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A Baby Asleep after Pain
As a drenched, drowned bee
Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower,
So clings to me
My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears
And laid against her cheek;
Her soft white legs hanging heavily over my arm
Swinging heavily to my movements as I walk.
My sleeping baby hangs upon my life,
Like a burden she hangs on me.
She has always seemed so light,
But now she is wet with tears and numb with pain
Even her floating hair sinks heavily,
Reaching downwards;
As the wings of a drenched, drowned bee
Are a heaviness, and a weariness.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bangs
Bangs
Above your eyes your hair hangs
Blow my mind your royal flyness I dig your bangs
Bangs
To drape across your forehead
To swing concordant angles as you incline your head
Once with a girl I fell in love sometime ago now she had...
Bangs
Are that on which the world hangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
Bangs
Are like a pocket t-shirt
As casual as that while fully intentional
And in case you think Im here cause I like making chit chat
Just remember what I said the moneys under your hat
Bangs
Are that on which the world hangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
Bangs
Above your eyes your hair hangs
Blow my mind your royal flyness I dig your bangs
Bangs
To drape across your forehead
To swing concordant angles as you incline your head
And although I like you anyway, check out your haircut
A proscenium to stage a face that needs no makeup
Bangs
Are that on which the world hangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chagrin
Caught still as Absalom,
Surely the air hangs
From the swayless cloud-boughs
Like hair of Absalom
Caught and hanging still.
From the imagined weight
Of spaces in a sky
Of mute chagrin my thoughts
Hang like branch-clung hair
To trunks of silence swung,
With the choked soul weighing down
Into thick emptiness.
Christ, end this hanging death,
For endlessness hangs therefrom !
Invisibly branches break
From invisible trees:
The cloud-woods where we rush
(Our eyes holding so much),
Which we must ride dim ages round
Ere the hands (we dream) can touch,
We ride, we ride-before the morning
The secret roots of the sun to tread-
And suddenly
We are lifted of all we know,
And hang from implacable boughs.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Girl From The North Country
Well, if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
Well, if you go when the snowflakes storm,
When the rivers freeze and summer ends,
Please see if she's wearing a coat so warm,
To keep her from the howlin' winds.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
If it rolls and flows all down her breast.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
That's the way I remember her best.
I'm a-wonderin' if she remembers me at all.
Many times I've often prayed
In the darkness of my night,
In the brightness of my day.
So if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Want More Hair?
I'd love
I think
more hair
more hair
like a big
old grizzly bear
more hair makes
you manly
more hair
makes you tough
more hair feels
like carpet
more hair keeps
you rough
more hair
for pretty ladies
to rub their faces on
more hair for
guys to jealous of
and more locks that can
be flung
I think more hair would be awesome
but I wouldn't wanna overdo it
because too much hair would make
me like a little furry blanket
and I couldn't cover both of us
just you and that ain't fair
more hair!
poem by John W. McEwers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Girl Of The North Country
Well, if youre travelin in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
Well, if you go when the snowflakes storm,
When the rivers freeze and summer ends,
Please see if shes wearing a coat so warm,
To keep her from the howlin winds.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
If it rolls and flows all down her breast.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
Thats the way I remember her best.
Im a-wonderin if she remembers me at all.
Many times Ive often prayed
In the darkness of my night,
In the brightness of my day.
So if youre travelin in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The rope that hangs a monkey, hangs a baboon as well.
He who lies, hangs from a gallows - he who does not, hangs twice.
The Fatal Disease
He got a blow as his wife developed cancer,
And went knee-less, tearless and sleepless.
His life hangs. Her desire to help her son
Bring up his two daughters and son, hangs.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Much Hair
There is thin hair,
heavy hair,
There is gray hair,
and red hair,
then there is no hair,
I will be hair
for you forever,
every hair you go,
I will go hair to.
