The Spell
A low monotone ‘snip snip snip'
Drooping heads as in slumber deep
The mirrors reflect telling it all
The shed strands quietly fall.
Goes on the buzz ‘snip snip snip'
Are they awake or in deep sleep?
Getting off-loaded here's no hike
Lines of souls sit vampire-like.
No one speaks it's nobody's call
Heads mildly roll, tissues fall
Shrouded white from world disguised
The snipper's spells have them hypnotized.
The stupor breaks once ends the ride
A cruel world is waiting outside
The spell was so short, it's a pity
Time again for back to reality!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Related quotes
Cutting edge
Like a sharp knife
cutting through a bitter lemon
into red lips dripping
the hairdresser takes my pleasantries,
chops them with a cruel hand,
throws them back in pieces in my face
snip snip into blond hair, brown hair, black, grey, white,
what heroic restraint, condemned
to a lifetime’s cutting, and not
to plunge the scissors into a spinal cord…
this little girl who cut her finger with
her mother’s scissors perhaps
to try to explain how they cut her heart
her love that would grow like hair
how can I know the heart
of this woman who cuts my hair
so expertly.. snip, snip..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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My haircut
My haircut,
It was a misserable time,
To watch my hair go,
Snip, snip, snip,
It drifts away in a silence unknown,
To all who have known,
The misserable haircut,
I love my hair,
But it had to go,
like seeing something die,
But i could never really weep,
It is sad to say goodbye,
My hair will grow back,
But only to see it go again.
poem by Trenton watson
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Get Your Hair Cut!
The perfect haircut suits you best,
Short back and sides, my lad!
So take your cash and go invest
In what makes most folks glad.
It's up to you to make the choice,
I gave you good advice...
So why look like the other boys,
When you could look quite nice?
I've seen you in the smartest suit
Let down by scruffy hair...
That's hardly what I'd call astute,
So almost debonair...
You used to be the one to watch,
The guy who had it all...
So why not take it up a notch?
Good-looking, standing tall.
Please get your hair cut soon as poss!
Don't dilly-dally, friend!
My word, it would impress the boss,
On that you can depend!
Keep up the good work that you do,
Eyes twinkling day by day!
Sit down, relax, snip-snip, you're through...
Thank God for that! Oi, vey!
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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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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Penelope
In the pathway of the sun,
In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
He shall ride the silver seas,
He shall cut the glittering wave.
I shall sit at home, and rock;
Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock;
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;
Bleach the linen for my bed.
They will call him brave.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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I don't look on poetry as closed works. I feel they're going on all the time in my head and I occasionally snip off a length.
quote by John Ashbery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Caught In A Moment
Your stare swallows me
And I can hardly breathe
I feel it's dangerous,
Could be deadly
Somehow I'm willing to do the things you want
Take me in your arms
Spoon-feed my heart and
Drip by drip
I'll take it all
Sip by sip
I guess that it's
Make or break
Boy here and now
Chorus:
We're caught in a moment
And I won't let it go
I am falling deeper, losing my control
Involved in a feeling
Like the blink of an eye
And the silence it belongs to you and I
Broke through barriers
And passed a state of mind
I'm not scared no more
It feels divine
So take me in
And catch me when I fall
I'm waiting on the edge
Uncut my soul
Snip by snip
I'm oozing it
Bit by bit
I'm taking it
Step by step
Boy here and now
Chorus:
We're caught in a moment
And I won't let it go
I am falling deeper, losing my control
Involved in a feeling
Like the blink of a eye
And the silence it belongs to you and I
Secretly I let it slip
Emotional I fall through it
All I know I'm losing my control
I'm down your way too far
And there's no turning back
And now I'm shedding all my fears
I know, I know
Chorus:
We're caught in a moment
And I won't let it go (let it go)
I am falling deeper, losing my control (my control)
Involved in a feeling (involved in a feeling)
Like the blink of a eye (eye)
And the silence it belongs to you and I (I)
oooh ahhh ooooh oooh
oooh ahhh ooooh oooh
oooh ahhh ooooh oooh
song performed by by Sugababes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Givers
Snip it.
What complaint would you have,
IF you had a heart that gave?
Quit it?
