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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Related quotes
Supremacy is the beauty
Chubby lips, plump cheeks, massive breasts, fleshy buttocks,
Blunt nose, hairy skin, coarse hair and black eyes
Are the features the Dravidians inherited from the Negros.
Thin lips, flat cheeks, rounded breasts, slated buttocks,
Long nose, pale skin, silky hair and brown eyes
Are the features Aryan inherited from the White race.
Aryans are held beautiful by their cultural supremacy.
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Silent Dead
There's a little boy who lives next door
With hair like you,
Pale, pale hair and a rose-white skin
And his eyes are blue.
When I get a chance I peep at him,
Who is so like you,
Terribly like, my dead, my fair,
For he's dumb, too.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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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
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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
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Pretty Lil' Princess
A pretty little princess danced before my eyes
Soon we shared these loving longing sighs
Skin so fair i feared it would shatter
If my hand were to touch it with just a soft patter
Long silky black hair bright rosy cheeks
I drempt of her each night for weeks and weeks
Skin so fair, such ebony hair
I longed to see her pose so i could sit and stare
Rosy red rosy cheeks
I hear a symphony when she speaks
Golden smile of pearly white teeth
A blossoming bloom just out of reach
My heart to hold my soul to teach
A blossoming bloom is not out of reach
At last I have held her and she did not melt
At last she knows what passion i've felt
So many days her radiant beauty shined
So many days on thoughts of her i've dined
A radiant beauty with ebony hair
I long to pose her and sit and stare
I long to kiss her skin so fair
This radiant beauty with ebony hair
Pretty little princess stands on her tiptoes
kissed my face and kissed my nose
Pretty little princess alights up off the ground
I know for a while i must have you around
poem by Beau Golden
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I'm sorry, I didn't notice
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
When this started to happen
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
I just let it begin
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
The change in anythin'
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
When we stopped talkin'
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
We weren't letting each other in
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
That sad, sad trend
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
The beginning of the end
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
You were no longer my friend
But believe me, now I notice
And it hurts deep within
Now that I notice
I hope you'll be again
poem by Dylan Burkhart
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Black And White Makes Grey...
If I was to snap my fingers and everyone turned black
How would we be any different from one another?
If I was to snap my fingers and everyone turned white
How would we be any different from one another?
We wouldn't be different.
We could walk down the street
and no one would 'think' any differently.
So all the discrimination and deaths over the years
are just superficial?
Please tell me that people are not that shallow..
tell me that all those people didn't die
just because they have more melanin in their skin
or because their eyes were a different shape..
or because their hair is curly.
Tell me people didn't die just because
I didn't snap my fingers.
If I had, and we were all the same colour..
would there have been the word..discrimination.
Are we really that shallow? ? ! !
poem by Sharon Maree Smith
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Maybel
Her eyes,
Eyes of a serpent,
Cruel and filled of hate.
They seemed to stare into you and pierce
to soul with their needle like daggers.
This venomous bite,
It helps you see thru the beautiful mask.
Her hair,
Hair as rich as a flame,
It frames you face in its twisted ways,
Matted and witch like blowing in the breeze.
Skin so pale,
A paper white,
She towers above you,
A sickening sight.
poem by Lauren Ellis Leung
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To Prepare for You
To prepare for you
I scrub the soles of my feet
and cut my toenails.
I wash and brush my hair
Flicking it out with my fingers
so each strand will dry fast and sweet
in the breeze of the ceiling fan.
I smooth oil on my elbows, thighs, and knees;
brushing oil from my palms
over my nipples
so they’ll stick to your fingers.
I wrap myself in a silky sarong
choose a cunning earring
which will jangle in your bed
when I shake my hair over you.
Will you notice that I’ve cut my hair?
One side is longer than the other
but I won’t neaten it.
I’ll wear the earring on the long side.
I streak perfume through my hair.
Bought near the Jain temple
in Udaipur
palest green scent distilled from a root
dissolved in oil of sandalwood
Last time I left you
I could smell you in my hair all day.
poem by Kaye Aldenhoven
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Mother's Hair Has Turned To Silver
Mother's hair has turned to silver
Her skin is all wrinkled and cold
But i'd never trade my mother
For the world and all its gold. Yes her hair has turned to silver
Her face is all covered with lines
But there'll never be another
Like this gray haired mother of mine. I think of all the hardships
I have caused her to bare
Then I can see the reasons
For the silver in her hair. Mother's hair has turned to silver
And her hard working days are done
But there's still a smile on her face
And a love for everyone.
poem by Kenneth Rickard
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White Horses
We stare at the rocks and shoreline
As if time itself has fled,
For the sea once lapped at our laughter
When he would go on, ahead;
But the seasons change in the counting
And the laughter fades from the eye,
He went ahead at the parting
Caught up in his own bleak tide.
