En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Know I Am Not Getting Any Younger

i look at my face in the mirror
and take my comb and start to part
my thick black hair in the middle of
my forehead,
a black dye cannot hide anymore
the white at the bottom of my hair
all of them and i stare at myself
and begin to fear the
hands of the clock ticking

i know i am not getting any younger
and i am eating a lot of oysters
fresh from San Pedro
wanting to recover the lost drives
somewhere in San Isidro Labrador

how can i lose this hardness of my being?
my life has orbited on this belief
that i only live when i am useful
to each of you

i return my hair to its original style
looking so young again
i love this face and i tell myself
it must still sink a hundred ships
till i am gone
till i am forgotten by all of them

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The monk with long pretty hair

I love this life,
Sworn to serve the poor,
My body honed to perfection,
With the life style,
The material skill,
The difficult chores,
And the blessing our the lord Buddha,
I will always honor him,
For he gave me the greatest gift of all,
My long pretty hair.

The others start to object,
Claiming my head needs shaving,
There just jealous,
I wear the orange robe,
What more do they want?
I’m always on time,
The best in my class,
I bet that’s why they hate me,
Because who could hate,
My long pretty hair.

Everyday I realise,
My hair is all I care for,
I made my excuses,
I need to be clean,
Because cleanliness is holiness,
Suddenly there’s not enough hours in the day,
I cut the training,
And fall behind on my chores,
To stare at perfection in the mirror,
My long pretty hair.

The Masters are angry at me preaching,
That my hair sets me apart,
As indeed it does,
I see the jealousy in every eye,
They hate me because I'm perfect,
Why should I shave my head?
Am I not the universe’s chosen?
Above all the others,
So what if I’m the better with,
My long pretty hair.

I’m banished from my home,
But that’s ok,
They left me a mirror,
Which I stare into all day,
I found my true love,
Better than my old life,
Helping and healing and fighting,
I rebel against my order,
Despite all I lose I still have,
My long pretty hair.

On the execution block I stand,
In all my glory,
They took my mirror away,
And dared to touch my hair,
Who can blame me for hurting them?
They deserved it,
And now I stand,
Proud and tall,
With my hair flowing free,
Caressed by the breeze
My long pretty hair.

And I now hang by the gate,
By my long pretty hair,
Final glory for everyone to see.
My long pretty hair.

poem by David Whittingham
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Combing My Hair

Now people always come around
But they don't always stick around
I run a comb across my head
I wish my hair would settle down
The clock I see is running slow
The batteries are running low
I run a comb across my head
And it feels the same like it did before
You're just another first footer across my door
And little less care (hair?) than I had last year
But it doesn't worry me because I
I have no fear
Here
The car I see is painted black
I'm steering (staring) at the driver's back
He runs a comb across his head
And it feels the same like it did before
You're just another fresh fare across his door
And little less care than he had last year
But it doesn't worry him because he
He has no fear
Here, here
Now people always come around
But they don't always stick around
They run a comb across your head
I wish my hair would settle down
The clock I see is running slow
We've only got three years to go
We run our combs across our heads
And it feels the same like it did before
You're just another first footer across the door
And little less care than we took last year
But it doesn't worry us because we
We have no fear
Here
Have we
We have no fear
Have we
We have no fear

song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Best Way to Comb the Blonde Hair

Years is the worst unforgivable hairstylist

He cuts my hair short;

shorter than our short story..

He cuts my hair off;

off the last relationship..

Now it's 4 sharp in the afternoon,

i, wooden, seize the comb, wooden.

Mirror does not tell lies

age can only climb high.

the comb runs through my hair

my hair flows through somewhere

more strands of hair are gone..

more worries are born

I forget how I combed hair

back in those years..

A young blonde is coming..

and i gonna ask her this question.

poem by Garland Jodie Jeen
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Some Questions For You This Morning

do you smile?
or have you forgotten how to smile to people

do you know that they too
are lonely and scared?

do you know what a hug means?

do you hug
the homeless ones?

you use things
no argument about that

you use people?
that can be a good question for you today

do you love yourself?
yes yourself too?

not just them in co-dependency

wash your face
with the gentleness of water in your hands
dove soap it

wipe your face and look at yourself in the mirror
comb your hair

spray perfume in your hair
the smell of lemon grass

you don't like it?
pick your choice

you have choices
you make decisions

please yourself
be free
and come to me

thus says the Lord your friend for a lifetime
beside you
as always

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song

YOU are as gold
as the half-ripe grain
that merges to gold again,
as white as the white rain
that beats through
the half-opened flowers
of the great flower tufts
thick on the black limbs
of an Illyrian apple bough.

