I Once Had The Body Of A God.
Now I'm a fat old sod.
Too many cakes and cream buns,
Around my fat chair are too many crumbs.
Once with the hair of a star,
I could have gone far.
Now the head is bald,
And the girls' no longer call.
The skin is red and blotchy,
And my temperament rather crotchety.
I walk the length of our house,
And want to sleep like the church mouse.
If you think I'm a cranky man presa,
You should see me on a bad day!
I'm down on myself and can't stand my ways,
The memory of the body beautiful is a haze.
Maybe tomorrow will see me in a better frame,
My humour may return but not betting just the same.
I could measure the possibility by chain, perch, or rod,
But I'll just be the same bald, cranky, blotchy, crotchety old sod.
RKH 29/08/2012 2: 17 PM
Related quotes
Leave Those Cranky People Alone
It is best to leave those cranky alone.
It pays to leave those cranky people alone.
Leave those cranky people,
Seeking nothing but an evil.
You,
Just...
Leave those cranky people alone!
When you answer your telephone,
To stop a constant ringing.
Just leave those cranky people alone.
And all you hear is whining,
With a blues heard singing.
Just,
Leave those cranky people alone.
It pays to leave those cranky people alone.
It is best to leave those cranky...
Alone.
Don't condone it.
Leave those people alone.
Don't you try to own it!
Leave those people alone.
Don't,
Condone it.
Leave those people alone.
Don't you try to even own it!
Leave those people alone.
When nothing but complaints,
Drop out of their mouths.
Just,
Leave those cranky people alone.
It is best to leave those cranky alone.
It pays to leave those cranky...
Alone.
Keep your mind freed from heating.
Leave those people alone.
Don't you dare accept their beating.
Leave those people alone.
When you feel a headache brewing,
And you don't know what to do.
Hey..
Leave those cranky people alone!
In the morning when the Sun comes,
Shining on you bright!
Don't you turn away to get it out of your sight,
No!
Leave those cranky people alone.
Yes!
You've got to leave those cranky people alone.
Yes! Yes!
Leave those cranky people alone.
Yes!
You've got to leave those cranky people alone.
Yes! Yes!
Leave those cranky people alone!
In the morning when the Sun comes,
Shining on you bright!
Don't you turn away to get it out of your sight,
No!
Leave those cranky people alone.
Yes!
You've got to leave those cranky people alone.
Yes! Yes!
Leave those cranky people alone.
Yes!
You've got to leave those cranky people alone.
Yes! Yes!
Leave those cranky people alone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Basically, they had asked me if I would shave my head or wear a bald cap. I said look, if you are doing a series for five years I would want to shave my hair because I would go bald with all the gum and glue from the bald cap.
quote by Persis Khambatta
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cravat Or Turkey Neck
The visible signs of ageing
the bald head
I've been nearly bald
since my early
twenties
the Friar Tuck grey hair
the last remnant
of a great teenage
Elvis pompadour
the turkey neck
I could disguise
with a cravat
but that's not me.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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Beautiful Girls
Whether by land, sea, or air
I know they'll be there
I know they're around the world somewhere
I know they're absolutely everywhere
The beautiful girls make their lives their own
The beautiful girls have their own personalities
The beautiful girls are the ones many men will worship
They await to worship the ground that the beautiful girls walk on
The beautiful girls are pretty and confident
The beautiful girls are sexy and strong
The beautiful girls are pure and kind
Some beautiful girls will board their airships
Some beautiful girls will walk the streets
Some beautiful girls will stay in their castles
Some beautiful girls will make their return to the sea
Swords
Guns
Daggers
Wands
Staves
Magic
Books
It's your girls adventures
It's your girls world
I consider myself lucky for being in your girls world
poem by Justin Gildow
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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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There was a bald lady named Mary
Who hated her wig - it was scary;
And, under stress and emotion
O'erdid the hair lotion
Now all of her body is hairy.
(Written Oct 2012)
quote by by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gone but not forgotten.
My father's bald and wears a wig
My older brother shaves his head
I wonder is it infra dig
Agreeing with what mother said.
About masculine vanity.
Women prefer a man with hair
Though they accept that it might be.
Only temporarily there.
The hair you run your fingers through
By middle age may disappear
The only thing that you can do.
Is stroke his ego not his hair.
He's still the man you chose to wed.
Although his hair has departed.
Wednesday,18 April 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Stand On Your Own Head
I like people, theyre the ones who cant stand
Theyre the ones who cant stand
I see smoke signals coming from them
They say we are out of furniture
Stand on your own head for a change
Give me some skin to call my own
Stand on your own head for a change
Give me some skin to call my own
You made my day, now you have to sleep in it
Now you have to sleep in it
I love the world and if I have to sue for custody,
I will sue for custody
Stand on your own head for a change
Give me some skin to call my own
Stand on your own head for a change
Give me some skin to call my own
Stand on your own head
Stand on your own head for a change
Stand on your own head
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But Half A Man
When illness ravages the body,
And skin glistens so damply.
