En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Little Jamie

Ither laddies may ha's finer claes, and may be better fed,
But nane o' them a'has sic a bonnie curly heid,
O sie a blythe blink in their e'e,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.

When I gang oot tae tak' a walk wi' him, alang the Magdalen Green,
It mak's my heart feel lichtsome tae see him sae sharp and keen,
And he pu's the wee gowans, and gie's them to me,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.

When he rises in the mornin' an' gets oot o' bed,
He says, mither, mind ye'll need tae toast my faither's bread.
For he aye gie's me a bawbee;
He's the best little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.

When I gang oot tae tak' a walk alang the streets o' Dundee,
And views a' the little laddies that I chance to see,
Nane o' them a' seems sae lovely to me,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.

The laddie is handsome and fair to be seen,
He has a bonnie cheerie mou', and taw blue e'en,
And he prattles like an auld grandfaither richt merrily;
He's the funniest little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd Iaddie, Little Jamie.

Whene'er that he kens I am coming hame frae my wark,
He runs oot tae meet me as cheerful as the lark,
And he says, faither, I'm wanting just a'e bawbee,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Valentine

YE are twa laddies unco gleg,
An' blithe an' bonnie:
As licht o' heel as Anster's Meg;--
Gin ye'd a lassie's favor beg,
I' faith she couldna stir a peg
Ance lookin' on ye!

He's a douce wiselike callant--Jim:
Of wit aye ready.
Cuts aff ane's sentence, 't ither's limb,
An' whiles he's daft and whiles he's grim,
But brains?--wha's got the like o'him
In's wee bit heidie?

Dear laddie wi' the curlin' hair,
Gentlest of ony:
That gies kind looks an' speeches fair
To dour auld wives as lassies rare,--
I ken a score o' lads an' mair,
But nane like Johnnie!

And gin ye learn the way to woo,
Hae sweethearts mony,
O laddie, never say ye loe
An' gie fause coin for siller true;
A lassie's sair heart's naething new,--
Mind o' that, Johnnie.

An' dinna change your luve sae fast
For ilk face bonnie,
Lest waefu' want track wilfu' waste,
And a' your youthfu' years lang past,
Ye get the crookit stick at last,
Ochone, puir Johnnie!

But callants baith, tak tent, and when
Bright e'en hae won ye,
Tak each your jo--and keep her--then
Be faithfu' as ye're fond, ye ken,
Or--gang your gate like honest men,
Young Jim and Johnnie.

Sae when auld Time his crookit claw
Sall lay upon ye,
When, Jim, your feet that dance sae braw
Are no the lightest in the ha',
An' a' your curly haffets fa',
My winsome Johnnie,--

May each his ain warm ingle view,
Cosie as ony:
A gudewife sonsie, leal and true,
O' bonnie dochters not a few,
An' lads--sic lads as ye're the noo--
Dear Jim and Johnnie!

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bonnie Lass o' Dundee

O' a' the toons that I've been in,
I dearly love Dundee,
It's there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lass I love to see. Her face is fair, broon is her hair,
And dark blue is her e'e,
And aboon a' the lasses e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.

I see her in my night dreams,
Wi' her bonnie blue e'e,
And her face it is the fairest,
That ever I did see;
And aboon a' the lassies e'er I eaw,
There's nane like her to me,
For she makes my heart feel lichtsome,
And I'm aye richt glad to see
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.

Her eyes, they beam with innocence,
Most lovely for to see,
And her heart it is as free from guile,
As a child on its mother's knee;
And aboon a' the lasses e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me,
For she aye seems so happy, And has a blythe bhnk in her e'e
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.

The lassie is tidy in her claes,
Baith neat and clean to see;
And her body's sma and slender,
And a neat foot has she;
And aboon a' the lassies e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.

She sings like the nightingale,
Richt merrily, or a wee lintie,
Wi' its heart fou' o' glee,
And she's as frisky as a bee;
And aboon a' the lassies e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.

