Confession
Some folk think I'm dotty
and I have to confess to a point
especially when I'm still yawning
I know that my thinking's not right.
But sometimes life deals me wrong'n
and quick as a flash I'm messed up
my skirt gets tucked into my knickers
and loo papers sticks to my bum.
I went to the hair dressers Friday
and asked her to dye my hair red,
of course I didn't mean bright red
a brownish red's what I meant.
She didn't think two bits about it,
and mixed up the dye in a tick,
it was purplish pink if I'm honest
and now I just look like a twit.
My hearing's not what it might be
My eyesight is very bad too
but now that my hair's dyed bright purple
my street cred's all gone, I tell you.
So I've taken to being a hoody
I reckon I'm looking real cool
they've banned me from my local Tesco's
and told me I should be in school!
poem by Ruth Walters
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Related quotes
One Fateful Friday Night
The night was young, the energy high.
The weekend was in sight.
For four lads from Vancouver.
On one fateful Friday night.
They suited up, put on their best.
And filed into the car.
Not knowing for them what lay ahead.
Off they went to a local bar.
The bar was packed, the drinks went down,
Everything seemed just right.
They were having the time of their lives.
That fateful Friday night.
They drank and drank and drank some more.
Until it was last call.
They ordered up a round of shots.
All for one and one for all.
They staggered back to their ride.
It seemed like so much fun.
But on that fateful Friday night.
The nightmare had just begun.
The car sped off the boys all laughed.
Not a problem in the world.
They laughed so hard, they didn't see,
The tiny little girl.
And then the sound they won't forget.
It cut them like a knife.
The four lads that went out for fun.
Had taken a young child's life.
They stopped the car and all got out.
They didn't make a sound.
They huddled around the little girl,
That lay bleeding on the ground.
Her hair done up in pigtails.
A pretty pink flowered dress.
Her mommy was coming home from work
So she wanted to look her best.
A mother's little baby girl.
And four futures that looked so bright.
Were all lost in a drunken haze.
On one fateful Friday night.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Gross stupidity
It was at a time
where you had
to wear a uniform to school,
had to cut your hair
to a predetermined length
and got caned
if you were naughty,
failed a test,
or sometimes
to let the teacher
enforce his will.
If you complained at home
about getting a hiding at school,
you would probably
get another there too
if you deserved it,
but if you were right,
were punished unfairly
or without a real cause
it was seen in a different light
and a teacher
or whoever the punisher was
would have to face
your father in a fight
and could easily
be hit into hospital.
School regulations stipulated
that you couldn’t receive
more than six whippings on a day,
but at Estcourt high school
on my first day
at the new school
in standard nine (now grade eleven)
I received twelve.
We were lining up
to go to the hall
and a prefect told me
to cut my hair
which were just a bit
longer than how
they wanted it.
I said that I would
and while we were walking
to the entrance of the hall
I was told the same thing
over and over again.
On the eighth time
I told the English prefect
in Afrikaans
not to catch the pip
which was a Afrikaans adage
for do not catch a fit.
He told me to repeat
what I had said,
which I did
and thought
that I was cursing him
and took me
to the Headboy
who was English.
Where I had to repeat
myself again
and I did
as believed in telling
the truth.
The head boy took me
to the principal,
(Mister Robert Smith) ,
who thought
that I was saying
something like
go and play
with your member.
He called in the
vice-principal
(another Englishman) ,
a man with a red beard,
who was convinced
that I was cursing,
who shoved my head
under a table
and whipped me six times.
When I explained what it meant
they didn’t believe me
and called in a teacher
who taught Afrikaans
and the principal gave me
another six whippings
for being insubordinate
and wanted to expel me
if I didn’t have my hair cut
on by the next day.
I didn’t tell my stepfather
(who wasn’t a dad to me) ,
but even he
would have sorted
the headmaster
and vice-principal out
and it would have been
the Anglo-Boer war
all over again.