When blotchy is his countenance,
Pity is the result of his semblance.
As his body determines to be out of control,
And normality is nothing more than a pinhole.
These are times before drugs kick in,
Pain barely surmountable causes chagrin.
This moment I see unquestioning love,
His comfort attains restful harmonic octave.
Undeserving you spend your self,
Generosity and grace your abounding wealth.
He can but a scintilla repay what is owed,
You insist on showing love that only to be followed.
Love that makes half a man a king,
With a heart that like 1000 choirs sing.
So his queen of hearts,
Your half man will gradually depart.
As the half man has lesser control,
He loved but grew to love you more than whole.
R. K. Hart 8/11/2012
False Lights, Termites, Stones
we are
to them
always
the image
of departure
and so it
seems to
be, as
always,
sadness that
they smell
on our skin
our hair
they imagine
bags and all
the stuff that
must be
there
they hear
the sound of
buses honking
and waiting
they like to
close the
doors of the
house
and see to
it that all
windows
are closed
what they always
see in us
is the look of
misery
of time wasted
of
dripping water
that
dries the moment
it meets
an arid
soil
i sigh to all
these
wrong notions
but i only
have silence
to offer
before their
altars
they are not gods
and i guess
tomorrow
early morning
i simply
have to destroy
them
these plasters of
Paris
these cranky
obsolete
stones
these false lights
termites and
pests of
my wooden world
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Red House
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I once played in that red house
Shy was I, like a little mouse
Tippy toed I went looking around
Giggling, without making any sound
Happy was I to run around and play
My very own home to live and stay
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Darkness came swiftly one night
A sense of something was not quite right
The shadows came across the wall
Covering my eyes, ready for my fall
The sounds of whips and chains dragged
against the floor
The sheer terror numbed me from looking
passed that door
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The darkness slowly turned to grey
The black clouds lifting away
No longer trapped, I did not need to stay
Free was I to let go and make my own way
So ever slowly, opening that door
I could see the light and so much more
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Changing and always moving
Never stopping and always wanting
Step by step, I shed all those tears
One at a time, I climbed up those stairs
Moving closer to where I want to be
No longer a child but an adult me
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I came home today
The Red House, same as it was yesterday
Slowly, walking up that hill
Everything seems to be in a stand still
I could only stay for a while
Before the darkness comes within a mile
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The breath of life you gave to me
But took away the child within me
No longer a pawn to your destruction
I have found my peace and resolution
Turning away towards the path of light
I see a very beautiful sight
My Red House
There is no longer a mouse
poem by Miu Miu Ayushi
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Better lose hair than head
Better ‘tis to lose hair than thine head,
As is between butter and bare bread;
If not a thing comes fair
Today, how can be hair?
So hail heads that bare are— bald, not dead!
____________________________________________
There is one thing worse, they say, than having a
bald pate— to be defensive, curse your fate. I was
not yet thirty when my hair began to be grey though
not thin. This was perhaps Nature's way of balancing
things as my face had badly tanned by the time I was
in my ‘teens. As the years added themselves to my
age the contrast only widened. But it was much
after I retired from paid work, the hairline began to
recede a bit. After all, a balance must be maintained.
This little ditty sums up my philosophy on hair.
________________________________________ ____________
-Tongue-in-cheek | 01.04.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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Leise Rieselt Der Schnee
Leise rieselt der schnee,
Still und starr liegt der see.
Winterlich glnzet der wald:
Freue dich, christkind kommt bald!
In den herzen ists warm;
Still schweigt kummer und harm.
Sorge des lebens verhallt:
Freue dich, christkind kommt bald.
Bald ist stille nacht.
Friede auf erden erwacht.
Horch nur, wie lieblich es schallt:
Freue dich, christkind kommt bald
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Longing for you
How much longer must I wait, sitting on my rocking chair, on my porch, waiting all day long, the days pass by like clouds rushing through the sky, and a shadow saunters by my side. My mind is going crazy! I'm thinking; and must I still wait? I even smell his fresh cologne of Irish spring, his natural smell of Ivory soap, when he's just coming out of the shower! how many more nights? sometimes I can feel his breath so near, his skin so close, I can almost feel it's real. In my sleep I call out his name, Oh darling how much longer? You linger and I wait, your return is uncertain, my body weary from longing for your return, Today I still wait, please don't hesitate, I can't dream anymore.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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I Think Im Going Bald
Words and music by geddy lee, alex lifeson, and neil peart
I looked in the mirror today
My eyes just didnt seem so bright
Ive lost a few more hairs
I think Im going bald
I think Im going bald!
