Making It Up
I have this deadly
jar, brush and blush
which applied
is called make-up
Such trepidation here;
I dip with foundation cream
eyeliner and brow trim
place in
my green contact lense;
hair filled out with
fall and curls
mouth plumped up
with mystery shot
red paint
24-hour guaranteed
and then my mirror
gazes back
an altered me.
I've just a little
push me up
under-wire
to lift and tuck,
and scents
swirl around my head
jasmine light
to accent the night.
My heels
make me tall;
my legs appear long
my smile is fixed
with whiteners
and straighteners.
My dress is
not low cut
but low enough
marble red
spaghetti straps
black bra
and panties
hose
full length
I am
ready
now
to find an honest man
of no pretense.
I know, I know
but understand
these are my armaments
the tools of
mating and marriage.
If I don't
they will
and I'll be the one
leafing through
magazines
at the grocer store
looking for dating tips.
Leave you not
misunderstand
some few
may do
without
any help;
but by definition
that's not
you and I.
You and I must
inch along
making it up.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Haircut
I have wooly, wavy, woozy silvery hair
Cut just 20% you earn your fare
In bad trim down
Make sure I won't look like a clown.
With white cover she cuts away,
Her scissors, snip, snip night and day.
In mirror see my hair disappear
Trimmed nicely above each ear.
Finally touched my hair—few curls,
The more she accommodates I would adore.
Finish look seems more like 30% gone,
Hair wetted, scalped, I mirror no fun.
Next time another barber or good cutter
Better not scalp me" I sadly angry mutter
For well-kept hair on head?
I'd rather make more love in bed.
poem by Arthur Weil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Braiding
1.
We two sit on our bed, you
between my legs, your back to me, your head
slightly bowed, that I may brush and braid
your hair. My father
did this for my mother,
just as I do for you. One hand
holds the hem of you hair, the other
works the brush. Both hands climb
as the strokes grow
longer, until I use not only my wrists,
but my arms, then my shoulders, my whole body
rocking in a rower's rhythm, a lover's
even time, as the tangles are undone,
and brush and bare hand run the thick,
fluent length of your hair, whose wintry scent
comes, a faint, human musk.
2.
Last night the room was so cold
I dreamed we were in Pittsburgh again, where winter
persisted and we fell asleep in the last seat
of the 71 Negley, dark mornings going to work.
How I wish we didn't hate those years
while we lived them.
Those were days of books,
days of silences stacked high
as the ceiling of that great, dim hall
where we studied. I remember
the thick, oak tabletops, how cool
they felt against my face
when I lay my head down and slept.
3.
How long your hair has grown.
Gradually, December.
4.
There will come a day
one of us will have to imagine this: you,
after your bath, crosslegged on the bed, sleepy, patient,
while I braid your hair.
5.
Here, what's made, these braids, unmakes
itself in time, and must be made
again, within and against
time. So I braid
your hair each day.
My fingers gather, measure hair,
hook, pull and twist hair and hair.
Deft, quick, they plait,
weave, articulate lock and lock, to make
and make these braids, which point
the direction of my going, of all our continuous going.
And though what's made does not abide,
my making is steadfast, and, besides, there is a making
of which this making-in-time is just a part,
a making which abides
beyond the hands which rise in the combing,
the hands which fall in the braiding,
trailing hair in each stage of its unbraiding.
6.
Love, how the hours accumulate. Uncountable.
The trees grow tall, some people walk away
and diminish forever.
The damp pewter days slip around without warning
and we cross over one year and one year.
poem by Li-Young Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who You Calling Shorty
I am the short girl who
is always at the end of the line
looking up at the shoulders of others
and I don't' like that.
All the models are tall and have long legs
me, I'm short and made to feel like a child
especially when standing in line staring at backs.
I am the short girl.
So I stand back when tall people approach
so as to not have to crane my neck looking up
I like shorter men most times for the same reasons and more
I have learned to resent the tall shelves built into my kitchen
and subway straps which stop too short
for me to reach.