Can honey distill such fragrance
as your bright hair-
for your face is as fair as rain,
yet as rain that lies clear
on white honey-comb,
lends radiance to the white wax,
so your hair on your brow
casts light for a shadow.

poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Hairbrush

how i wish my fingers were the bristles
or my breath were the wind when it whistles
thru your hair, thru your hair

i wish you'd hold me in your hands
and let me skate thru all the strands
of your hair, of your hair

i could style it anyway you like it
i could brush it straight or even spike it
au contraire! au contraire!

or i would wait patiently in my box
until next i would comb the locks
of your hair, of your hair

i would braid it tight, tousle, and tease!
or pull it back in a ponytail, if you please;
if you dare, if you dare

how often is it a man confesses
that he wish to run barefoot thru the tresses
of your hair, of your hair?

you may think me a little touch'd
but can i tell you just how much
i hate your hairbrush?

this obsession may be zealous
but can i tell you just how jealous
i am of your hairbrush? !

poem by Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
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Time And Its Daughter

Time and its Daughter
I love your face and your face loves itself
For its perfect nose, green eyes and rosy lips
And your fragrance has a Narcissistic allure.

The way you walk pavements adore you
rain shies away as not to make your hair wet
I love your face and your face loves itself.

When you cross the street car horn blears
All by themselves and white cars turn pink
And your fragrance has a Narcissistic allure

Sun doesn´t burn your skin, makes it golden.
Till, one day, the mirror tells of a wrinkle, and
you know years are ganging up on you.

You only enemy is time it waits in the wings.
As furrows settle on your forehead.
I love you face, your face doesn´t love itself

Car horn doesn´t blare anymore, get off
The road you lazy old woman, they honker
Your fragrance of youth has lost its allure

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Caught in a Net

Upon her breast her hands and hair
Were tangled all together.
The moon of June forbade me not —
The golden night time weather
In balmy sighs commanded me
To kiss them like a feather.

Her looming hair, her burning hands,
Were tangled black and white.
My face I buried there. I pray —
So far from her to-night —
For grace, to dream I kiss her soul
Amid the black and white.

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Suffocation

Last night I had the weirdest dream
I dreamt that I was lying in bed
With this girl whose hair was
As black as the night and as
Thick as a forest,
And her hair, her hair was
Smothering me
Or at least, I thought it was
Her hair,
Until I noticed it was her hands
Running over my face,
My lips
My eyes
My cheeks.
As hot as the desert
And smooth as silk
But pressing down
Pressing me into my pillow
Until I could see nothing
But the pink of her skin
And I thought,
Im gunna die
Those hands are gunna
Kill me
Until I realized really,
It wasn’t hands,
But lips,
Sucking the air from mine
Engulfing my last breath
And drawing it into her being
And I thought, well,
At least lips are
A nice way to go
Until finally I came
To my goddamn senses
And I realized,
I realized it wasn’t her lips
But the words coming
From those sweet lips
That was suffocating me
And it was “I love you”
I was choking on
Not her hair, hands or lips
At all.

poem by Nick Downer
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Nowhere To Run

Nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
Got nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
It's not love
I'm running from
It's the heartaches
That I know will come
'Cause I know
You're no good for me
But you've become
A part of me
Everywhere I go
Your face I see
Every step I take
You take with me, yeah
Nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
Got nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
I know you're
No good for me
But free of you
I'll never be, no
Each night as I sleep
Into my heart you creep
I wake up feeling sorry I met you
Hoping soon that I'll forget you
When I look in the mirror
And comb my hair
I see your face
Just a-smiling there
Nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide
Got nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
I know you're
No good for me
But you've become
A part of me
How can I fight a lover
That's sugar sweet
When it's so deep, so deep
Deep inside of me
My love reaches so high
I can't get over it
It's so wide
I can't get around it, no
Nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide
From you, baby
Just can't get away
No matter how I try
I know you're no good for me
But free of you I'll never be
Nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
Got nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
Got nowhere to run
Got nowhere to run

song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Hair

Wide cheeks? Let the hair hide the ears.
Broad forehead? Let the hair spills in front.
Dwarf neck? Let the hair in knot be up.
Lanky figure? Let the hair falls on shoulders.
Hair being dense is an asset to woman
27.03.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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At The Middle Part

