away.
But when I see a Barbers chair,
I feel the loss of my curly hair.
You know I truly rue the day,
When that first Barber came my way.
poem by Bernard Shaw
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This Morning At The Barbershop
This morning at the barbershop,
a barber is busy with the hair
of a much older grey haired man
that he is trimming neatly
and a young man
sits in one of the barber’s chairs.
When I sit down to wait
the young man rises
turning to me
and asks if he can cut my hair.
I was happy to get attention immediately
while the other barber was finishing
with the older man,
as he looks to finely tuned to me.
My hair was smartly cut
with a pair of scissors
and the young barber
held his fingers
to determine the length
and I wanted it shorter
than just cutting off the ends
while the other barber
first took a hair blower
from a drawer,
sprayed something over his own hair
before he started to blow it in the mirror
and he then said
that he cannot go
to the bank to wait in line
with a head looking like Tut’s ass
and I saw my locks
falling dark brown
with dots of grey around me
and saw the other barber
combing his long hair
and smiled at myself
about the vanity of humanity
while I looked at myself
and were starting to look much better.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Every time I go and shave, I assume there's someone else on the planet shaving. So I say, 'I'm gonna go shave, too.'
quote by Mitch Hedberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll Get One Tomorrow
Barber, barber, come and get me;
Hairy torrents irk and fret me.
Hair and hair again appears;
And climbs like ivy round my ears.
Hair across my collar gambols;
Down my neck it wayward ambles.
Ever down it trip it tickles;
Yes, where it trips it tickles.
Barber dear I wish I knew;
Why i do not visit you.
Why I grudge the minutes ten;
In your smiling den.
Why I choose to choke on hair;
Rather than to mount your chair.
Men no busier than I;
Weekly to your office hie.
Men no busier than myself;
Confront the armory on your shelf;
Men no wealthier than me;
Gladly meet your modest fee.
And for a fraction of a dollar;
Keep the jungle off their collar.
I alone am shy and flustered;
Solitary, cowardly custard.
Shaggy as a prize angore;
Overrun with the creeping flora.
Barber, barber, you’re in luck;
The bell has rung, the hour has struck.
Sloth strong, the hair is strong;
I cannot stand it any long.
Barber, barber here I come;
Shake up the odorous bay rum.
Bring on your shears your scythes, your snippers;
Bring on your crisp electric driers.
Employ a dozen extra sweepers;
Bring giant harvesters and reapers.
I warn you a bumper crop;
Waits to overwhelm your shop.
Braber, barber, be verbose;
Be anything but clip me close.
Leave me razored, leave me scissored
Leave me hairless, as a lizard;
Barber, barber, single and scald;
Barber can’t you make me bald?
I will be the happiest of men;
And never think of you again.
poem by Ogden Nash
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If a person shave you with a razor, do not shave him with broken glass.
Basically, they had asked me if I would shave my head or wear a bald cap. I said look, if you are doing a series for five years I would want to shave my hair because I would go bald with all the gum and glue from the bald cap.
quote by Persis Khambatta
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dog Faced Boy
Eels - dog faced boy
-----------------------
Coming home from the school today
Crying all along the way
Aint no way for a boy to be
Begging ma to shave me please
You little punks think you own this town
Well someday someones gonna bring you down
Life aint pretty for a dog faced boy
Life aint pretty for a dog faced boy
You, take back what you said now
Thats the last time I cry
You tell me what it is to be a friend, now
till I walk beside you on the street now
Ma wont shave me
Jesus cant save me
Dog faced boy
Life aint pretty for a dog faced boy
Life aint pretty for a dog faced boy
Life aint pretty for a dog faced boy
Life aint pretty for a dog faced boy
Going back to the school tomorrow
Hang my hairy head in sorrow
Aint no way for a boy to be
Aint no way to set me free, now
Ma wont shave me
Jesus cant save me
Dog faced boy
Ma wont shave me
Jesus cant save me
Dog faced boy
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This is Red Barber speaking. Let me say hello to you all.
quote by Red Barber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wayne's World
Shave a sheep and save my love,
For the products from Germany are all around you;
But when the night becomes day,
The mouse comes out to play.
Wayne's world,
Shave a sheep and save my love;
For when the day becomes night,
The cat goes out for a catch.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Man from Iron Bark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.
'Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark,
I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.'