(4-11-07)
She Hangs Out
How old dyou say your sister was? (sister was, sister was)
How old dyou say your sister was? (sister was, sister was)
You know youd better keep an eye on her (eye on her, eye on her)
Do the ronde ronde ronde do the rond rond
She hangs out
She hangs out
I heard you taught your sister the bugaloo (bugaloo, bugaloo)
I heard you taught your sister the shigaling too
(shigaling
Too, shigaling too)
Well, she can teach you a thing or two (a thing or two, thing or two)
Do the ronde ronde ronde do the rond rond
She hangs out
She hangs out
Well, she hangs out, hangs out
Every night, every night
You know you best get down here on the double
Before she gets her pretty little self in trouble
Shes...so fine...so fine
I say, how old dyou say your sister was? (sister was, sister was)
How old dyou say your sister was? (sister was, sister was)
You know youd better keep an eye on her (eye on her, eye on her)
Do the ronde ronde ronde do the rond rond
She hangs out
She hangs out
Shes very, very, very, very, very fine
And shes gonna be mine, so fine
She hangs out
She hangs out
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mess Of A Man
Meet a man,
A man named Harry,
He's in need of a shave,
And it's quite scary,
He's got hair on his chest,
Hair on his back,
Hair on his ass,
And hair in his crack,
He leaves hair on the soap,
Hair on the floor,
Hair every place,
Including the store,
Harry, dear Harry,
Do something, please,
Your hair retains odor,
And you reek of cheese!
Look at your cat,
What will you do?
Your cat's hairballs,
They're the hairs from you!
No hope, it seems,
For your hairiness,
It'll just regrow,
So live in your mess.
poem by Maddy Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunday swim
upon a blue sky
hangs the clouds
upon a blue sea
the floor is light gray
between this two
walls i
put myself
amidst the winds
blowing my hair
as i struggle
against the waves
away from shore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nomadic Tribes
The nomads of the east are upon us,
Life here is bleak, since armed combat is certainness.
The nomads of the east prefer clothing of beauty,
Happiest beauty prevails with battle, for it is duty.
The warriors of the west are us,
Working with brilliance and briskness.
Life shall remain like a powerful hair,
This hair hangs like an age to compare.
Entire bodies, robes of desire are contemplating
Why we are here, why are we here in conflict?
Too many wars are too many lives decapitating,
In fury, in debilitating state, always to object.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Iron Cross
THEY pass, with heavy eyes and hair,
Before the Christ upon the Cross,
The Nations, stricken with their loss,
And lifting faces of despair.
What is the prayer they pray to Him,
Christ Jesus on the Iron Cross?
The Christ, neglected, dark with moss,
Whose hands are pierced, whose face is grim.
Is it forgiveness for great sin
They plead before the Iron Cross?
Or for some gift of gold or dross?
Or battle lost, that they would win?
With eyes where hate and horror meet,
They pass before the Iron Cross,
The Cross, that ancient words emboss,
Where hangs the Christ with nail-pierced feet.
His hair is fallen on his face.
His head hangs sidewise from the Cross —
The Crucified, who knows all loss,
And had on Earth no resting place.
'O world of men,' he seems to say,
'Behold me on your Iron Cross!
To me why kneel and tell your loss?
Why kneel to me and weep and pray?
'Have I not taught you to forgive?
And bade you from my Iron Cross
Believe, and bear your grief and loss,
That after death you too may live?
'You have not followed at my call!
You keep me on this Iron Cross,
And pray me keep you from all loss,
And save and comfort you withal.—
'You ask for love, and hate the more! —
You keep me on this Iron Cross!—
Restore to me my greater loss,
The brotherhood of rich and poor.'
They pass, with weary eyes and hair,
Before the Christ upon the Cross —
The Nations, wailing of their loss,
And lifting faces of despair.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet XVIII: I Never Gave a Lock of Hair
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully,
I ring out to the full brown length and say
Take it. My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XVIII
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully,
I ring out to the full brown length and say
' Take it.' My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Xviii
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully,
I ring out to the full brown length and say
' Take it.' My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Another for Hanque
A poem is joined to everything,
hangs by a thought;
a poet is joined to everything,
hangs by a word;
wisdom’s joined to everything;
hang lightly, golden heart.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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