..and then she faces me
this time exposing every part of her
a tall. lean white body with long black hair
cascading like a waterfall
of silence
she walks towards me
as i lay my head on the pillow
as i signal her to come
and share with me
love and sorrow
and the passion of our presence
she takes a slow movement
her hands touching my hair
her lips getting near
my face
and then we close our eyes
and enter into another world
where we are one
so close
airtight.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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

poem by Amit Ray
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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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Black Flowing Hair, A Memory Of You

I see you leaning by a wall next door
Against an afternoon sun

And though it is your back that faces me
I know
From the beating of my heart
That it is you, Black-flowing-hair

I can smell you
In mint
And you shall be inside me
As I breathe
So I can live for another time

You are
My tallest tree
On top of the Sleeping-dragon-mountain

And I look up to you
Like my full moon one cold night
Untouched by my fingers
Black-flowing-hair
The world may not have found love in my eyes
As I have none to boost

Since I have given it to you
All of it
I shall find it
But shall not take it back
From you

Your shadow is my god
And it is only that I can touch
Without you knowing
The shadow
Of your
Back
My self-made god
Is enough life

I do not ask much
I cannot
You do not know me
There is no need
I only give myself
I do not have to take any
In return

Now I declare
I have found my place
In you
I have found myself
In you
I have found you

I am Mute-white-dove -sitting
On the breast of Black-flowing-hair
Touching the clouds
Holding the rainbow
Saving all the raindrops of my life.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mirror

'-Em que espelho ficou
perdida a minha face? '
(Cecília Meireles*)

The old mirror
In what I've looked so much times
In what I've seen my many faces
It looks like never to change
It looks like to be always the same.
But my face is not anymore
The beautiful face that I had before.
It has changed through all the ages
Like a book turning its pages.
I see the time goes by
leaving old memories
Everytime when I stare at the mirror
I see its wounds on me.
With a lot of colours
Through the years
I've painted my soul
Black, brown, gray
for the bad ones
White, yellow, blue
for the good ones.
And all my wrongs
that I've regreted
are just few stains
on the mirror.
I've cleaned the mirror
with my rights
but some of the stains
won't never disappear.
I've faced my fear
But the mirror broken
When the person for whom I fell in love
Left me alone in the cold room.
And the mirror was so dirty
When I did it bad
And it was so embarassed
when I felt myself so sad.
In this mirror I see my soul
All the scenes of my life.
My life has chaged a lot
But the mirror remains the same
through the time!

_____________________
(*) Cecília Meireles was a great poetess from the modern
phase of the brazilian literature.Her poems are filled with
the existentialism, love, and anothers theories from her love
for the Indian culture.This quotation from one of her poems
means: '-In which mirror was lost my face? '

poem by Lindemberg Pereira da Silva
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I Grew My Hair Out

I finally grew my hair out.
I had tried before, but it frightened me.
It grew large, thick, black and wavy,
The hair my ancestors gave me.
They wore it long and free.

I finally grew my hair out,
And a friend said 'You look like a Greek god.'
And I said 'Which one? '
And he said 'I don't know. The chubby one that drank wine.'

And I thought about red wine
And the delighted laughter of women
About the hooves and horns
That I'd hidden inside my head
And had forgotten about, before I ever knew them.

But they were there all along, waiting.
Then I grew my hair out.

poem by Edward Allen
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Together Again

...hayeahhhh...
A red black beetle crawls over my feet
Its little steps tickle
It gives me the creeps
I wash my hands and I wash my face
A fresh summer breeze catches my hair and I say
...hayeahhhh...
...hayeahhhh...
Went long the river it was a red night
My teddy fell asleep
Closed his black button eyes
It was a red night when I walked on my own
When my teddy awoke theres one thing I knew - cause were
Chorus:
Together again
Yeah forever together
Your heart is my home
Together again
Yeah forever together
Your heart is my home
The golden field, the sense of red nights
Theres something lost
Cause weve forgotten to fight
The field is broken but the dream will survive
Plant a new appletree
Sisters of night
Chorus
...hayeahhhh...
A red black beetle crawls over my feet
Its little steps tickle
It gives me the creeps
I wash my hands and I wash my face
A fresh summer breeze catches my hair and I say
...hayeahhhh...
Your heart is my home
...hayeahhhh...
Your heart is my home
Chorus
...hayeahhhh...
Your heart is my home
...hayeahhhh...
Your heart is my home
...hayeahhhh...

song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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