At the time I thought
that I was grossly stupid,
but thinking back
the headmaster and vice-principal
was probably more so.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Might Have Known
I might have known
said Dotty
I might have known
you were just like
all the rest of men
but
said Brintskin
don't you but me
you slime snake
Mother always said
men weren't
to be trusted
and she was right
I should have listened to her
instead going off with men
at such a young age
but hang on there
Brintskin said
I was getting a lift
in a woman's car
after a hard day's work
sure
Dotty said
sure you were
I know women
and I know men
and what happens
when they get together
and what did she want huh?
want to show you her etchings?
no it wasn't like that at all
she just asked
did I want a lift home
after work and I said yes
Brintskin said
I bet you did
I bet you couldn't
get that word yes out
quick enough
why I bet she had her panties off
before you could blink an eye
and as usual
you had to get
caught out didn't you
and Dotty paused
for a moment
to pour a drink
and sip it
all the while
glaring at Brintskin
and he stared at her
as if she'd changed
into a bullfrog
and then she sighed
and said
well what happened?
nothing happened Sweetie
Brintskin replied
she just offered me
a lift home in her car
and I said yes please
and so she gave me a lift home
Dotty sat down
in the armchair
and crossed her legs
and Brintskin studied her thighs
as the skirt rose up
as she sat down
and Dotty said
ok so maybe I believe you
maybe what you say is true
and I am just getting
the wrong end
of the stick
you sure are
Brintskin said
following the line
of his vision
as far as his eyes
could go
and caught a glimpse
of panty line
whiter than snow.
poem by Terry Collett
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Cool
He really liked flanel with red over-alls
if you look in his closet it was all that you saw
He dressed up on Sunday and thought he look neat
in a green leasure suit with wing tips on his feet
And i was 15 and real hip with long hair
and i asked momma why is daddy so square
and i couldn't belive all that he didn't know
i guess it's hard to be kool when your 40 years old
The night i turned 20 she came with the news
scared half to death and didn't know what to do
I told her i'm sorry but it's not to late there's a docter
i heard of that fixes mastakes
I though he was workin' and i was alone
but he was stang behind me when i hug up the phone
he said son there's a few thing you don't know about
if you listen real close we can figure this out
cus i was 18 and as wild as it came when one night
a young girl told me the samethingand you wouldn't be here
if she haden't said no you see it's hard to be cool when you'r 20 years old
These day's i like flanel and old leive jeans
and i look at my young boy who just turned 15 and i know what he's thinking
but's it ok to know because it's hard to be cool
when your 15 years old
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold Dear
Rolland didn’t like her
but he wasn’t in love
with her as you were
he never saw beyond
the skin and hair never
saw the inner beauty
the part that God or
some other deity put
there he’d sit with you
at the back of class in
school hands behind
his head acting like
Brando real cool and
you having her in your
sight remembering the
kisses and the feel of her
in your arms and she sitting
there in her school uniform
across the room looking
at you now and then with
a small smile and bright eyes
not knowing then that cancer
would have its grip on her
in some later year and take
away that aspect of her you
remember and hold dear.
poem by Terry Collett
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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
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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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Girl In Your Dreams
I was walking down the street one day
Then I saw you I didn't know what to say
You're eyes were shining
You're smile was so kind
When I saw you I wanted you to be mine
Maybe I don't have the blonde hair you like
Or maybe I don't have eyes like the sky
And I'm not sure if I'm the girl in your dreams
But I can show you what love means
One day you came and talked to me
And you said we are meant to be
I was happy
song performed by by M2M from Shades Of Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seasons of My Love
I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunrise in her hair
There lived no other in the world could in my heart compare
Her eyes were stars of midnight bliss, her laugh a meadow breeze
I would have done all that she asked, so quick was I to please
I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair
Embraced in velvet lullabies, such sweetness did we share
We were all we ever had but we were wild and free
And in the lands you would not find a soul as lark as me
I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair
The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair
Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be
And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she
I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair
I loved her fierce, I loved her true, we were doomed; we did not care
The hands of time would take from me, even she was not to spare
In the whispers of my dreams, I still see my maiden fair
poem by Leonard Snow
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New Beau
Old age crept upon me
and I didn't notice it!
My hair turned white,
my skin to pale,
my eyes to dim,
I'd gotten frail!
Old age had kicked
me from behind!
So I dyed my hair,
put contacts in,
rouged my cheeks
and then
I took up
different hobbies
to keep my
brain in trim!
Now that I've saved
what little's left
there's a down
side even so!
Mr Wilkins
three doors up
intends to be
my beau!
poem by Ruth Walters
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First Date
In the car I just can't wait
To pick you up on our very first date
Is it cool if I hold your hand?
Is it wrong if I think it's lame to dance?
Do you like my stupid hair?
Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?
I'm just scared of what you think
You make me nervous so I really can't eat
Let's go
Don't wait
This night's almost over
Honest
song performed by by Blink 182 from Take Off Your Pants & Jacket
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Didn't Care
You didn't care,
when I was alone,
fighting with,
me in your absence.