Seems like only yesterday
We would sit and talk of dreams all night
Dreams of youth
And simple truths
Now were so involved
So involved with life
Walk down vanity fair
Memory lane everywhere
Wall street shuffles there
Dressed in flowing hair
The wire!
Once we loved the flowers
Now we ask the price of the land
Once we would take water
But now it must be wine
Now weve been
And now weve seen what price, peace of mind
Take a piece of my mind
My life is slipping away
Im aging every day
But even when Im grey
Ill still be grey my way
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her My Body
about the left nipple
of the woman in the bathroom.
She is drying her hair, the woman
whose left nipple is sore.
We looked this evening
for diagonal cuts
or discoloration
or bite marks from small insects
that may be in our bed.
It is a good bed, a faithful bed.
A bed that won’t be hurt
by the consideration we gave
to the possibility of small
though disproportionately
strong insects in our bed.
The blow-dryer sounds like a jet
taking off. The first time
I flew to Brussels, people began
the journey happy but ended
with drool on their shirts.
She is drying her hair
though she has never been to Brussels.
Drying her hair
though she could be petting a dog.
Drying her hair
while having red thoughts
about what the pain in her nipple means.
I would not dry my hair
in such a moment but I am bald.
The body of the woman
has many ways to cease
being the body of the woman.
I have one way
to be happy
and she is that way.
I would like to fly with her to Brussels.
We would not be put off by the drool.
This is what happens when people sleep.
We would buy postcards of the little boy
who saved Brussels when he peed on a fire.
We would be romantic in public places.
For the moment
these desires can best be furthered
by petting a dog.
I’m also working on this theory.
That sometimes a part of the body
just hurts.
That the purpose of prayer
is to make the part of the body
that sometimes just hurts
the little toe or appendix.
Something vestigial or redundant.
Something that can be jettisoned.
I have no reason
to use the word cancer
while petting a dog.
Here is a piece of a second
during which a jet is not flying
nor is it on the ground.
I’m working on a theory
that no one can die
inside that piece of a second.
If you are comforted
by this thought you are welcome
to keep it.
Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness full of grandeur.
quote by Matthew Arnold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand-stranding
With little success at hair retention
I've one strand left of small dimension
Scalped this way, I'm not enthralled
One-stranded now, I'm follicle-y bald
It's hair raising to feel alone and bereft
Deserted by all it's brothers who left
This ordeal has the hair standing there pining
Atop my bald scalp, so hairless-ly shining
The lonesome strand just keeps on grieving
Missing its mates, since their mass leaving
So soulful and sad, it can't seem to find
On the scalp of this lad, a hair-piece of mind
My dome once covered with hair-filled density
Has no foreseeable future-tense-ity
For so loyally standing hair-ly at hand
I'll always be grateful to that one last grand strand
poem by Stanley Cooper
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The Haircut
They sat me down upon their chair
Anxiously and impatiently I sat there
Nervous was I, so I whimpered out a sigh
But I was ready for them to cut my hair.
The hairdresser she talked to me for a bit
I felt happy and handsome I must truly admit
She felt my hair, as the patrons did stare
As upon that swivel chair I did sit.
I was then taken to the Shampooers sink
The Hairdresser shampooed my hair as I did think
I spoke, but I stalled, happy I am that I am not bald
So instead I gave my hairdresser a happy wink.
I was then led back unto my chair
I smelled the scent of her perfume in the air
I was then afraid, as I saw the tools of her trade
But she promised me all of her loving care.
Clip, clip, clip the scissors I then did hear
So close was that sound was to my ear
My hair it fell, from my head it was expelled
As I watched her craftsmanship from her mirror.
Then not long later she finished her job
I looked at my hair and I gave her an appreciative nod
She then finished the clip, I gave her a tip
At her work and gentleness I was both pleased and awed.
RANDY L. McCLAVE
poem by Randy McClave
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Can it be.. Flowers can Speak
Can it be…
Pansies are clairvoyant?
I had an uncanny feeling
On a bright sunny day
At the end of December,
When winter is at its peak,
As I went for a walk
In an immaculately
Laid out park.
I saw rows and rows
Of flower beds
With lush, velvety Pansies.
In hues and shades
As vibrant
As on the colour wheel
Nodding away
Their blotchy faces,
As I gypped my jacket
To protect myself
Against the icy wind.
Can it be…
They were mocking at me?
Winking and making monkey faces
To mimic my expressions?
Or is it just
Another hallucination
Of a schizophrenic?
Can it be..
Just a question
Of being on
The same wave length?
Can it be...
Flowers can speak
Sense and communicate
In silence
And have an
Innate intellect?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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