The lassie is as handsome
As the lily on the lea,
And her mou' it is as red
As a cherry on the tree;
And she's a' the world to me,
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie
Wi' the bonnie blue e'e,
She's the joy o' my heart
And the flower o' Dundee.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Girl-Gladness

It’s holiday time on the hollyhock hills,
And I wish you would come with me laddie-love, now,
The butterfly-bells, from the Folly-fool rills,
Will ring if you listen, and drop on your brow.
So, dear come along,
I’ve a kiss and a song,
And I know where the fairies are forging a gong
To ring up the elves to a festival fair
Of snippets of sunshine and apples of air.
O laddie, my laddie, quick, run out of school,
And away with a shout and a shake of the head;
I’ll pick you a pearl from the pigeon-pink pool
Where cuddles and kisses are going to bed,
Away, come away To the lands of the fay,
For the afternoon tinkles your lassie-love’s lay.
Play truant with Time, and while Age is asleep
I’ll give you the heart of my girlhood to keep.

poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She loves her hair stretched

accustomed to curly hair
when we were yet children
living in the same house

I feel uneasy why she
wears stretched hair
And she takes pride
about her new found fashion
And taste for something straight.

Curly hairs and split ends
Never gave her luck
She got an ugly husband
Who does not understand her
Rich maybe, but slaps her

It is time she gains confidence
In herself to a newer face
A stretched hair, straight
And candid and ready to
Fight now, win or lose,

At whatever costs she must
Deny her old self, the one
With the curly hair, she is
Ready for the consequences.

Her right as a new woman
With stretched hair is now

Or never, she has no time left
Anymore for hiding and cowardice and tears.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To a Prospective Cook

Curly locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?
Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet weed the flowers,
But stand in the kitchen and cook a fine meal,
And ride every night in an automobile.

Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come to us soon!
Thou needest not to rise until mid-afternoon;
Thou mayest be Croatian, Armenian, or Greek;
Thy guerdon shall be what thy askest per week.

Curly Locks, Curly Locks, give us a chance!
Thou shalt not wash windows, nor iron my pants.
Oh, come to the cosiest of seven-room bowers,
Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?

poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Johnie Faa

The gypsies came to our good lord's gate
And wow but they sang sweetly!
They sang sae sweet and sae very complete
That down came the fair lady.

And she came tripping doun the stair,
And a' her maids before her;
As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face,
They coost the glamer o'er her.

'O come with me,' says Johnie Faw,
'O come with me, my dearie;
For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,
That your lord shall nae mair come near ye.'

Then she gied them the beer and the wine,
And they gied her the ginger;
But she gied them a far better thing,
The goud ring aff her finger.

'Gae take frae me this yay mantle,
And bring to me a plaidie;
For if kith and kin, and a' had sworn,
I'll follow the gypsy laddie.

'Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
Wi' my good lord beside me;
But this night I'll lye in a tenant's barn,
Whatever shall betide me!'

'Come to your bed,' says Johnie Faw,
'Oh, come to your bed, my dearie:
For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword,
Your lord shall nae mair come near ye.'

'I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw,
I'll go to bed to my dearie;
For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,
My lord shall nae mair come near me.

'I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw,
I'll mak a hap to my dearie;
And he's get a' the coat gaes round,
And my lord shall nae mair come near me.'

And when our lord came hame at e'en,
And spier'd for his fair lady,
The tane she cry'd, and the other reply'd,
'She's awa' wi' the gypsy laddie!'

'Gae saddle to me the black black steed,
Gae saddle and make him ready;
Before that I either eat or sleep,
I'll gae seek my fair lady.'

And we were fifteen weel-made men,
Altho' we were na bonny;
And we were a' put down but ane,
For a fair young wanton lady.

poem by Andrew Lang
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There Was a Bonie Lass - A fragment

There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass,
And she lo'ed her bonie laddie dear;
Till War's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms,
Wi' mony a sigh and tear.
Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar,
He still was a stranger to fear;
And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail,
But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear.

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sliver Dream

To a curly hair girl

Last night, I dreamt in the dream

Orange tree, growing at my heart

Under blue sky, on the blue ocean

Wind of change, lifting my heart

Last night, I dream in the dream

Curly hair girl, walking softly

Visible into my eye, I only saw her shadow

With wing of angel, flying slowly

Over my starry sky, in my dream

Oh, curly hair girl, beheld me with your eye

And you will see, life is not a dream

Or love is not dream in my eye

Through lonely night, I dreamt of song

That neither lyric, nor music

Nor word, but I still could hear the song

Of your walking, softly, on my heart.

poem by Kathup Tsering
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Haircut.