You didn't share,
your laughter, grief,
your sojourn...
I knitted a sweater,
for you,
with white and
sky blue.
You didn't come in winter.
Still now, it's with me.
You know, I have in my hair,
a flash of silver white!
Soon, I'll need spec,
to read your poems.
Oh! I forgot to tell,
you one thing, hmm.silly
though, no won't tell,
you will laugh then.
Everyday, I write a poem
thinking of you!
You told once, my poems
are rubbish!
But, believe me, I write,
squeezing my blood,
from my love for you!
If you won't talk,
well, I'll be speaking
aloud, rather, under,
the gulmohar tree,
under its bunch of
red flowers, or,
under any leafless tree,
one which you will prefer...
But, we must meet..
someday,
any day,
as it has been
fixed by God!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Emmie, Emmie Adams
Emmie, Emmie Adams,
With her insolent air,
Tied a little bit of rag
In her yellow hair.
When Lena, wondering,
Asked why it was there,
Emmie said she didn't know
And she didn't care.
I think Emmie Adams,
Though you are so fair,
That must be the devil's horn
In your yellow hair.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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He also didn't like a lock of my hair and said that he couldn't get into the moment without the hair being just right. I quietly knew that he was anxious and that the hairdo wasn't the real issue. But we all let it go and came back to the scene sometime later.
quote by Madeleine Stowe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That girl
That girl
with bangs on her hair
a pink headband, thick lips pure red,
curly hair, mini skirt, and bleached legs
as white as may sky,
the way she sits tells me
that she is a woman now
beautiful to be with
because of her
bad habits.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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LIFE IN AGONY...by talile ali
IN THE ANXIOUS MOMENTS
OF A SATURDAY AFTERNOON
I SIT AND WRITE ABOUT JUST
HOW MUCH I WISHED YOU'D SPOON
WE PECK A BIT, AND THAT IS
SO STRANGE I MUST CONFESS
BECAUSE I DIDN'T REALIZE
HOW MUCH WE ARE A MESS
I THOUGHT THAT WE WERE WORKING
BUT I WAS OH SO BLIND
I WISH I COULD HAVE SEEN YOU
WHEN YOU HAD BETTER TIMES
BUT YOUR LIFE WAS A SHAMBLES
AND YOUR HEAD A REAL MESS
YOU DIDN'T RECOGNIZE THEN
THAT TRUST WAS ALL I PROFESSED
DIDN'T ASK FOR ANY ITEMS
DIDN'T EXPECT ANYTHING
ALL I WANTED WAS TO LOVE YOU
THAT WAS WAY TOO GREEN
I KNOW THAT WHEN WE'RE HONEST
IT CAN SEEM OVER STRONG
BUT IT IS NOT DECEPTIVE
AND NEVER WISHED YOU WRONG
BUT IT WAS TIMED SO TRAGIC
AND RAN YOU THRU AND THRU
IT SCARED YOU TILL YOU PANICKED
YOU RAN SO FAST, YOU FLEW
SO GO AND BE WHATEVER
YOU FEEL YOU NEED TO BE
AND I WILL GO OBSERVING
YOUR LIFE IN AGONY
poem by Talile Ali
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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)
Will grandma Mickey’s hair still be white, when we are in heaven?
My youngest son asked me this as we were
laying around arguing whether I was going to read more than one book or not…
will grandma Mickey’s hair still be white, when we are in heaven?
why do six year olds think about life and death?
why do they not seem afraid
and see it as a natural part of living life
we fear death,
we avoid hospitals, when friends are ill
and when we do go there it is quick to help speed the recovery
of the ill and get out as quick as you can
when people are ill we don’t see them as much,
they understand no one wants to be around seriously ill people
and don’t invite themselves to events they know
will cause others grief
will grandma Mickey’s hair still be white, when we are in heaven?
shows an understanding that she will be in a form that we will recognize
and still be our grandmother
and white signifies pureness, in every circumstance
except as related to hair
will grandma Mickey’s hair still be white, when we are in heaven?
is a question best answered by saying
what color would you want her hair to be
and hope he answers
whatever color she would want
poem by Oscar Mireles
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The Lady in Pink
Me thinks
Pink is her favorite color
In which, she is
So elegantly dressed.
She is the grand dame, in
Pink Sweater,
Pink skirt,
Pink coat,
Pink hose,
Pale shoes
And pink pearls clipped in her
Perfectly coifed
Champagne colored hair
And diamonds in her smile.
poem by Dorothy Holmes
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