Overly tall heels make me look like a stork walking
and hurt my feet;
I am the short girl
and I see guys
looking over my head
at other girls
when we talk.
So I make up for it by being smart
and putting cushions on my chair
by being a good dancer on the dance floor
although they told me I didn't have 'good lines'
in my ballerina class.
I am the short girl
and don't know what to do.
What would you do
if you were me?
I guess I could stop complaining
and grow up
but only if I could;
see what I mean?
Short people are the unseen minority
and please tell the rap people
to stop calling me shortie;
that is rubbing it in.
Some of us have bone implants
put into our shins
to gain an inch
but that is not me
that seems drastic and risky.
So I will relax into my navel landscape
and looking up at chins;
I suppose life could be worse
than merely being always called shortie.
But folks keep in mind
true though that might be
us short people
don't like that only our height is being seen
as the most important thing
people see.
So all you storks
gangly and tottering
know by aged 60
you will all lose height
and you tall folks
will sink right down
to the same height
as the rest of us.
Then you and I will
come to see eye to eye.
Until then
see this as the short person's manifesto.
(Smile)
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work To Make It Work
(r palmer)
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Don't confine your dreams to bed
You'll get scared if you get lazy
If you can't take enough to satisfy yourself
Then you'll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it don't come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that i'll try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you don't succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Me An Inch
(robert palmer)
Give me an inch, girl
Give me an inch, girl
Give me an inch, girl
Give me an inch, girl
My eyes show me more than Ive seen
But unlike my poor heart theyre not cautious
I got to thinking love was a dream
Misunderstanding my fortunes
I should have taken more heed of my heart
Telling me how to live
But if you give me an inch, girl
Ill give you a mile
Oh, Ill make it all worth while
And Ill make you see
Just how much you mean to me
Well aint it easy to go head-over-heels
When you need the right person
You got to learn to smile about it
Nothing you do will feel certain
Here I stand with my heart in command
And its you I want to be with
Give me an inch, girl
Im in need of you
Dont leave me in the cold
When I want to trust in you
Dont turn me away
Life can be a worry
When its all work and no play
Give me an inch, girl
Ill give you a mile
Oh, Ill make it all worth while
And Ill make you see
Just how much
Just how much you mean to me
Give me an inch,
Ill give you a mile
And Ill make you see
Just how much, just how much you mean to me
Give me an inch, girl
Oh , Im in need of you
Dont leave me in the cold
When I want to trust in you
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sex Never Goes Out Of Fashion
She's the kind of girl who likes to do it stand up
From the back or anyway you want it, love
From the top if you keep it going all night
You're as good as the next for a fun time
Lookie here like a rabbit on the dancefloor
Party girl like you comin' in the back door
"c'mon boy, give it good, give an encore.."
Never leave a hungry sister begging one more
You keep it good and she'll beat you at your own game
Flip a switch and she's crying out her own name
Keep a lady happy as a little lamb
Give her head and you're riding on a sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
Wham bam slam it like a mama's man
Baby's on her back doin' the can-can
Such a babe-licious poco loco
Make her bob, make her beg and sweat it hardcore
Honky tonky lovin' keep her trembling
Funky style's never out of fashion, man
Keep it fresh with something for the weekend
Get some, daddy... You're riding on a sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
A little bit more
(Down her legs)
A little bit more
(Down her back)
A little bit more
(Down her neck)
A little bit more
(Down her arms)
A little bit more
(Down her breast)
A little bit m
song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Music Is Hapiness
I lift up my hands
The smile on my face tells all
The music
Takes me away
Away from everything bad
The Music
It makes me laugh
It makes me happy
I lift up my hands
Sway back and forth
If there is one thing good in this world
Its Music
It fills my mind
With good thoughts
Replacing the bad ones
My eyes
Full of joy
Instead of sadness
The music
Is my happiness
I lift up my hands
Shake my head back and forth
My hair in my face
The music
It lets me
Come out of my shell
The music
Lets me be who I am
I lift up my hands
The rhythm pounds on my eardrums
The ends of my mouth
Curl up
Instead of down
I lift my head
Brush the hair out of my eyes
The music
Is my happiness
A Boy's Trials
When I was but a little lad
One thing I could not bear,
It was to stand at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
They didn't keep boys' hair as short
As it's kept now-a-days,
And mine was always tangled up
In twenty different ways.
