Filthy
steel brush hair
uncut for a week
brown-out and
black-out
soap without water
dog waiting outside
telephone rings
no one in the house
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Full of excuses
I didn't telephone a.m.
as you'd be having breakfast then.
I didn't telephone at noon
for fear you might be lunching soon.
I didn't telephone p.m.
I thought you might be sleeping and
I didn't telephone at 8
for dinner in your house is late.
I didn't telephone at 9
for fear this may be T.V. time.
I didn't telephone today
as time just seemed to slip away.
No wonder that we never speak,
perhaps I'll try sometime next week?
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lookism
Black hair,
Blonde hair,
Brown hair,
And blue,
Earrings,
And nose rings,
And belly rings too,
Skinny jeans,
Baggy jeans,
Purple checkered and
Colored jeans too.
Looks and more looks
Are everywhere you look.
Their on TV
And in real life.
They are in church
And on the street.
We’re always concerned with our looks cuz they are all around.
They define
Loser
And punk
To preppy and
Rich.
What you look like describes your personality.
But why?
If you where tight jeans why must you be skater?
Of if you wear your hair black,
Why must you be punk or Goth?
It is all just in our heads,
You can wear tight jeans and be Goth,
Or black hair and be prep,
Why are looks so defining?
Because we make them so.
Why do people do this?
Hell if I know.
It is all just a mirage.
None of its real.
So why are looks such a big deal?
Why do we try and make believe,
If you look like that then you must be this?
There is no point to this strange behavior.
So lets stop this lookism and just get to someone despite how they look.
poem by BlackXWhiteFeathers Raven Mendez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Put On My Brown Socks
i put on my brown socks
i bend a little to check my knees
to feel my bare feet and
smell the color of my soles
i put on my sneakers at noon
i am not eating my lunch
i am half naked and i cut four
locks of my black hair
i leave my fingernails uncut
i am not running anywhere.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freezing Steel
Freezing steel
Ive flown the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel
And though my bodys back I know it cant be real
cause Ive been on that house without a guiding wheel
The house of freezing steel
Oh wheres it going, picked me up at seven
When my eyes were weak from the light of the morning
Oh sister wont you tell me what a man might want to know
This madness is fine, yes if youre mad at the time
Back on the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel
The tied my body up, Im forced to eat my meal
A cold plate of lamb and cold potatoes too
Now whats a soul to do
Oh lord above, brother wont you tell me
Is this a eucharistic dove
cause Ive been waiting for the right one to appear
But Ive seen it in your face, and baby this aint the place
Up on the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel.
I made my mind up then to get me to the wheel
I made the cabin door, the pilot turned around
He said were venus bound
Oh please take me home
After all Im only human and the earth is where I belong
I must have looked pitiful to this freak without a face
cause as he touched my head I saw myself back in bed
Ive flown the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel
And though my bodys back I know it cant be real
cause Ive been on that house without a guiding wheel
The house of freezing steel
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hair Cutting Saloon
Thick mirrors of transparent glass,
slates of graphite stuck to wall,
big bottles of shaving foam,
flammable containers of liquid spray,
a tetra assembly of royal chairs,
with protruding headrests of cushioned rexin,
fluorescent light rods producing blue light,
arrays of scissors made of stainless steel,
razor switch blades in plastic shells,
brown hairbrush with artificial teeth,
polygonal cans of medicated shampoo,
soft white towels dipped in hot steam,
aromatic hair oil in copper tins,
giant clock hung to wall nail,
electronic hair drier suspended from a jugglery of
wires,
wooden boxes of talcum powder,
tantalizing odour of body cologne,
huge paint brush coated with black dye,
rectangular green tablets of antiseptic soap,
flocks of silky hair lying dead on the floor,
offering a wide range of services like,
haircut, massage, facial, bleach,
special shave and shampoo bath,
with an iron safe for stacking currency notes,
and a large tumbler of cool water,
shaping hairy demons to presentable gods,
as i stretch my legs,
in the crowded ambience of the hair cutting saloon.
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Famous Polka
The famous person wears the same size water skis as me
Shes got three cars, as many years Ive lived in this city
Her hair is blond and mine is brown, they both start with a b
But when the phone inside her rib cage rings its not for me
But when the phone inside her rib cage rings its not for me
Hey
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Manami
I am Sorry. I am sorry those are the only words I can put to effort I am sorry I was not there to tell you good night, I am sorry that I wasn't there for your recitals. I am sorry I was not there to brush your hair, or get you ready for prom, I am sorry that I was not at you graduation that balmy June day. I am sorry that I was not at your wedding, to your dark haired handsome husband now that I look back and wish I could brush your blonde hair or to see your smiling face but, only in my dreams no more will I see the face of my young. I am sorry that I am your mother and for not being there when you need me the most so forgive me my sweet brown eyed blonde hair and with light tanned skin. Manami. I am Sorry.
poem by Raine Uchiha
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jeanie
With a brown snoot en golden-brown eyes,
my Labrador jumped into my heart
while waving her tail.
Her dark brown pelt glows
and it’s like something primitive wakens in her,
when Hadida birds land screaming on the lawn.
She inspects while I plant
rows of roses and in a short while,
she shears them off at the ground
and digs out the roots.
At work my phone rings
And the main waterline of the house,
has been gnawed off by her.
