Snares
Snares, sears, nears, are, era, ears, as, an, seas, ran, snare;
And like a threshing-sledge dragging the mire,
But the rattle of the spear is all that i do hear around me.
White hair, black hair and coloured hair!
The deep boils like a caldron;
But my ears heard of you and now,
My own eyes have seen you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hair
Wide cheeks? Let the hair hide the ears.
Broad forehead? Let the hair spills in front.
Dwarf neck? Let the hair in knot be up.
Lanky figure? Let the hair falls on shoulders.
Hair being dense is an asset to woman
27.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Anne Gregory
"Never shall a young man,
Thrown into despair
By those great honey-coloured
Ramparts at your ear,
Love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."
"But I can get a hair-dye
And set such colour there,
Brown, or black, or carrot,
That young men in despair
May love me for myself alone
And not my yellow hair."
"I heard an old religious man
But yesternight declare
That he had found a text to prove
That only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."
poem by William Butler Yeats (1933)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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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
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Sand-Between-The-Toes
I went down to the shouting sea,
Taking Christopher down with me,
For Nurse had given us sixpence each-
And down we went to the beach.
We had sand in the eyes and the ears and the nose,
And sand in the hair, and sand-between-the-toes.
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is certain of
Sand-between-the-toes.
The sea was galloping grey and white;
Christopher clutched his sixpence tight;
We clambered over the humping sand-
And Christopher held my hand.
We had sand in the eyes and the ears and the nose,
And sand in the hair, and sand-between-the-toes.
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is certain of
Sand-between-the-toes.
There was a roaring in the sky;
The sea-gulls cried as they blew by;
We tried to talk, but had to shout-
Nobody else was out.
When we got home, we had sand in the hair,
In the eyes and the ears and everywhere;
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is found with
Sand-between-the-toes.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Tonight I Draw Your Hair
Tonight I draw your hair,
A hair of simplicity,
With a mysterious beauty,
That no one can ever resist,
A hair that blooms with the sun,
That always shines every sunrise,
And turns into deep black at sunset,
A hair of smooth silk,
That touches my face like a baby,
And comforts my soul into a sleeping baby,
Like the lullaby that can put me into sleep,
Your hair blooms unlike any other.
-GanNi
poem by Geovanni Leaño
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He calls me Honky.
My friend’s as black as ebony
and he delights in teasing me.
He says I am the coloured man
I can’t deny it no one can.
My hair is blond my eyes are blue.
His words are obviously true,
My facial skin is pink and white.
to anyone with normal sight
His eyes, his hair and skin are black
I cannot counter his attack
But he’s my mate so I don’t care
His banter isn’t hard to bear
We’re much the same bar for our skin.
What matters most must lie within.
Monday,16 November 2009
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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)
~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
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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There was this thing written that I had gone into a candle store, and my hair went up in flames because of all the hair spray. First of all, I never have hair spray in my hair, and I've never even heard of this store, and my hair has never been burned.
quote by Nicolette Sheridan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Numb
Reality fades
As fiction becomes truth
Sounds blend to static
As my ears start to bleed
I'm walking on the moon
As the birds sing an entrancing lullaby
And the sky melts
From blue to pink
While the rain washes
The color from my eyes
My every hair stands on end
To hear the colors
My ears can't see
I close my eyes
Light still coms in
As they open
My world goes dim
Ain't the great
I'm numb
again
poem by Matt Mondschein
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Black Is The Color Of My True Loves Hair
Traditional
Black is the color of my true loves hair
His face so soft and wondrous fair
The purest eyes
And the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands
I love the ground on where he stands
Black is the color of my true loves hair
Of my true loves hair
Of my true loves hair
Oh I love my lover
And where he goes
Yes, I love the ground on where he goes
And still I hope
That the time will come
When he and I will be as one
When he and I will be as one
So black is the color of my true loves hair
Black is the color of my true loves hair
Black is the color of my true loves hair
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Characteristics of People
Long hair,
Short hair
Dark or light,
Black or white
Small or full lips,
Thin or wide hips
Blue eyes,
Brown eyes
Skinny or fat,
This or that
Everyone has one or another,
Wether it's from themselves
Or their father or mother.
poem by Jessica Goudreault
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For a Good Cause and Care
Tides are high
Tides are deep
With a sigh
I cannot sleep,
Thinking of my long hair
I wish I could keep.
To cut it I would not dare
For I know it is a part of me.
However I know that hair
Grows back within each week
And I know I have the heart to share.