I'd twist my mouth and grit my teeth,
And say it wasn't fair-
It was a trial, and no mistake,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd brush and brush each stubborn curl
That grew upon my pate,
And with her scissors nip and clip
To make the edges straight.
Then smooth it down until it shone,
While I would grin and bear,
And feel a martyr through and through,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd take my round chin in her hand
And hold it there the while
She made the parting carefully,
Then tell me with a smile:
'Don't push your cap down on your curls
And spoil my work and care;
He is a pretty little lad
When mother combs his hair.'
I'd hurry out and rumple up
That mop of hair so thick-
A vandal, I, for she had worked
So hard to make it slick-
And wish I were a grown-up man
So nobody would dare
To put a washrag in my ears,
Or comb my tangled hair.
Heigho! now that I'm bald and gray,
Methinks I would be glad
To have her smooth my brow and cheeks,
And whisper, 'Mother's lad!'
A longing for the care-free days
Doth take me unaware;
To stand, a boy, at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
poem by Jean Blewett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Make Me Beautiful
Girl, I need my hair 'did'
I'll be over at 5
You are late
you kow I needed you
to put this Lace Front in
Did you bring glue and scissors
and Don't be messing up my hair
I spent alot of money
to make me Beautiful
Girl, I need my hair twisted
you know like Dreds
I need it done now,
how long do you think it will be
I don't have all day
and I'm hungry too
Girl,
let me go get some Chinese food
while you working on my hair.
Girl, I need you to come with me
to the hair store
How many wigs you gonna try on,
I want a long pony tail
down my back, with no curls
and I need some gel,
some hair pins too.
I put my perm in so hook me up
you hear!
Girl, its me, what you doing
I need to borrow a wig for tonight
I got a date and I 'need' to look good
I want my Do to look beautiful like
yours,
But Tonight,
Make Me Beautiful, like Beyonce
My nails, my nails
got to have them done too
let me see the colors
designs you have
I'm planning on looking good like her tonight
got me one of those push up bras
and that girdle that, make you 3 sizes smaller
I am going out tonight,
I'm gonna find me a man
and I just want you to,
Make Me Beautiful,
Girl, it's gonna be on! .
(Written By LadyAdrienne)
poem by Adrienne Clark Strachn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Revenge is Sweet
I'm feeling very vengeful,
I really just can't wait,
Until the kids are older,
And in their married state.
It's then I'll get my own back
For all the things they've done;
For all the grief they've caused me,
And boy will it be fun.
When I am asked to baby-sit
I'll smile and say 'Okay, '
And then as soon as they are gone
I'll have my wicked way.
My evenings entertainment
Won't be to watch the telly;
I'll watch THEIR children daub the place
With yellow paint or jelly.
Of leaving every light on
I'll surely have my fill;
I'll make GRAND contributions
To THEIR electric-bill;
I'll search out every socket,
And fill it, and switch on;
I'll make that meter fly around
Or my name isn't John.
When I go to the bathroom,
And then I wash my hands,
I'll leave THEIR basin full of soap
And THEN they'll understand.
And as I leave I'll just make sure
The comb is full of hairs;
Just like it was in days gone by
When mine was full of THEIRS.
I'll have a happy time of it,
I'll really go to town;
I'll dirty all THEIR dishes
And leave them spread around.
I'll turn on every radio,
And leave them on full blast
Perhaps it will remind them
Of THEIR racket in the past.
And as I flit from room to room
I WILL NOT close a door;
It's better that those kids of mine
Don't know just what's in store.
I'll bounce down on THEIR sofa
And knock the cushions off;
And then I'll put my feet up,
And lie there like a toff.
