En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A formalist

In coat and tie
Black suit
Well arranged hair
Well cut
Well suited
No air must come
To disarrange
Some hair
Or other parts of
Him,
He is stiff
He is stuffed
He is

A perfect gentleman

How can he ever
Dance this
Hip-hop
Of life?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Hat White Coat

To the late doug whalan.... from your daughter.....

White hat white coat and greying in hair
he would dance around the dance floor with plenty of flair

White hat white coat black pants to boot
the men would all say 'silly old coot'

Whitehat white coat and a big friendly smile
when he went to a dance he'd dress in style

White hat white coat and a beat in his feet
it's of to the dance and people to meet

White hat white coat and a scotch on the rocks he'd love to dance
and the men would all mock

White hat white coat asleep at the wheel
he's danced all night 'boy i know how he feels'

White hat white coat have been put to the test
it's time to go home for a well earned rest

White hat white coat clean shirt and socks too
he's all geard up and ready for round two

White hat white coat so tired and run down
close your eyes and dream of your nights on the town

White hat white coat you've seen better days
your torn around the edges and your starting to fray

White hat white coat the time's come for us to part
but always remember ' i love you with all my heart '

poem by Debbie Gregory
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Perfect Gentleman

There is no doubt about it
Im one of a kind, baby
I am le dartagnan de coeur
As you may see, candy
And Im talkin with my eyes
And I walk in different styles
Im the genuine man!
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Kneel down, inhale my odor
Come, kiss my hand, angel
Dare to explore my higher
Grounds
Strive to deserve me,
Ma cherie
And my winds
Surpass perfume
Im charismatic at full bloom
Im the genuine man!
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am, I am, yes I am
(perfect)
Oh lord, what can I do
I cant resist my own
Reflection
How would possibly anyone?
Cause I am (perfect)
Yes I am (perfect)
Oh lord I am (perfect)
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman

song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memoriam

The face I see is one with drained flesh
Losing form and identity;
Bones breaking through the outer parts.
Hands, knarled and stiff,
Tense, unrelaxed
And hair wrongly arranged.

Life is gone- an empty shell remains
And yet you are the man
Who laughed and argued,
Frowned and shouted.
Here you lie, unnaturally silent,
Present and absent;
A torment to my imagination
And no comfort for my loss.

poem by Tracy WatsonBrown
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The Talk Show Circuit

A blue suit with short hair
Speaking empty speech
To a tanned girl
With long legs and a beautiful mouth

A gray suit with gray hair
Speaking empty speech
To a fair skinned girl
With sexy hips and cherry red lips

A black suit with a pink tie
Speaking empty speech
To a Latin girl
In a green dress with lovely breasts

A pinstriped suit with a silver tie
Speaking empty speech
To an Asian girl
With rosy cheeks and perfect knees

…Too much television

© J. James Martinez

poem by J. James Martinez
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Aish is all graceful

Be in ultra modern jeans, with hair cropped,
Be in curves with a bikini, with hair cascading,
Be in swimming suit, with hair dripping,
Be in top and middy, with hair thrown back,
Be in velvet chudidhar, with hair hiding the cheeks,
Be in saree and blouse, with hair loosely knotted,
Be with chemise on breasts, with hair permed and ornamented,
Be on cotton saree, with hair made to bun,
Be in half saree and blouse, with hair tightly plaited,
Or be in any fashion that comes into being,
The actress Aish is blooming and beaming,
What not is the fashion or style for Aish, all the grace?
19.10.2000

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Most Beautiful

a hand bag as big as a brief case,
have compartments, but not arranged,
stuffed stuffs are many,
lip sticks, mascara, eye liner,
powder and creams to smooth the surface,
peeler, scrubber and the polisher,
scissors, clips and gloss.
perfect hair and branded dress.

a wallet with few credit cards,
a zipper for coins and currency notes,
come out as they are,
who are the most beautiful people,
in the world?
Women or Men?
I say Men are the most beautiful people,
because they do not need make up.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Perfect Part 2