Even though for a moment I will weep,
It is for a good cause and care,
For my hair will grow back everytime I sleep
Just as much as tides are high
Tides are deep
Even if they go away in a chime,
They come back and up the beach they creep
Every day and for all of time.
So I know I can always keep
My hair for it will grow as tides do each time
As the seas swells and heaves as it sleeps.
poem by Music Galore
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Hair Now Gone Tomorrow
It is neither here not there
But there was a time I had a lot of hair
As it passed, the time I mean
Everywhere my hair was seen
In the tub and in the sink
In the food and in the drink
Till all there was left my dears
Was a little bit above the ears
poem by Kishore Asthana
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The Witches' Glen - An Auld Tale
Gather aroon the ingle nuek
For ae eerie tale I'll tell -
'Boot a glen whar a witchy spook
Cast folk in her terrible spell.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Warlocks an witches dance at night
When the full-moon turns its ken!
Thunder rides on a bolt of light
The deil's in the witches' glen!
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Auld trees hang o'er the twisted wynd
An' blot oot the licht o' day;
An there, there's staring eyes tae find
A stranger wha's lost their way.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Frae Grennan wood she hailed an flew
A flash thru the black night wind
Come witchin hour everyin knew
She'd get a' the folks wha sinned.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
They burned her on Kirkmaiden hill
An' they bound her on a stake:
She chanted spells that made 'em ill
An' they pray'd for Jesus' sake.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
When ere ye walk the witches' glen,
Whar branches stretch oot like hands
Tak' Bible, cross an' say, Amen!
An' heed the guid Lord's commands.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she's still there tae be seen.
poem by Patrick Scott Hogg
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Take Care, Take Care
Bind up, bind up your dark bright hair
And hide the smouldering sunken fire.
Let it be held no more than fair,
Nor yourself guess how rare, how rare
Its movement, colour and deep fire.
Your eyes they have their consciousness,
Your lips their grave reflective smile,
Your hands their cunning for distress:
Your hair has only beauteousness
And hid flame for its only guile.
That glowing hair on shoulders white
Is pride past sum: take care, take care!
Even to dream of wish'd delight
Too much perturbs the ebb of night--
Bind up, bind up your burning hair!
poem by John Freeman
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If Roses Can Be
If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses
If hair can be
red
blonde
brunette
black
And still be hair
If eyes can be
green
blue
brown
hazel
And still be eyes
Then why can't humans be
black
white
hispanic
asian
And still be accepted?
Why can't people be
special
different
unique
original
And still be people?
If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses.....
poem by Jennifer Hall
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Where the Wild Cats Whine
Jet black hair and her green eyes shine
Standing on a cloud in the cool sunshine
Tell me can you see her
Can you hear the wild cats whine
Will you let her take you home
Will you stay a little while
Will you spend some time.
Locked inside like a wild God's cry's
Ringing in her ears in the still of the night
Tell me can you see her
Reaching up to the sky
Looking for the place in the cool sunshine.
Years gone by but the days are the same
Rolling down the track like a dream freight train
I'm going to touch the sun
I'm going to look into her eyes
I'm going to try and find that place where the wild cats whine
Where the wild cats whine in the cool sunshine
With her jet black hair and her green eyes shine
I'm going to follow her home
I'm going to stay for a while
And spend some time in the cool sunshine
Spend some time where the wild cats whine
Locked inside like a wild God's cry's
Ringing in her ears in the still of the night
Now I see her reaching up into the sky
Waiting for me in the cool sunshine
Waiting for me where the wild cats whine.
Jet black hair and her green eyes shine
Waiting on a cloud in the cool sunshine
I'll be here for a while maybe longer than a day
Spend my time in the cool sunshine.
Spend my time where the wild cats whine.
Jeff Nesvig
poem by Jeff Nesvig
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Hairbrush
how i wish my fingers were the bristles
or my breath were the wind when it whistles
thru your hair, thru your hair
i wish you'd hold me in your hands
and let me skate thru all the strands
of your hair, of your hair
i could style it anyway you like it
i could brush it straight or even spike it
au contraire! au contraire!
or i would wait patiently in my box
until next i would comb the locks
of your hair, of your hair
i would braid it tight, tousle, and tease!
or pull it back in a ponytail, if you please;
if you dare, if you dare
how often is it a man confesses
that he wish to run barefoot thru the tresses
of your hair, of your hair?
you may think me a little touch'd
but can i tell you just how much
i hate your hairbrush?
this obsession may be zealous
but can i tell you just how jealous
i am of your hairbrush? !
poem by Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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