I'll Get One Tomorrow
Barber, barber, come and get me;
Hairy torrents irk and fret me.
Hair and hair again appears;
And climbs like ivy round my ears.
Hair across my collar gambols;
Down my neck it wayward ambles.
Ever down it trip it tickles;
Yes, where it trips it tickles.
Barber dear I wish I knew;
Why i do not visit you.
Why I grudge the minutes ten;
In your smiling den.
Why I choose to choke on hair;
Rather than to mount your chair.
Men no busier than I;
Weekly to your office hie.
Men no busier than myself;
Confront the armory on your shelf;
Men no wealthier than me;
Gladly meet your modest fee.
And for a fraction of a dollar;
Keep the jungle off their collar.
I alone am shy and flustered;
Solitary, cowardly custard.
Shaggy as a prize angore;
Overrun with the creeping flora.
Barber, barber, you’re in luck;
The bell has rung, the hour has struck.
Sloth strong, the hair is strong;
I cannot stand it any long.
Barber, barber here I come;
Shake up the odorous bay rum.
Bring on your shears your scythes, your snippers;
Bring on your crisp electric driers.
Employ a dozen extra sweepers;
Bring giant harvesters and reapers.
I warn you a bumper crop;
Waits to overwhelm your shop.
Braber, barber, be verbose;
Be anything but clip me close.
Leave me razored, leave me scissored
Leave me hairless, as a lizard;
Barber, barber, single and scald;
Barber can’t you make me bald?
I will be the happiest of men;
And never think of you again.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Related quotes
Haircut.
The Barber came to cut my hair,
I told him that it wasn't fair.
My hair had done him no harm,
Without it I would loose my charm.
The Barber he grinned a silly grin,
Said to cut my hair would be no sin.
That I should face it like a man,
But I'm a coward and away I ran.
Do you like sitting in a Barbers chair,
With him chopping away your lovely hair.
Once my head was full of curls,
Covering my face with twisty twirls.
But then the Barber came my way,
I was a child, I had no say.
Off came my curls one by one,
The Barber seemed to have great fun.
Now I'm old and very grey,
I'm nearly bald, my hairs gone away.
But when I see a Barbers chair,
I feel the loss of my curly hair.
You know I truly rue the day,
When that first Barber came my way.
poem by Bernard Shaw
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This Morning At The Barbershop
This morning at the barbershop,
a barber is busy with the hair
of a much older grey haired man
that he is trimming neatly
and a young man
sits in one of the barber’s chairs.
When I sit down to wait
the young man rises
turning to me
and asks if he can cut my hair.
I was happy to get attention immediately
while the other barber was finishing
with the older man,
as he looks to finely tuned to me.
My hair was smartly cut
with a pair of scissors
and the young barber
held his fingers
to determine the length
and I wanted it shorter
than just cutting off the ends
while the other barber
first took a hair blower
from a drawer,
sprayed something over his own hair
before he started to blow it in the mirror
and he then said
that he cannot go
to the bank to wait in line
with a head looking like Tut’s ass
and I saw my locks
falling dark brown
with dots of grey around me
and saw the other barber
combing his long hair
and smiled at myself
about the vanity of humanity
while I looked at myself
and were starting to look much better.
poem by Gert Strydom
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~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
Bathroom Barber
I'm not a bathroom barber I've learned
gave myself a hair cut with my own two hands.
When all of a sudden I heard a loud noise
which took my mind off what hair to cut I had.
Then SNIP, it went off my head!
a large patch bald of hair is missing.
The dog looked at me puzzled and barked
and the cat raised her back and was hissing!
I must admit I looked a fright
with that large patch of missing hair.
When I got up nerve to look in the mirror
I even gave myself a scare!
I was only trying to save a buck
and give myself what looked to be so easy.
But with this patch of hair now missing
my head feels a bit more breezy.
I guess I'll have to spend the money
go to someone, where to them it isn't harder.
And never again will I pretend, to be a Bathroom Barber!
poem by Linda Winchell
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The Barber
I'd like to be a barber, and learn to shave and clip,
Calling out, 'Next please! and pocketing my tip.'
All day I'd hear my scissors going, 'Snip, Snip, Snip;'
I'd lather people's faces, and their noses I would grip
While I shaved most carefully along the upper lip.
But I wouldn't be a barber if ...
The razor was to slip.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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This is Red Barber speaking. Let me say hello to you all.
quote by Red Barber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wanted to Have a New Hair Style
I went to the barber this morning
To get a hair cut
Because my hair was too long
And I had decided
That I wanted to have a new hair style
I know it seems a little crazy
Maybe I lost my mind
Or I got a little carried away
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Goin' Home
(Antonin Dvorak)
arr. Ken Colyer
(Lead out with Chris Barber on trombone)
Goin' home, he's goin' home
He'll be leavin', leavin' here today
Well if he don't leave now
Won't be goin' nowhere
Well home is where the heart is
Then my home's in New Orleans
Take me to that land of dreams
Lord, and if I don't leave now
I won't be goin' nowhere, nowhere
Goin' home
He's goin' home (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah he leaving, leaving here today
Well if he don't go now
I won't be goin' nowhere
(Instrumental- piano)
Welcome to Dr. John
(Instrumental- horn)
Go to Chris Barber on Trombone, Chris Barber
What you say
And what you do
Well it's times like that, then I'm tellin' you
Well if you don't leave now
I won't be goin' nowhere (nowhere, nowhere, said nowhere) Lord
And if I don't leave now, I won't be goin' nowhere
Yeah but don't leave now
I won't be goin' nowhere
(woo, yeah) yeah...
(Transcribed by ear; corrections requested and welcomed!)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parlez-Vous Francais?
Caesar, the amplifier voice, announces
Crime and reparation. In the barber shop
Recumbent men attend, while absently
The barber doffs the naked face with cream.