You are just part of this experience,
Life!
It is not about you or your whims!
The givers receive no attention at all.
And there you are falling down with tantrums!
Going ignored are your calls.
Snip it quick.
Shut your lips.
No tree grows from a branch.
When a leaf is released from it,
It dies, to wither and rust from its visit.
Connected are we all to this,
Life!
All your needs could be met...
IF your greed did not set things,
Off balance.
With needs you only feed.
One day you will learn,
All your suffering has been well earned...
By you!
Feeling screwed by the things you do?
You wouldn't feel this way,
IF you lived each day to 'give'!
You look for ways to take, use and squander!
That's why you wonder and wander...
Seeking to reap from life what is good!
What have you done?
Are you looking for ways to give to anyone?
Or are you here just to take?
Well...
Take this!
Shut your lips,
And learn what it is to give!
And all that this life is,
Can be yours.
You will receive what is deserved.
The givers serve without a mumbling word!
And all that is heard from you...
Are offers to undo what is done.
Takers get back,
That which has been given...
And comes to them in abundance!
A rusting of a nothingness achieved.
Leaving them with the results,
Of their selfish and hoarded greed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Did That From Scratch
Some create their best work,
By using their abilities to cut and paste.
And with fresh glue to apply to it too...
Motivates them to bragg about their talents.
When I hear someone say,
'I did that from scratch.'
And I believe their statements...
As I witness their fingers,
On their heads do that.
To create from 'nothing',
That one envisions from an inspiration...
Isn't easy to put together,
For pieces of it to fit.
And after what one completes...
Others become motivated,
To snip an idea.
As a qualifying aspect of their originality.
Signed and delived with no sweat equity attached.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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First Time I Saw You
IT WAS SO AMAZING
I ALWAYS DREAMNT YOU
I COULD NOT DREAM BLUE
I COULDN'T SLEEP ALL
DAY AND NIGHT THINKING OF YOU,
YOU ALONE.
ONLY YOUR VOICE
WHICH COULD WAKE ME UP
WHEN I FENTED BECAUSE
OF YOUR SMILE.
ALL MY NOSE SENSES FALL
JUST TO INTERPRET HOW
YOU SMELL.
EVEN MY BRAIN STACKED
JUST TO MEMORISE
YOUR LAUGHTER.
PERHARP MY RETINA COULD CRACK
JUST BECAUSE OF YOUR TURN.
IF I SAW YOU ON MY WAY
MY BODY COULD SLIDE
AND GIVE YOU A WAY TO PASS
MY ATTRACTIVE COULD NOT
SNIP
JUST SALLUTING YOU TO PASS.
poem by Emmanuel Chris Nyasulu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There's no regret. You can't regret. I mean, I've felt regret but I've also refused to allow regret to sow a seed and live in me because I don't believe it. You feel it, it's like guilt, it's like jealousy, it's like all those horrible things. You've just got to snip them and get them out, because they're no good.
The World Of Killers
a killer to killed by a gun
when he counting a body of one his murder
a killer with a gun
behind our killer under sun
she have seen his job
she looked at him and his murder
she shot a bullet to his heart
he died
she looked at his blood
two murder in the park
one killer above them
looked at them
and again she killed with a gun
one killer hidden behind the wall
he killed her
with a snip
snipper behind the wall on the roof
looked at bodies in the park
he died too
with a bomb
into his bag
killer after killer
to killing oldest killers
the wild world
with the killers
requested one human between this animals
this killers
poem by Aidin Azarkerdar
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Trapped In The Real
TRAPPED IN THE REAL
SO MUCH I CAN'T FEEL
BOUND TO A COURSE
LIKE A RACE HORSE
GIVEN A TRUTH
THATS MORE THAN A SPOOF
GONNA SNIP MY BALLS
GONNA MAKE ME ACHE
DYIN' IN A HAZE
OF ANOTHER RAGE
DIPPIN IN THE WAX AND GLUE
ALL FOR THE SAKE OF YOU
DAMNED BEYOND BELIEF
SUPERSEDES RELIEF
WRAPPED IN CELLOPHANE
A NEW KIND OF PAIN
ADMINISTERED AND POURED
THRU AN OPENED DOOR
AL OF WHO I AM
WHEN ALL TIME BEGAN'SI IT IS FOR ALL
EVERY TURN AND CALL
WIPED UP AND MADE MORE
TO THE ROTTING CORE
poem by Talile Ali
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Tom
That Tom was poor was sure a pity,
Such guts for learning had the lad;
He took to Greek like babe to titty,
And he was mathematic mad.