The Barber came to cut my hair,

I told him that it wasn't fair.

My hair had done him no harm,

Without it I would loose my charm.

The Barber he grinned a silly grin,

Said to cut my hair would be no sin.

That I should face it like a man,

But I'm a coward and away I ran.

Do you like sitting in a Barbers chair,

With him chopping away your lovely hair.

Once my head was full of curls,

Covering my face with twisty twirls.

But then the Barber came my way,

I was a child, I had no say.

Off came my curls one by one,

The Barber seemed to have great fun.

Now I'm old and very grey,

I'm nearly bald, my hairs gone away.

But when I see a Barbers chair,

I feel the loss of my curly hair.

You know I truly rue the day,

When that first Barber came my way.

poem by Bernard Shaw
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A girl with curls...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I don’t like my curly hair.
Everyday I say a prayer.

God, please make my hair straight.
I want to make two long plaits.

Do you think He hears my plea?
Oh, she asked innocently of me.

Dear, you look truly like an angel.
But they are always entangled.

Please, please pray for me.
I want hair like you, you see.

Do you think He really loves me?
Darling, He loves everyone you see.

Then why did he make my hair curly.
He loves you very, very dearly.

On hearing this she did a jig.
He must have a heart really big.

I just can’t love everyone.
That boy who teases me, for one.

Then she clapped and ran about.
Kicking the ball, scream and shout.

Forgot all about her curls.
How dainty is my little girl!

Of Anika, for Anika, my grand daughter

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Little Girl With Curly Hair

there is this little girls with black curly hair
flat nose, thin eyelashes, wavy goatish eyelids,
sitting on a bamboo pole
(the common furniture there)
with bare hands and bare feet
staring at me,
for i am new here and i have a big tummy
and i am white skinned, and i have candied
inside my pockets, she knows that soon
i will throw all these candies in the air
for all the other children

but there is something strange about this
little brown girl with curly hair sitting all alone
on that bamboo chair

her father and mother were killed in the last rebellion.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whiskeyn Mama

Im so tired, you on my head.
Whiskeyn mama, you shouldnt have said
You wanted me to be your lover true,
Then turn around and treats me just likes you do.
I should have known better than to fool with a whiskeyn mama.
Now I could be right and could be wrong,
You been layin out all night long.
You telephoned this mornin, said youd be home soon.
The doorman said he seen you at the club blue lagoon.
I should have known better than to fool with a whiskeyn mama.
Whiskeyn mama, you standin there
With your curly hair
Just to have you do me good.
I know you could if you only would.
Whiskeyn mama, you standin there
With your curly hair
Just to have you do me good.
I know you could if you only would.
Well, the sun come shinin on the rain soaked street.
Whiskeyn mama, where can she be?
I guess Ill have to put you down on my list,
I didnt wanna do it but you insist.
I should have known better than to fool with a whiskeyn mama.

song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Auld Robin Gray

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
And a' the warld tae rest are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a croun he had naething else beside:
Tae make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed tae sea;
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,
When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa;
My mother she fell sick,—and my Jamie at the sea—
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin;
I toil't day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e
Said, 'Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!'

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack—Why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live tae cry, Wae 's me?

My father urged me sair: my mother didna speak;
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like tae break:
They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was in the sea;
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman tae me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith,—for I couldna think it he,
Till he said, 'I'm come hame tae marry thee.'

O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away:
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like tae dee;
And why was I born tae say, Wae 's me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena tae spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye tae be,
For auld Robin Gray he is kind untae me.

poem by Lady Anne Barnard
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Gecko Named Curly Tail

Looking down on the ground
Curly Tail the gecko waits
without a sound.
I say "Hello honey-how are you?
Where are your kids this afternoon?
Then when I leave the door
Curly Tail's offspring
is scampering once more.
Curly Tail waits for me
on the black mat—
It's like he knows where I am at.
He knows when I leave to go far,
he knows when I get out of my car.
Thanks Curly Tail for waiting for me-
see you later by the tree.