I am cross when I stop at the house
and usually she waits
and howls of gladness,
but when I get out of the car
she’s waiting at the garage
and sails on her stomach
to where I stand at the hole.
I take my financial mail,
and fold it tight
and know that I am going to hit her today.
But I see the pipe
that has been fixed by the plumber
and when I look up she gives her paw
and cries sadly as if to talk.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Skin Hair…
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Skin Hair
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Excelsis Deo - A Surrealist Carol For Madrigal Choir To Be Sung While Bathing
.
Hair of soap and head of tears
rinse mine eyes of Christmas stars
O bells, the bells sear me
Wash my hair of splendid fears
water me hot and redly rare
O trumps, the trumpets blear me
Scars heal me up to here
scald me pinkly if you dare
O gay, the gay sleds slay me
Is that flesh floating on the surface me
who swims or sinks fraternally?
I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds for see
Eternally yours,
He.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tired by Talile Ali
Wipe the crust from my eyes
Put my feet on the floor
Stumble into the john
Evacuate just once more
Splash water in my face
Add some soap to the fun
Brush the hair from my face
And pick up the last one
Pull a shirt on that fits
Slide my ass in these jeans
Slip my feet in my socks
With my shoes and I'm clean
Walk myself to the window
Then walk right thru the door
I'm so tired of livin
But I do it once more
Copyright © 2009
poem by Talile Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lourdes 2006
Jimmy opened his suitcase in the room
at Lourdes and said Oh no there's molasses
all over the clothes and shoes and I've got
a whole week here and he sat down in a chair
his head in his hands saying What have I done?
What am I going to do for clothes now? you
went over and looked in and sure enough
the molasses were over his clothes and shoes.
What am I going to do? he said and you said
Leave it to me Jim I'll sort it and you went through
the clothes taking out the items untouched
by the molasses and set them aside on the bed
and then carried the suitcase of black sticky items
Into the washroom and there one by one you carefully
washed them through with soap and water until
they were clean and smelt of soap and fresh air
and all the while 94 year old Jim sat in a chair
watching with his eyes watery and jaw hung loose
seeing the black water run down the wide plughole
and once it was done you wrung the clothes out
like your mother used to do when you were a kid
and hung them out on the balcony on the small
clothesline and placed the washed out black shoes
by the outside wall to dry out in the hot afternoon
sun and Jimmy came over and stood on the balcony
with one hand on the rail and the other on his stick
looking over at the Pyrenees in the distance and he
said That was real good of you. I owe you big time
and you stood next to him feeling the hot afternoon
sun on your face and arms and felt good and you
said You owe me nothing Jim I just did what some
good guy would and his watery eyes swept over you
matching the French sky's watery afternoon blue.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Washing And Dressing
AH! why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout?
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss,
I can't even kiss her without.
You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd,
But would you not wish to be clean?
Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast,
This face is not fit to be seen.
If the water is cold, and the brush hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye,
Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said?
And what good will it do you to cry?
It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you, and dress you, and make you look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.
I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss;
That's right–take the towel and wipe your wet eye,
I thought you'd be good after this.
poem by Ann Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Washing and Dressing
Ah! why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout?
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss,
I can't even kiss her without.
You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd,
But would you not wish to be clean?
Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast,
This face is not fit to be seen.
If the water is cold, and the brush hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye,
Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said?
And what good will it do you to cry?
It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you, and dress you, and make you look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.
I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss;
That's right -- take the towel and wipe your wet eye,
I thought you'd be good after this.
poem by Ann Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Out Of My Dreams
(steven dale jones/doug nichols)
Last night you were here again, third time this week
You always slip in when Im asleep
I thought those old feelings would be long gone by now
Why in the world do you bother to come back around
Youre out of my arms
Youre out of my life
Out of every thought
That I let cross my mind
Youre out of my hopes
That it might be you every time the telephone rings
But will I ever get you out of my dreams
There we were making wishes on evening stars
Promises sealed with kisses straight from our hearts
But then I woke up to reality again
Even the sweetest dreams come to an end
Youre out of my arms
Youre out of my life
Out of every thought
That I let cross my mind
Youre out of my hopes
That it might be you every time the telephone rings
But will I ever get you out of my dreams
But will I ever get you out of my dreams
song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
In Excelsis Deo - Variations Of A Surrealist Carol For Madrigal Choir To Be Sung While Bathing
1
Hair of soap and head of tears
rinse mine eyes of Christmas stars
O bells, the bells sear me
Wash my hair of splendid fears
water me hot and redly rare
O trumps, the trumpets blear me
Scars heal me up to here
scald me pinkly if you dare
O gay, the gay sleds slay me
Is that flesh floating on the surface me
who swims or sinks fraternally?
I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds for see
Eternally yours,
He.
2
Hair of soap
and head of tears
Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars
O Bells, the Bells sear me.
Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars
Water me hot
and redly rare
O Fey, the Fey stars blear me.
Water me hot
and redly rare
Scald me pinkly
if you dare
O Gay, the Gay sleds slay me.
Is that flesh
floating on the
surface me who
swims or sinks
fraternally?
I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds to see
Eternally yours,
He.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
So one day, in a fit of trying to do something different, I just dyed my hair dark brown and got my first role a week later, after which I thought: 'People are closed-minded, man! Like a different hair colour changes everything!'
quote by Emma Stone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!