And so I feel much better,
While waiting for my treat;
It won't be long 'til I can say:
'It's true... revenge IS sweet.'
Written Dec 1994
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who'd be a Woman?
Who'd be a woman?
With hours of hair to dry
Chubby and insecure
Certainly i bellow
..........Not I! ...
Who'd fancy launching babies
As full as sumptuous ripe fruit
And listen to possible maybes
From hubbies in steel-capped boots
Who'd want to put on war paint?
Just cause the magazines push
Your ugly they say
Without hairspray
And a splash of red on your mush
Who'd want to be a women?
Certainly not I! ....
Im lumbered as the fairer sex
Minus a glint in my eye
I think i should be a man
Seems, more my cup of tea
A brush and a flick
A mirror check quick
And exit as fast as they can.....grrrr
poem by Karen Sinclair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fence
I built the fence on a cold grey hill
With bar and shovel and axe and maul
And quite a measure of toil and will,
For I needed a paddock to clear and till,
So I dug the holes by the bloodwoods tall
And I felled the ones that grew on the line
And cut them into a handy length
That would serve the purpose of my design,
For each a link in the fence's spine,
And each would add to the fence its strength.
Each post I barked, and I sapped and stood
In a line as straight as a rifle shot,
And the sap ran red from the honest wood
Of the native gum that was sound and good
And with age would harden and never rot,
Then the wire, I strung, and I strained it tight,
And each post I fixed to the jagged wire,
So my fence was finished by fall of night
When my gaze was drawn to a distant light
And I turned for the warmth of home and fire.
© Dennis N. O'Brien,2011 - 2012
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Coquette
Girl, oh girl,
I can see you
in the wintry morning
as you go out
hurrying
with the copper bracelets’ sound
your hair surmounts your tiny head,
your hair,
coarse like horse’s mane
black hairs cutting the air
as you look in the mirror
for the last time
before you lе а ve.
Girl, I can see you
with the lipstick,
idolizing your mouth,
full shiny mouth,
your high heels tempt the stairs
as you descend,
Girl, I know you,
your plain body, tiny legs, slim,
trembling
with the muscles of your arms
as you lock the door;
What have you done
and they don’t know?
Your curly red hair from the youth
you’ve straightened it smooth
and dyed black,
Girl, does your body hurt when nude?
What have you done?
I could never see
your plasticine drops flow,
why did you go to the wolfs
when night fell:
teary drops tear the flesh
your tiny breasts
were mesmerized
with the green amulet
swinging
from one breast to other
we see each other strangely;
How queer,
I can see you in the night
girl you crawl, the saffron shawl
slithers your body as your stomach
swells with pain
“To hell with the wolfs“
and in the room of old wolf
always reeks malodorous.
Girl I can see you
bending,
your knees rubbing the floor
your coarse palms
sending the bulletins of shame
to be published,
hush girl, I can see
your blackened and regretful
running down your toes: tears.
I can see you go
as someone locks the door
from where you went in the night
I can see you howling,
green with forest coldness
green were your eyes
reddened with plasticine
and you, what were you?
Why girl you are,
in the wintry night
as you come back home,
just another
plasticine doll.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have The Touch
The time I like is the rush hour, cos I like the rush
The pushing of the people, I like it all so much
Such a mass of motion, do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and ... I have the touch
Im waiting for ignition, Im looking for a spark
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark
There you stand before me, all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare ... I have the touch
Only, only
Wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake hands, shake hands.
Any social occasion, hello, how do you do
All those introductions, I never miss my cue
So before a question, so before a doubt
My hand moves out and ... I have the touch
Only, only
Wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake those hands
Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, the tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back, but nothing seems to please
I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
Tac-tacatac, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
Tac-tacatac, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Ah, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
I need contact.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Inch Tall
If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.
If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.