Written by Christina Sunrise on July 4,2012
www.christinasunrise.com

poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jamie

Jamie, what you doing now?
What you doing now girl?
Please, please tell me
Cause I need to know, I need to know now
When I was down, you came to me
And promised you'd always be
By my side, now you're gone
And I'm waiting patiently
Jamie, I want you to know
Jamie, oh Jamie, I'm so glad you're mine
We'll be together a long time
Jamie, what you doing now?
He's dialin' your car phone
Please, please be true
You know that I trust you, do that which you must do
When I was down, you came to me
And promised you'd always be
By my side, now you're gone
And I'm waiting patiently
Jamie, I want you to know
Jamie, oh Jamie, I'm so glad you're mine
We'll be together a long time
You've got the Beach Boys, and your firm's got the Stones
But I know you won't leave me alone
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
You are the most, you're so rad, you're so fresh
And I'm so glad I am yours, you are mine
Show me where and I will sign
When I was down, you came to me
And promised you'd always be
By my side, now you're gone
And I'm waiting, waiting
Jamie, oh Jamie, I'm so glad you're mine
We'll be together a long time
Jamie, believe me, I won't let you down
Cause you are the best lawyer in town
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
[Thanks to [email protected] for these lyrics]

song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Curly

Mister mackan was a practical man,
Curly was his only son,
And he loved him like no other can,
Bi-dum, bi-dum, bi-dum.
He discovered the world in a wonderful girl,
Though he played with more than one.
But he loved her like no other can.
Bi-dum, bi-dum, bi-dum
Chorus:
Oh curly has she let you down and run?
Oh curly wheres your girly? wheres she gone?
Ran all over the town,
Till he covered the ground,
Every inch of liverpool,
In a way I feel so bad
That she let he be made a fool.
But remember shes right,
As we freeze in the night,
When the dawn took years to come,
Does he love her like no other can
Bi-dum, bi-dum, bi-dum
Chorus
Now curse the day,
Yes it really shok you good.
Just broke away, no,
You didnt feel she would.
You didnt feel she would.
La-da-da, na- na- na- na-
Desolation tones play on
Though it breaks you curly
Cant you see what she has gone and done?
He discovered the world
Such a wonderful girl,
So he played with more than one,
But he loved her like no other can
Bi-dum, bi-dum, bi-dum
Oh curly, wheres she gone?
You didnt feel she would.
Feel she would. la-da-da,
Na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Hair

We've never combed his hair since he was born,
But we only cut it when it grows long;
And that is how he came into the world with his curly hair.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bad Hair Days (A Fun Poem)

Everyday is always a bad hair day for me
Mine is very curly, they told me it's kinky
I have a hard time combing my hair, you see
Have to visit my hairdresser to fix it for me

It was very shiny, as straight as can be
It was always like these since I was a little lady
Now, I am used to see this everyday
Ummm, I don't see what happened to me

Getting up early in the morning is not that easy
I have to have a ribbon to hold it, the neighbors might see
Never mind If they laugh at me and call me crazy
I have a God who loves me and take care of me.

Hey! I am elated this way, God created me like that,
And no bad hair day will ever make me give it back,
Yes! Truly blessed to have hair as pleasing as can be,
Think what you want, I absolutely adore it. He he he!

Hmmm..not a bad hair day at all...I love it..! ! ! He he he

poem by Meggie Gultiano
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Girls With Curls

Girls who have a natural curl
to their hair are completely
agitated with the bending trend...
they heat their flat iron discreetly

Testing to make sure it won't burn
patiently taking their hair by strands
smoothly ironing the kink... firmly
pressing as hard as it will withstand

Gradually natural curls are
entirely straight as a board
not a wave or twist is insight...
An hour of diligence gives reward

Girls with naturally straight hair
admire girls with curly hair
they wish they too could have
bounce and twirls without a care

It is their desire to duplicate
curly hair in order to feel pretty
Hours are spent carefully spinning
strands upon spools until weary

After waiting somewhat patiently
the time for triumph slowly arrives
Gently undoing the spins to see
beautiful ringlets for which they strive

It is a perplexing mystery to unravel
It is unknown to the great intellects
of the world why some girls undo
curls while others pursue… it is complex

9/4/2010

poem by Theresa Ann Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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