She looks like she combs her hair with an egg beater.
quote by Hedda Hopper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandma
Knots and tangles in my hair,
grandma sitting on her chair,
me in front on a stool so low,
brushes and combs all in a row.
Grandma would wash it every day,
Saying 'We do this first, then you play.'
Waiting for the feel of every pull,
this became our ritual.
I anticipated every tug.
When we finished we would hug.
But before I'd leave she'd make a bow,
all different colors she'd use to show
that my hair was something she loved to see.
It was long and shiny black, like ebony.
I treasure her looks and the moments spent,
the combs, the brushes and her looks of content.
My grandma made me feel like a queen,
like the prettiest thing she'd ever seen.
Now as my hair is turning gray
I remember the words she used to say,
'Sit down dolly and I'll comb your hair.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women Washing Their Hair
They have painted and sung
the women washing their hair,
and the plaits and strands in the sun,
and the golden combs
and the combs of elephant tusks
and the combs of buffalo horn and hoof.
The sun has been good to women,
drying their heads of hair
as they stooped and shook their shoulders
and framed their faces with copper
and framed their eyes with dusk or chestnut.
The rain has been good to women.
If the rain should forget,
if the rain left off for a year—
the heads of women would wither,
the copper, the dusk and chestnuts, go.
They have painted and sung
the women washing their hair—
reckon the sun and rain in, too.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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You Need The Smoke Around
Honey combs from the trees!
Honey combs from the mountains!
Honey combs from the valleys!
Climbing up and down to get them;
But, you need the smoke around to lead you on.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pigtail
When all the women in the transport
had their heads shaved
four workmen with brooms made of birch twigs
swept up
and gathered up the hair
Behind clean glass
the stiff hair lies
of those suffocated in gas chambers
there are pins and side combs
in this hair
The hair is not shot through with light
is not parted by the breeze
is not touched by any hand
or rain or lips
In huge chests
clouds of dry hair
of those suffocated
and a faded plait
a pigtail with a ribbon
pulled at school
by naughty boys.
Translated by Adam Czerniawski
poem by Tadeusz Ròzewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A man combs his hair every morning -- why not his heart?
When Mother Combed My Hair
When Memory, with gentle hand,
Has led me to that foreign land
Of childhood days, I long to be
Again the boy on bended knee,
With head a-bow, and drowsy smile
Hid in a mother's lap the while,
With tender touch and kindly care,
She bends above and combs my hair.
Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares
Had paled it to the hue it wears,
Its tangled threads of amber light
Fell o'er a forehead, fair and white,
That only knew the light caress
Of loving hands, or sudden press
Of kisses that were sifted there
The times when mother combed my hair.
But its last gleams of gold have slipped
Away; and Sorrow's manuscript
Is fashioned of the snowy brow--
So lined and underscored now
That you, to see it, scarce would guess
It e'er had felt the fond caress
Of loving lips, or known the care
Of those dear hands that combed my hair.
. . . . . . . .
I am so tired! Let me be
A moment at my mother's knee;
One moment--that I may forget
The trials waiting for me yet:
One moment free from every pain--
O! Mother! Comb my hair again!
And I will, oh, so humbly bow,
For I've a wife that combs it now.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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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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The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries or the way she combs her hair.
quote by Audrey Hepburn
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Johnny & Mary
Johnny's always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, knows he tires easily
Johnny thinks the world would be right, if it would buy, truth from him.
Mary says he changes his mind, more than a woman.
But she made her bed, even when the chance was slim.
Johnny says he's willing to learn, when he decides, he's a fool.
Johnny say's he'll live any where, when he earns time to.
Mary combs her hair, says she should be use to it.
Mary always edges her bets, she never knows, what to think.
She says that he still acts, like he's being discovered.
Scared that he'll get caught, without a second thought
Johnny feels he's wasting his breath, trying to talk, sense to her
Mary says he's lacking a real, sense of proportion
So she combs her hair, knows he tires easily
Johnny's always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, says she should be use to it.
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Johnny And Mary
Johnny's always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, knows he tires easily
Johnny thinks the world would be right, if it would buy, truth from him.
Mary says he changes his mind, more than a woman.
But she made her bed, even when the chance was slim.
Johnny says he's willing to learn, when he decides, he's a fool.
Johnny say's he'll live any where, when he earns time to.
Mary combs her hair, says she should be use to it.
Mary always edges her bets, she never knows, what to think.
She says that he still acts, like he's being discovered.
Scared that he'll get caught, without a second thought
Johnny feels he's wasting his breath, trying to talk, sense to her
Mary says he's lacking a real, sense of proportion
So she combs her hair, knows he tires easily
Johnny's always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, says she should be use to it
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Johnny Mary
Johnnys always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, knows he tires easily
Johnny thinks the world would be right, if it would buy, truth from him.
Mary says he changes his mind, more than a woman.
But she made her bed, even when the chance was slim.
Johnny says hes willing to learn, when he decides, hes a fool.
Johnny says hell live any where, when he earns time to.
Mary combs her hair, says she should be use to it.
Mary always edges her bets, she never knows, what to think.
She says that he still acts, like hes being discovered.
Scared that hell get caught, without a second thought
Johnny feels hes wasting his breath, trying to talk, sense to her
Mary says hes lacking a real, sense of proportion
So she combs her hair, knows he tires easily
Johnnys always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, says she should be use to it.