I loved to prime him up with knowledge,
A brighter lad I never knew;
I dreamed that he would go to college
And there be honoured too.
But no! His Dad said, "Son, I need you
To keep the kettle on the boil;
No longer can I clothe and feed you,
Buy study books and midnight oil.
I carry on as best I'm able,
A humble tailor, as you know;
And you must squat cross-legged a table
And learn to snip and sew."
And that is what poor Tom is doing.
He bravely makes the best of it;
But as he "fits" you he is knowing
That he himself is a misfit;
And thinks as he fulfils his calling,
With patient heart yet deep distaste,
Like clippings from his shears down-falling,
--He, too, is Waste.
poem by Robert William Service
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To the Portrait of
Well, Miss, I wonder where you live,
I wonder what’s your name,
I wonder how you came to be
In such a stylish frame;
Perhaps you were a favorite child,
Perhaps an only one;
Perhaps your friends were not aware
You had your portrait done.
Yet you must be a harmless soul;
I cannot think that Sin
Would care to throw his loaded dice,
With such a stake to win;
I cannot think you would provoke
The poet’s wicked pen,
Or make young women bite their lips,
Or ruin fine young men.
Pray, did you ever hear, my love,
Of boys that go about,
Who, for a very trifling sum,
Will snip one’s picture out?
I’m not averse to red and white,
But all things have their place,
I think a profile cut in black
Would suit your style of face!
I love sweet features; I will own
That I should like myself
To see my portrait on a wall,
Or bust upon a shelf;
But nature sometimes makes one up
Of such sad odds and ends,
It really might be quite as well
Hushed up among one’s friends!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Face And Fix Those Obstacles
Face and fix those obstacles.
If ignored they will continue to grow.
If you don't do it,
They will never let you go.
And you will be the one regretting...
With eyes not words seen,
With an eyebrow or two lifted...
Expressing this, 'We told you so! '
Face and fix those obstacles.
If ignored they will continue to grow.
If you don't do it,
They will never let you go.
And you will be the one regretting...
With eyes not words seen,
With an eyebrow or two lifted...
Expressing this, 'We told you so! '
Scoop them up with a boot.
Don't be the one regretting.
Snip them quick from the root,
Don't be the one regretting.
Don't adorn your stress as if...
Accessories to brag about,
Like you've been given gifts.
Face and fix those obstacles.
If ignored they will continue to grow.
If you don't do it,
They will never let you go.
And you will be the one regretting...
With eyes not words seen,
With an eyebrow or two lifted...
Expressing this, 'We told you so! '
Scoop them up with a boot.
Don't be the one regretting.
Snip them quick from the root,
Don't be the one regretting.
Don't adorn your stress as if...
Accessories to brag about,
Like you've been given gifts.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The I'd like to be........ series
The Sailor
I'd like to be a sailor - a sailor bold and bluff -
Calling out, "Ship ahoy!" in manly tones and gruff.
I'd learn to box the compass, and to reef and tack and luff;
I'd sniff and sniff the briny breeze and never get enough.
Perhaps I'd chew tobacco, or an old black pipe I'd puff,
But I wouldn't be a sailor if ...
The sea was very rough.
Would you?
The Porter
I'd like to be a porter, and always on the run,
Calling out, "Stand aside!" and asking leave of none.
Shoving trucks on people's toes, and having splendid fun,
Slamming all the carriage doors and locking every one -
And, when they asked to be let in, I'd say, "It can't be done."
But I wouldn't be a porter if ...
The luggage weighed a ton.
Would you?
The Pieman
I'd like to be a Pieman, and ring a little bell,
Calling out, "Hot pies! Hot pies to sell!"
Apple-pies and Meat-pies, Cherry-pies as well,
Lots and lots and lots of pies - more than you can tell.