Your hair turned white in the mourning
Your songs all died in your throat,
Your eyes turned wild, and haunting
As I looked for some antidote;
But age crept up and caught you
In a season of sad neglect,
We sit at the shore in silence
And think of some deep regret.
For the waves roll in like thunder
And the foam now caps the crest
And your wild, white hair blows ever
And your eyes are dim, distressed;
I hold your hand in silence
In hopes that you’ll speak of him,
But you take a breath, and mutter
“White horses are coming in! ”
And over the heads of breakers
Where the foam breaks loose at the rip
I fancy the manes of horses
Are tossed at the breaker’s tip;
And shoulders pound at the rollers
While hooves flash white in the tide
And your dim grey eyes reflect them,
As you cry at their foam-flecked ride.
White horses, caught at the breakers
With manes of wild, white hair
They run at the shallow waters
In the hopes that he’ll be there,
Their eyes are dim at the mourning
As the rollers set them free,
You smile at the heads a-tossing:
“White horses – coming for me.”
28 November 1994
poem by David Lewis Paget
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One Day You Dissolve Into Whiteness...
a white car waits for you
at the white side of the road
you are in your white suit
white socks and white shoes
you are white yourself
pale lips and snowy face
dusty eyes, clear tears
falling down to your cheeks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Haircut
I have wooly, wavy, woozy silvery hair
Cut just 20% you earn your fare
In bad trim down
Make sure I won't look like a clown.
With white cover she cuts away,
Her scissors, snip, snip night and day.
In mirror see my hair disappear
Trimmed nicely above each ear.
Finally touched my hair—few curls,
The more she accommodates I would adore.
Finish look seems more like 30% gone,
Hair wetted, scalped, I mirror no fun.
Next time another barber or good cutter
Better not scalp me" I sadly angry mutter
For well-kept hair on head?
I'd rather make more love in bed.
poem by Arthur Weil
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He calls me Honky.
My friend’s as black as ebony
and he delights in teasing me.
He says I am the coloured man
I can’t deny it no one can.
My hair is blond my eyes are blue.
His words are obviously true,
My facial skin is pink and white.
to anyone with normal sight
His eyes, his hair and skin are black
I cannot counter his attack
But he’s my mate so I don’t care
His banter isn’t hard to bear
We’re much the same bar for our skin.
What matters most must lie within.
Monday,16 November 2009
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Such A Rainy Day
such a rainy day
she comes to my door
knocking for help
for some comfort in the coldness of a rainy day
some winds too strong
dry leaves blown to the other side
some trees giving to a crack to a fall
she comes on such a rainy day
she is wet and so pitiful to look at
her clothes pasting to her frail body of
a woman deserted
her hair uncombed and blown and scattered
she stands by my door
my brother left her just an hour ago
she is wet, her hair, her body some rain still drips
how can i forget her?
my brother did not love her and he left her
she is crying and her tears drip on her cheeks on her body
how can i be so cruel for not telling her
i love her so,
but she leaves, she is crying and the rain starts pouring again
she is only looking for my brother who left her
how can i help her?
she never utters my name
in her heart, i do not exist.
she loves him, he left her,
i love her, she leaves me
the rain keeps on pouring and fate plays so well like a crazy child
on us
on a rain that comes unplanned, unasked, and goes away unnoticed.
i stand on this door.
i have to close it,
fate does it always better.
i am that crazy child playing in the rain, in my brain
i am wet, my thoughts dripping like rain,
like droplets and my tears,
i am glad, my tears are invisible.
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
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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Not Always What We Seek
After you'd got on
the school bus
and sat down
in one of the side seats
Jane said
who did you fight with
in the playground
lunchtime?
Woolgar
you said
he pushed me over
against the wire fence
and I got up
and went for him
she looked disappointed
I didn't think
you could be violent
she said
I'm not usually
but it was an automatic
response to being
pushed over
you said
my daddy said
one should turn
the other cheek
especially if you're a Christian
she said softly
the school bus
started up
and took off down
the school drive
sorry
you said
but the creep
got under my skin
and if you let them
get away with it once
they'll always do it
she gazed at you
then out
of the window
at the passing shops
and buildings
of the town
were you watching?
you asked
yes I saw you
from the girl's playground
she muttered
not looking round
guess it looked
kind of bad
yes it did
she turned
and looked at you
but at least
you don't do it
all the time
she said
and touched
your hand
with hers
and you felt sad
inside that you'd
made her feel like that
and you saw
how lovely her
dark eyes were
how there seemed
to be a mini universe
in them with their own
galaxies and stars
and moons
next time I'll think twice
you said
before hitting
the other boy
she nodded
and smiled
and her hand
squeezed yours
her skin soft and warm
her hair black
and drawn back
into a ponytail
sitting there
beside you
her grey school skirt
and jumper
and white blouse
the neck open
the sight
of her throat
and you wanting
to kiss but not doing so
her neck
her skin
the feel
of her hair
against your cheek
sometimes
you thought
we can't have
what we seek.
poem by Terry Collett
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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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