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My Beard
My beard grows down to my toes,
I never wears no clothes,
I wraps my hair
Around my bare,
And down the road I goes.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The world is all but a circus
The world is all but a circus
~
The world is all but a circus
And we the animals caged
To be paraded for our entertainment
The show that is the biggest of all
Roll up, roll up, bare witness
To the performance of man and time
See the beautiful maidens dance
In all their colourful glories
While the lions tamed to bow
The king of the jungle no more
The humble clown who makes us laugh
Paints his mask and wears it well
The ring master smiles, laughs with glee
While blind we follow his lead
The world is all but a circus
Roll up, roll up bare witness
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bear and the Hare
The bear is always bare. I have never seen a bear who was not bare. Or does he or she wear a coat of hair? Where does he or she go to buy a coat of hair so that he or she won't be a bare bear? Coats cost money. Bare bears have no money.
But bears eat honey. Even bare bears eat honey. And this bear had a honey who wanted a coat of hair. So when she said to her honey, 'Honey, I want a coat of hair, but I have no money.', her honey replied, 'Honey, I have no money to buy a coat of hair. But I do have honey. Maybe I can sell my honey for money.' So he sold his honey for money so that his honey could have some money to buy a coat of hair and not be a bare bear.
This bear had a friend who was a hare. This hare has hair. Is he bare? He is not a bare bear but a hare and hares have hair. But he is a funny bunny and likes a sunny spot even when it is hot because he like to have fun in the sun. But this funny bunny could not find a sunny spot to go to have fun in the sun until one day a fair came to town.
The bear and hare of course went to the fair. What a pair! The fair was quite far so the bare bear and the hare with the hair decided to ride the street car. To ride the street car, they had to pay a fare. I say that was quite an affair - to see the bare bear and the hair paying for their fare. The bare bear had no pockets in which to carry any fare. The funny bunny had no honey to sell to get some money to pay the fare so that he could go to the fair. The fare cost ten cents. But that makes no sense. It isn't fair to make a bear who is bare and has no pockets to hold a fare or a funny bunny who has no honey to get money to pay a fare to go to the fair.
Subsequently, the bare bear barely got on the street car after the funny bunny hopped on, the bare bear and the hair were there sitting in chairs riding in the street car to the fair without paying any fare. Along the way they saw a mare. They did not care about the mare. They wanted to get to the fair. Have you every seen a bare bear sitting in a chair? I once saw a bare bear sitting in a chair at a fair but he wasn't bare.
To get into the fair the bare bear and the hair had to pay another fare. And still the bare bear had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. And the funny bunny had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. So what did they do? How did they get into the fair? As I said, I saw the bare bear sitting in a chair at the fair but he wasn't bare.
Tell me if this is a poem. Thanks.
poem by Ben Gieske
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fake Plastic Tree (acoustic Version)
A green plastic watering can
For a fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself
It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out
She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
On girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins
And it wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears him out
She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And it wears me out, it wears me out
It wears me out, it wears me out
And if I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time, all the time
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Plastic Trees
Her green plastic watering can
For her fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself.
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
She lives with a broken man,
A cracked polystyreneman
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins.
And it wears him out
It wears him out
It wears him out
It wears...
She looks like the real thing.
She tastes like the real thing,
My fake plastic love
But I cant help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run.
And it wears me out
It wears me out
It wears me out
It wears me out
If I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time
All the time.
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Plastic Tress
Her green plastic watering can
For her fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery for girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins
And it wears him out
And it wears him out
And it wears him out
She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I cant help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And it wears me out
It wears me out
And it wears me out
If I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted all the time
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Plastic Trees (live)
Radiohead cover
her green plastic watering can
for her fake chinese rubber plant
in the fake plastic earth
that she bought from a rubber man
in a town full of rubber plans
to get rid of itself
it wears her out
it wears her out
it wears her out
it wears her out
she lives with a broken man
a cracked polystyrene man
who just crumbles and burns
he used to do surgery for girls in the eighties
but gravity always wins
and it wears him out
and it wears him out
and it wears him out
she looks like the real thing
she tastes like the real thing
my fake plastic love
but i can't help the feeling
i could blow through the ceiling
if i just turn and run
and it wears me out
it wears me out
and it wears me out
if i could be who you wanted
if i could be who you wanted all the time
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gone but not forgotten.
My father's bald and wears a wig
My older brother shaves his head
I wonder is it infra dig
Agreeing with what mother said.
About masculine vanity.
Women prefer a man with hair
Though they accept that it might be.
Only temporarily there.
The hair you run your fingers through
By middle age may disappear
The only thing that you can do.
Is stroke his ego not his hair.
He's still the man you chose to wed.
Although his hair has departed.
Wednesday,18 April 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Legend of The Corrievrechan
Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand
And lord of the billowy sea;
Lord of the sea and lord of the land,
He might have let maidens be!
A maiden he met with locks of gold,
Straying beside the sea:
Maidens listened in days of old,
And repented grievously.
Wiser he left her in evil wiles,
Went sailing over the sea;
Came to the lord of the Western Isles:
Give me thy daughter, said he.
The lord of the Isles he laughed, and said:
Only a king of the sea
May think the Maid of the Isles to wed,
And such, men call not thee!
Hold thine own three nights and days
In yon whirlpool of the sea,
Or turn thy prow and go thy ways
And let the isle-maiden be.