I don’t need perfect cloth
I don’t need perfect hair
What I need is a confidence

I don’t need perfect score
I don’t need perfect job
What I need is a support

I don’t need perfect word
I don’t need perfect dream
What I need is a chance

I don’t need perfect agreement
I don’t need perfect control
What I need is a solution

I don’t need perfect holiday
I don’t need perfect memories
What I need is a peace of mind

I don’t need perfect home
I don’t need perfect family
What I need is a comfort

I don’t need perfect love
I don’t need perfect life
What I need is an understanding

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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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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Your Crowning Glory

Jet black hair, like rain.
So smooth, and smells so pleasant.
Gently touch my skin.

Your crowning glory,
Dance and sway in the sweet breeze...
Caught my attention.

I reach for your hair,
Play it between my fingers.
The fragrance lingers.

Babe, I love your hair
And I love you very much.
Today and always.

poem by Joan Wu Lang Pacinabo
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My Mothers Hair

One of your hairs fell out last night:
A piece of your life was gone without a sound.
I know a difficult day is coming,
My heart, pierced, utters a quiet cry.

Let my childhood smile again in the sun
And turn me into an innocent little head louse
So I can crawl through the jungle of your hair
And sing a song of darkness in its fragrance.

Under your fingernail-roof Ill sleep in my house;
In my black dream Ill water your black trees.
Ill pick black fruits, and hair-jungle bees
Will bring me black poems to be opened.

How will I live, without your hair?
How will I breathe, without its fragrance?
How will I survive, when I am discovered
By ghosts of wooden combs combing your hair?

Let me wear shows made of dawn-flowers
And crawl without a sound into your sleep.
Ill take the place of the hair that's gone
And sing of hair-clouds flying from night to day.

poem by Ovwigho Joseph Ovedje
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The Water Lilies Of Knas

ABOVE the water lilies
of KNAS
is the whole body sculpture
of a national hero
in black suit, well defined hair,
tight white pants
nice mustache on the face
of his bravery
on his right arm is the heaviness
of books
on his left his famous
coat taken from the city
of Brussels

below this history
is a pond of goldfish
bubbling
knowing nothing about
heroism

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pigtail

When all the women in the transport
had their heads shaved
four workmen with brooms made of birch twigs
swept up
and gathered up the hair

Behind clean glass
the stiff hair lies
of those suffocated in gas chambers
there are pins and side combs
in this hair

The hair is not shot through with light
is not parted by the breeze
is not touched by any hand
or rain or lips

In huge chests
clouds of dry hair
of those suffocated
and a faded plait
a pigtail with a ribbon
pulled at school
by naughty boys.

Translated by Adam Czerniawski

poem by Tadeusz Ròzewicz
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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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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)

poem by Jim Foulk
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Your Hair Dreams

Your hair
(fine as a baby’s fine)

so soft
softly

your hair
falls asleep

before the rest
of you.

Your hair
dreams of being

stroked
caressed.

The rest of you
follows suit

& soon

all of you
is sleeping.

Your hair
dreaming of my hands.

Your body
dreaming of my hands.

Dream & Reality
merging.

poem by Dónall Dempsey
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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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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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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
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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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A Boy You Have Known

(d. pickerill/p. odonoughue)
This song is for listening to
On nights youre all alone
Blank face at the window pane
Or a silent telephone
Chorus:
And its all about a boy you have known
With black hair or brown hair
And hands made of stone
He had eyes like the (deeps? ) in the sky
Hair like the clouds youve seen floating by
And my sky was your cloud
You made the first smile I had ever worn
Chorus
Do you wonder if he knows now
Of the pain behind your eyes
The scorching in your throat
Or the half forgotten sighs
Do you try hard to sleep
And feel old memories
Creeping to the dark folds of night
? ? ? your glance and made me dance
The first dance I had ever seen
Chorus

song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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