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash he smoked a huge cigar;
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a 'tote', whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered, 'Here's a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.'
There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber's wall.
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink his dexter eyelid shut,
'I'll make this bloomin' yokel think his bloomin' throat is cut.'
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
'I s'pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.'
A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman's chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim's throat;
Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark -
No doubt it fairly took him in - the man from Ironbark.
He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd'rous foe:
'You've done for me! you dog, I'm beat! one hit before I go!
I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
But you'll remember all your life the man from Ironbark.'
He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber's jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And 'Murder! Bloody murder!' yelled the man from Ironbark.
A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said ''Twas all in fun'
Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.'
'A joke!' he cried, 'By George, that's fine; a lively sort of lark;
I'd like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.'
And now while round the shearing floor the list'ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o'er and o'er, and brags of his escape.
'Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough.'
And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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A Man With A Plan
I have heard it said
a man who shaves
can really go places...
whatever that means?
It amazes
some observant
neighbours
that Nick the alcoholic
has a shave
before going to the pub
seven days a week...
Even on a Sunday afternoon.
My God Nick's got a plan.
He's going to wait
until twenty past
then have a shave
then go to the pub.
Now that's a man with a plan.
Yes Nick is really going places.
He's a man with a plan.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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There Once Was A Man...
There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave
There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave
There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave
There once was a monk with a wave
Who wanted a head with a shave...
The barber was such
That she cut back too much
Thereby leaving his globus concave
There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious he could not behave...
They paid him no mind,
'Caus his name was maligned,
Simply being a sinner to save
There once was a man quite depraved
A voluptuous life was thus craved...
Well, continuous sin
Ended doing him in -
On his tombstone they carved ‘Misbehaved'
poem by Terry O'Leary
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~Reconciliation~
A black woman migrates to Europe
War devastated Germany in she finds a tolerant white widower to cope
Years some later a mulatto is born with arrear
Unluckily the newborn not so towards white but usual spirally knotted hair
She grows up and gets because of her white father´s repute a government job
Ego came out spontaneous in black aggression as corn on the cob
Her work by job agency comes mostly foreigners for demonstrations
Majority a jobless black immigrant who has not the lucky touch of Midas parentage in confrontations
She looks of blacks down and she herself is black
When asked to justify says she is more white hidden traits back
She repeats her satisfaction from day to day
Until she went to a white german barber for hair trim and foam some day
Your hair is another says the white old barber woman
I have no experience and i cut not those hairs as talisman
Go to a black barber she added
They understand more your hair as they the same headed
Ode to Baldness
Heads that shine are “oh so fine”
And mostly trouble free
No hair to fly when wind is high
They’re always slick and neat
No hairspray or Brylcreem to buy
No brushes or pocket combs
And many ladies, I’ve heard it said,
Are fond of the old chrome dome
That must be why so many these days
Full heads of hair will shave
But, you can’t shave hair that isn’t there
I got mine the natural way
Now, you men of poetic métier
Whose hair has taken leave
Just write a verse if you’d care to link
With the bald headed poets’ league
Copyright C R Clark-3/2/2008
poem by C.R. Clark
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Parlez-Vous Francais?
Caesar, the amplifier voice, announces
Crime and reparation. In the barber shop
Recumbent men attend, while absently
The barber doffs the naked face with cream.
Caesar proposes, Caesar promises
Pride, justice, and the sun
Brilliant and strong on everyone,
Speeding one hundred miles an hour across the land:
Caesar declares the will. The barber firmly
Planes the stubble with a steady hand,
While all in barber chairs reclining,
In wet white faces, fully understand
Good and evil, who is Gentile, weakness and command.
And now who enters quietly? Who is this one
Shy, pale, and quite abstracted? Who is he?
It is the writer merely, with a three-day beard,
His tiredness not evident. He wears no tie.
And now he hears his enemy and trembles,
Resolving, speaks: "Ecoutez! La plupart des hommes
Vivent des vies de desespoir silenciuex,
Victimes des intentions innombrables. Et ca
Cet homme sait bien. Les mots de cette voix sont
Des songes et des mensonges. Il prend choix,
Il prend la volonte, il porte la fin d'ete.
La guerre. Ecoutez-moi! Il porte la mort."
He stands there speaking and they laugh to hear
Rage and excitement from the foreigner.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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