Caesar proposes, Caesar promises
Pride, justice, and the sun
Brilliant and strong on everyone,
Speeding one hundred miles an hour across the land:
Caesar declares the will. The barber firmly
Planes the stubble with a steady hand,
While all in barber chairs reclining,
In wet white faces, fully understand
Good and evil, who is Gentile, weakness and command.
And now who enters quietly? Who is this one
Shy, pale, and quite abstracted? Who is he?
It is the writer merely, with a three-day beard,
His tiredness not evident. He wears no tie.
And now he hears his enemy and trembles,
Resolving, speaks: "Ecoutez! La plupart des hommes
Vivent des vies de desespoir silenciuex,
Victimes des intentions innombrables. Et ca
Cet homme sait bien. Les mots de cette voix sont
Des songes et des mensonges. Il prend choix,
Il prend la volonte, il porte la fin d'ete.
La guerre. Ecoutez-moi! Il porte la mort."
He stands there speaking and they laugh to hear
Rage and excitement from the foreigner.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Barber's Shop
Conversations in a barber's shop,
And like a clay tile in the land of your muse;
But walk upon it and tell me how you feel,
And like the state of the mind and the state of the things around us;
But, i will always love you.
The wheels,
The colour of beryl,
And of the same likeness!!
But to be designed like abarber's shop in your township;
For, one wheel was inside heother wheel,
And to be designed like the fruit of love was the nature of things!
All the same, we all need the barber's shop.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Erotic Hair
when my hair
gets long enough
after a month
uncut by
my gay barber
they become
so curly
like my pubic
hair
and women
and even gays
love all the curls
of my hair
erotic hair
and i am wearing it
as a crown
understand
i am coping up
with mid-crisis
and i like to
say
i got hair
and they are too curly
like my
(messy) sex life
listen, my life
begins at 69.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beckham? His wife can't sing and his barber can't cut hair.
quote by Brian Clough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Going Home
(lead out with chris barber on trombone)
Goin home, hes goin home
Hell be leavin, leavin here today
Well if he dont leave now
Wont be goin nowhere
Well home is where the heart is
Then my homes in new orleans
Take me to that land of dreams
Lord, and if I dont leave now
I wont be goin nowhere, nowhere
Goin home
Hes goin home (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah he leaving, leaving here today
Well if he dont go now
I wont be goin nowhere
(instrumental- piano)
Welcome to dr. john
(instrumental- horn)
Go to chris barber on trombone, chris barber
What you say
And what you do
Well its times like that, then Im tellin you
Well if you dont leave now
I wont be goin nowhere (nowhere, nowhere, said nowhere) lord
And if I dont leave now, I wont be goin nowhere
Yeah but dont leave now
I wont be goin nowhere
(woo, yeah) yeah...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Acute
To have his hair cut and his beard trimmed,
But a barber's shop was not the final solution;
For he had many thgings to do.
Acute, at, cut, tea, eat, ate, cute, ace;
With crooked ways noted everywhere!
And like a lion concealed,
But he needs a new look.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hair today gone tomorrow
Some people have got a lot of hair
whilst others have hardly any at all
many have a thick looking mop
for a lot it's just a bright shiny ball.
It's there to cover a persons head
shades of black, brown, blonde, and grey,
some of it stays firmly in place
but in the wind a wig can be blown away.
Women like to try different styles
they can become a redhead overnight
but always say their hair looks nice
that's if you don't want to start a fight.
As you get older it starts to change colour
your dark locks can even turn white
that's when a lot of folk start to dye it
but for some reason it never looks right.
So if your hair is starting to fall out
or you've got not one hair on top
just think of all the money you'll save
with no more trips to your local barber shop!
poem by Kevin Halls
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History teaches us...
A stone's throw, just, from Chelsea's football ground,
-skinhead territory long before any silverware -
there's a barber whose window decorations indicate
they're stylists in that tricky, ingrowing black hair;
I dropped in there one day; and as the one white face
in that busy, proud salon (I took the last spare seat with some relief)
spent half an hour or so as a 'minority',
as images of identity played out some tennis game of mind
across the net of what - division or harmony?
was I the face of hated white supremacy, now
the hated white minority? Covert glances on both sides...
Eventually I settled down, to then enjoy the novel ritual to me:
when you're finished, dusted down - rise from the chair,
and pause a second or two upon the barber's dais there
and face the audience; to be admired for sharp new style
which is by implication, tribute to the barber's skill;
there's palpably the sound of silent, proud applause
(I even dared, now shorn and bolder, to acquiesce, with respect,
in just a hint of this attractive ritual...) .
And here's the crowning glory of this escapade:
they charged me less than for that difficult black hair...
'History teaches us...'
...not to trust too much the lessons of history;
but rather, learn from how it's working out:
emigrate to seek a better life somewhere
where faiths and customs are so different
and you're the proud, hardworking, strange minority.
But then, beware - your children will not want
the birthmark of 'minority'; and maybe seek
some other pride than that of family,
a new identity, some wilder faith
than football's common touch, or cricket green;
the hosts and guests of history must learn
to seek to learn the lessons both must earn.
The Romans, empire-builders, had a phrase for this:
'lacrymae rerum' - which so gladly, sadly, means
the tears of things...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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
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It's the Moral of the Thing
i like your hair she tells me
speaking everything but the lie
she describes it as the reason
why she could not stand to die
as she notices its flicker
and its beuty in the light
she relises it's rareness
it's beuty when in sight
she reaches out to touch it
i move away real fast
for looking should be enough
if you really want it to last
something so amazing
should never be abused
for once it has been broken
it can not be reused.
it's not the hair that matters
but the moral of this rhyme
for everything must die
as it grows older over time
poem by D.M. Barber
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