You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Motswana Woman
Believe me you or not…
Every where she goes, she makes heads turn
Every place she enters, it ought to make people stare
And, they just cannot help it but to ask themselves
Where this woman comes from
A beautiful and peaceful country in Southern Africa
That’s where she hails from
A country with a passionate, caring and friendly nation
Proudly from Botswana, that's where she comes from
This woman is so different
From any other woman, be it British, American,
Asian and let alone African
The shape of her face, her nose, and her thick dark lips
Which become so pronounced when she keeps her coolness
Her genuine smile, it’s so contagious
For when she smiles, you ought to smile too
The fullness of her bosom, with a well-defined cleavage
The curve of her broad Setswana hips
Which when she walks swing from side to side
“Mahepa-poo” as Batswana affectionately refer to them
Her waist so trim like that one of a wasp
With a butt so round and plump
Her stride, as it is portrayed by her well-shaped legs
Men themselves can never cease to admire
This unique creation of God
And they can’t help it but to passionately say
“Ngwana o tshwere di-body”
A Motswana woman, indeed a cut above the rest
The kinkiness of her peach black thick afro,
And the glossiness of her dark chocolate skin
Her unique accent as she speaks
Reveals her typical 'Setswana' accent
Her possession of all these unique features
Leaves many to admire
Truly, an “African Queen” in the making
Now you will understand why this woman
Always portrays herself with confidence but not Ego
And, why she doesn’t walk with her head bowed down,
She walks tall and she walks proud
And when you see her passing by
It ought to make you know that, this woman.
Is not just any other woman, but a Motswana woman
For a Motswana woman, that is her! ! !
(A DEDICATION TO ALL THE WOMEN OF BOTSWANA)
poem by Mantho Joyce Zandi Koveya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint
Don't paint me red,
Red is for bold women that use cheap scent
Don't paint me blue
Blue is for sadness and regret
Don't paint me green
Green is for envy and not to be seen
Don't paint me black
black is for the night and I love the light
Don't paint me white
White is for virgins and me, I love a flirtin'
Don't paint me orange
Orange is vile and I have some style
Don't paint me brown or grey or cream
these colours are boring and really not me.
Paint me in silver, platinum or gold
so I remain precious as I grow old.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life and Sand.
Lena sits and waits. The artist has
Wandered off, gone to the john or
To a bar or to have a quickie with
The local slut, she doesn't know.
She's been here before, the same
Being left behind, the silent studio
Situation, smell of paint, oils and
Other artist's tools and useful stuff.
She has modelled for others and
They've always been the same, being
Lost in another world, stinking of
Turpentine, paint, sex, and all the rest.
She crosses her legs. Sniffs the air.
Wearing the green dress he wanted
Her to wear, her well brushed hair.
She recalls the artist's antics the night
Before, the want of sex, the fumbling
In the dark, the creaky bed, the banging
Away, all those images left in her head.
She uncrosses her legs. Other paintings
Lay around, some leaning against walls,
Some framed, some not, some sold,
Some recent, all modern, some old.
She wonders if she will be like these,
Left aside, used, done with, her oils dried,
Sitting waiting, her youth has died,
And she waits with the ticking of the
Clock, the moving hand, the hour glass
And the slow running out of life and sand.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work To Make It Work 99
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Dont confine your dreams to bed
Youll get scared if you get lazy
If you cant take enough to satisfy yourself
Then youll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it dont come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that Ill try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you dont succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Work work work to m
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Mans Land
City street lights
And the multiple life
But babe you gotta give and go
Cigarette lights
Then my finger alights
I need to be alone
She can take you tonight
She can make you, thats alright
She can break you tonight
Dont misunderstand
Cigarette girls
Goes head in and whirls
You will be a superman
Open her booths
Deal must to the bruiser
Drinking all I can
We can take that tonight
We can make them, thats right
We can break them tonight
Dont misunderstand
The light...
Alone in the light
Alone in the light
In the sea of pain
You can take it tonight
She can make you, thats right
She can break you tonight
Dont misunderstand
cause they cry, and...
Alone in the light
Alone in the light
Alone in the light
In the sea at night
We rode the streets in the morning light
We held our day in our hands
Alone in the light
Alone in the light
Alone in the light
In the sea at night
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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