Big, rich Pork-pies! Oh, the lovely smell!
But I wouldn't be a Pieman if ...
I wasn't very well.
Would you?
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?
The Teacher
I'd like to be a teacher, and have a clever brain,
Calling out, "Attention, please!" and "Must I speak in vain?"
I'd be quite strict with boys and girls whose minds I had to train,
And all the books and maps and things I'd carefully explain;
I'd make then learn the dates of kings, and all the capes of Spain;
But I wouldn't be a teacher if ...
I couldn't use the cane.
Would you?
The Postman
I'd like to be a postman, and walk along the street,
Calling out, "Good Morning, Sir," to gentlemen I meet,
Ringing every door-bell all along my beat,
In my cap and uniform so very nice and neat.
Perhaps I'd have a parasol in case of rain or heat;
But I wouldn't be a postman if ...
The walking hurt my feet.
Would you?
The Baker
I'd like to be a baker, and come when morning breaks,
Calling out, "Beeay-ko!" (that's the sound he makes) -
Riding in a rattle-cart that jogs and jolts and shakes,
Selling all the sweetest things a baker ever bakes;
Currant-buns and brandy-snaps, pastry all in flakes;
But I wouldn't be a baker if ...
I couldn't eat the cakes.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Signs Of Winter
It can get a bit nippy.
And a little cool as expected.
But there is nothing pretentious,
About the signs of Winter.
Or the people,
Being within its midst.
Unlike when in warmer weather,
When people walk around...
With ice and snow on the ground,
And give others a cold shoulder...
Very few people take it personal.
There seems to be a reason,
To snap back and be snooty.
And some are quick to snip,
And be 'clippish'.
'Get out of my way! '
~Sure.
No problem.
Happy holidays.~
'Whatever.'
And every year,
Winter seems to arrive...
Way ahead of schedule.
As if not to disappoint those who love it.
Especially in New England.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Little Worn Out Pony
There's a little worn-out pony this side of Hogan's shack
With a snip upon his nuzzle and a mark upon his back;
Just a common little pony is what most people say,
But then of course they've never heard what happened in his day:
I was droving on the Leichhardt with a mob of pikers wild,
When this tibby little pony belonged to Hogan's child.
One night it started raining – we were camping on a rise,
When the wind blew cold and bleakly and thunder shook the skies;
The lightning cut the figure eight around the startled cattle,
Then down there fell torrential rains and then began a battle.
In a fraction of an instant the wild mob became insane,
Careering through the timber helter-skelter for the plain.
The timber fell before them like grass before a scythe,
And heavy rain in torrents poured from the grimly blackened sky;
The mob rushed ever onward through the slippery sodden ground,
While the men and I worked frantically to veer their heads around;
And then arose an awful cry – it came from Jimmy Rild,
For there between two saplings straight ahead was Hogan's child.
I owned not man or devil, I had not prayed since when,
But I called upon the blessed Lord to show His mercy then;
I shut my eyes and ground my teeth, the end I dared not see
Great God! The cattle – a thousand head – were crashing through the trees.
"God pity us bush children in our darkest hour of need,"
Were the words I prayed although I followed neither church or creed.
Then my right-hand 'man was shouting, the faithful Jimmy Rild,
"Did you see it, Harry, see the way he saved that child?"
"Saved! Saved, did you say?" and I shot upright with a bound,
"Yes, saved," he said, "indeed old man, the child is safe and sound.
I was feeling pretty shaky and was gazing up the track,
Just then a pony galloped, the kid hopped on its back.
"A blinding Bash of lightning then the thunder's rolling crack;
With two hands clasped upon his mane he raced towards the shack."
"Good heavens, man," I shouted then, "if that is truly so,
To blazes with the cattle, to the shanty we must go."
We reached Bill Hogan's shanty in fifteen minutes' ride,
Then left our horses standing and wildly rushed inside.
The little child was there unhurt but shivering with fear,
And Hogan told us, "Yes, thank God, there's the pony brought her here."
There's a little worn-out pony just this side of Hogan's shack
With a snip upon his nuzzle and a mark upon his back;
Just a common little pony is what most people say,
But I doubt if there's his equal in the pony world today.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
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