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Johnny And Mary
Johnny's always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he ain't lonely
Mary counts the walls
Knows he tires easily
Johnny thinks the world would be right
If it could find truth for him
Mary says he changes his mind
More than a woman
But she made her bet
Even though the chance was slim
Johnny says he's willing to learn it
When he decides he's a fool
Johnny says he'll live anywhere
When he has time to
Mary combs her hair
Says she should be used to it
Mary always hedges her bets
She never knows what to think
She says that he still acts like he's
Being discovered
Scared that he'll get caught
Without a second thought
Johnny thinks he's wasting his prayers
Trying to make sense to her
Mary says he's lacking a real
Sense of proportion
So she combs her hair
Knows he tires easily
Johnny's always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he ain't lonely
Mary counts the walls
Says he should be used to it
'Cause Mary's always running around
Running around, running around
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Mothers Hair
One of your hairs fell out last night:
A piece of your life was gone without a sound.
I know a difficult day is coming,
My heart, pierced, utters a quiet cry.
Let my childhood smile again in the sun
And turn me into an innocent little head louse
So I can crawl through the jungle of your hair
And sing a song of darkness in its fragrance.
Under your fingernail-roof Ill sleep in my house;
In my black dream Ill water your black trees.
Ill pick black fruits, and hair-jungle bees
Will bring me black poems to be opened.
How will I live, without your hair?
How will I breathe, without its fragrance?
How will I survive, when I am discovered
By ghosts of wooden combs combing your hair?
Let me wear shows made of dawn-flowers
And crawl without a sound into your sleep.
Ill take the place of the hair that's gone
And sing of hair-clouds flying from night to day.
poem by Ovwigho Joseph Ovedje
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Evadne
I first tasted under Apollo's lips,
love and love sweetness,
I, Evadne;
my hair is made of crisp violets
or hyacinth which the wind combs back
across some rock shelf;
I, Evadne,
was made of the god of light.
His hair was crisp to my mouth,
as the flower of the crocus,
across my cheek,
cool as the silver-cress
on Erotos bank;
between my chin and throat,
his mouth slipped over and over.
Still between my arm and shoulder,
I feel the brush of his hair,
and my hands keep the gold they took,
as they wandered over and over,
that great arm-full of yellow flowers.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Johnny & Mary
(robert palmer)
Johnnys always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he aint lonely
Mary counts the walls
Knows he tires easily
Johnny thinks the world would be right
If it could buy truth from him
Mary says he changes his mind more than a woman
But she made her bed
Even when the chance was slim
Johnny says hes willing to learn
When he decides hes a fool
Johnny says hell live anywhere
When he earns to time
Mary combs her hair
Says she should be used to it
Mary always hedges her bets
She never knows what to think
She says that he still acts
Like he is being discovered
Scared that hell be caught
Without a second thought
Running around
Johnny feels hes wasting his breath
Trying to talk sense to her
Mary says hes lacking a real
Sense of proportion
So she combs her hair
Knows he tires easily
Johnnys always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he aint lonely
Mary counts the walls
Says she should be used to it
Johnnys always running around
Running around
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Boy's Easter Day
I don't have flowers of sun
The destiny took them away and gone
Even i don't have colored eggs
At this blissful Easter days
I don't have golden combs
To comb this dirty hair of mine
And my shoes are jugged and old
And it's already Easter day to hold
My little brother's hand
And go to our old church
but how I'll go?
People will make fun of me i know
And i can hear them when they say
'Oh how a dirty grimy his hair is'
'Oh God look to his old nasty shoes'
'What is doing this poor boy here'
'Oh Tom my son don't go near
then you become infected if you go near
that beggar boy so stay here'
And at the end ill return home
To tear at my bed alone
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Takes Care of Him?
He is so often there
Corner of 44th and Lexington
At the breakfast hour
Tall and thin, matted hair
Roughly shaven
With his jeans and cane
Talking to the buildings and the air
Who dresses him, prepares him
For the day
Hands him the cane and combs his hair
To set him on his way
To pace the waking hours
Between 44 and 43
With words that issue endlessly?
And who looks out for him
His health care and income
Ensures the police will leave
His corner well alone
So he can swear, disclaim and eat
Not waste away entirely
Before he goes to sleep?
On mornings when he is not there
I think about him even more.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Johnny & Mary
(r. palmer)
Producer: richard perry
Albums: the collected recordings (94)
From the summer lovers soundtrack
Johnnys always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he aint lonely
Mary counts the walls
Knows he tires easily
Johnny thinks the world would be right
If it could find truth for him
Mary says he changes his mind
More than a woman
But she made her bet
Even though the chance was slim
Johnny says hes willing to learn it
When he decides hes a fool
Johnny says hell live anywhere
When he has time to
Mary combs her hair
Says she should be used to it
Mary always hedges her bets
She never knows what to think
She says that he still acts like hes
Being discovered
Scared that hell get caught
Without a second thought
Johnny thinks hes wasting his prayers
Trying to make sense to her
Mary says hes lacking a real
Sense of proportion
So she combs her hair
Knows he tires easily
Johnnys always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he aint lonely
Mary counts the walls
Says he should be used to it
cause marys always running around
Running around, running around
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sirphan
The shadow,
Your muse,
Your love;
To be born from many wombs and to use various combs,
But the bombs came falling on us!
And most of us are now buried in the tombs.
A shadow,
Your works,
Your words;
Wombs, combs, bombs, tombs! !
The forum,
The temples,
The colossus,
The catacombs;
But the baths were made for your use,
So, make yourselves clean before the laws! !
And like the muse of Sirphan my friend.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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