Prince Breacan he turned his dragon prow
To Denmark over the sea:
Wise women, he said, now tell me how
In yon whirlpool to anchor me.
Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool
And a cable of maidens' hair,
And hie thee back to the roaring pool
And anchor in safety there.
The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,
Will forge three anchors rare;
The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool,
And the maidens will bring their hair.
Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand,
Of the hair that is raven another;
Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band
To bind the one to the other!
The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,
They forged three anchors rare;
The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool,
And the maidens brought their hair.
He twisted the brown hair for one strand,
The raven hair for another;
He twined the golden hair in a band
To bind the one to the other.
He took the cables of hemp and wool.
He took the cable of hair,
He hied him back to the roaring pool,
He cast the three anchors there.
The whirlpool roared, and the day went by,
And night came down on the sea;
But or ever the morning broke the sky
The hemp was broken in three.
The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran,
The wind it fiercely blew;
And or ever the second morning began
The wool it parted in two.
The storm it roared all day the third,
The whirlpool wallowed about,
The night came down like a wild black bird,
But the cable of hair held out.
Round and round with a giddy swing
Went the sea-king through the dark;
Round went the rope in the swivel-ring,
Round reeled the straining bark.
Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow,
A lantern in his hand:
Blest be the maidens of Denmark now,
By them shall Denmark stand!
He watched the rope through the tempest black
A lantern in his hold:
Out, out, alack! one strand will crack!
It is the strand of gold!
The third morn clear and calm came out:
No anchored ship was there!
The golden strand in the cable stout
Was not all of maidens' hair.
poem by George MacDonald
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Better lose hair than head
Better ‘tis to lose hair than thine head,
As is between butter and bare bread;
If not a thing comes fair
Today, how can be hair?
So hail heads that bare are— bald, not dead!
____________________________________________
There is one thing worse, they say, than having a
bald pate— to be defensive, curse your fate. I was
not yet thirty when my hair began to be grey though
not thin. This was perhaps Nature's way of balancing
things as my face had badly tanned by the time I was
in my ‘teens. As the years added themselves to my
age the contrast only widened. But it was much
after I retired from paid work, the hairline began to
recede a bit. After all, a balance must be maintained.
This little ditty sums up my philosophy on hair.
________________________________________ ____________
-Tongue-in-cheek | 01.04.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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The Second Poem
the woman wears a long gown
covering her toes
she veils her face and neck
there is no way that you can see
her veins
her back is covered with
fox hair
she wears gloves and her
mouth is covered with
silk cloth
she looks like a mummy
though fashionable in some sense
less the context of
death
get nearer she has a very
important matter to reveal
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A's no gowd that glitters, nor maidens that wear their hair.
In A Classy Cafe
They are two smart ladies, in a cafe, drinking tea,
Both chattering away so fast, and so very merrily,
They have obviously, to my mind, been friends for many years,
One of them is talking, the other one, she hears,
Then they change around, so it works the other way,
The talker listens hard, to what the other has to say.
One lady wears such a fashionable, stylish coat of red,
The second one has no coat at all, but what she wears instead
Is a very neat designer dress of a gentle pastel blue,
With a string of pearls around her neck, and pearl earrings too.
Such clear sophistication, they both elegantly display,
One with brown hair, shoulder length, one with short hair, grey,
A Mother and her Daughter, of that I have no doubt,
Just meeting here together, I know not what about,
But they seem to be very happy, and don't even notice us,
Watching so attentively. Oh! , Heck, now we've missed our bus!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Little Girl With Curly Hair
there is this little girls with black curly hair
flat nose, thin eyelashes, wavy goatish eyelids,
sitting on a bamboo pole
(the common furniture there)
with bare hands and bare feet
staring at me,
for i am new here and i have a big tummy
and i am white skinned, and i have candied
inside my pockets, she knows that soon
i will throw all these candies in the air
for all the other children
but there is something strange about this
little brown girl with curly hair sitting all alone
on that bamboo chair
her father and mother were killed in the last rebellion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Near Avalon
A ship with shields before the sun,
Six maidens round the mast,
A red-gold crown on every one,
A green gown on the last.
The fluttering green banners there
Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,
And a portraiture of Guenevere
The middle of each sail doth bear.
A ship with sails before the wind,
And round the helm six knights,
Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,
They pass by many sights.
The tatter'd scarlet banners there
Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.
Those six knights sorrowfully bear
In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
poem by William Morris
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Look taller, woman.
Bare your nape. With hair knotted up.
Wear sleeveless and bare loins.
Drape in muslin clothes.
Wear small studs and such sorts.
You would look taller than you are.
You look nicer than you are.
30.05.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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She loves her hair stretched
accustomed to curly hair
when we were yet children
living in the same house
I feel uneasy why she
wears stretched hair
And she takes pride
about her new found fashion
And taste for something straight.
Curly hairs and split ends
Never gave her luck
She got an ugly husband
Who does not understand her
Rich maybe, but slaps her
It is time she gains confidence
In herself to a newer face
A stretched hair, straight
And candid and ready to
Fight now, win or lose,
At whatever costs she must
Deny her old self, the one
With the curly hair, she is
Ready for the consequences.
Her right as a new woman
With stretched hair is now
Or never, she has no time left
Anymore for hiding and cowardice and tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sisters are always drying their hair. Locked into rooms, alone, they pose at the mirror, shoulders bare, trying this way and that their hair, or fly importunate down the stair to answer the telephone.
quote by Phyllis McGinley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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