A Workman To The Gods
Once Phidias stood, with hammer in his hand,
Carving Minerva from the breathing stone,
Tracing with love the winding of a hair,
A single hair upon her head, whereon
A youth of Athens cried, “O Phidias,
Why do you dally on a hidden hair?
When she is lifted to the lofty front
Of the Parthenon, no human eye will see.”
And Phidias thundered on him: “Silence, slave:
Men will not see, but the Immortals will!”
poem by Edwin Markham
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Related quotes
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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The Elgin Marbles
The clustered Gods, the marching lads,
The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed Three,
The shimmering grey-gold London fog . . .
I wish that Phidias could see!
poem by Adelaide Crapsey
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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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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)
Brilliantine
This hair,
They never looked her way,
Never understood from where she came
And digressed on the story of the grease
In her hair.
There was none.
They never touched her face,
Looked her way,
Nor saw importance in the moment
When she needed one
To hold her hand.
Or take the time for her
When it was called for.
It was the glossy brilliantine.
And the hidden styling.
The face again,
Which had the tendency to glance away.
And the hair which had no grease.
The clear hair that shone of cleanliness
In the light of the dirty windows.
The brown hair
Giving importance to the chrome
Of her eyes.
But they never looked away,
Digressing on the story of the grease
In her hair.
poem by Sammy Edrisi
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Jealousy
She wore braids in her hair
every single day.
Not because she wanted to.
It was her mother's way.
She braided them so tightly.
She thought her head would break.
Sometimes just the thought of them
would make her poor head ache.
'Why can't I have my hair
flowing down my back?
Her mother's frown would let her know
to try some other tact..
'Mother can we cut it
just above my shoulder? '
the answer that was given was
'Not until you're older.'
And so she wore her hair like this.
She never wore it down.
When at night she unbraided it
she looked just like a clown.
She knew she would cut it
the very next day
right in front of her mother
to see what she would say.
Her mother watched and sat down
and had a cup of tea.
Her mother simply said
'Now you're more beautiful than me.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Mess Of A Man
Meet a man,
A man named Harry,
He's in need of a shave,
And it's quite scary,
He's got hair on his chest,
Hair on his back,
Hair on his ass,
And hair in his crack,
He leaves hair on the soap,
Hair on the floor,
Hair every place,
Including the store,
Harry, dear Harry,
Do something, please,
Your hair retains odor,
And you reek of cheese!
Look at your cat,
What will you do?
Your cat's hairballs,
They're the hairs from you!
No hope, it seems,
For your hairiness,
It'll just regrow,
So live in your mess.
poem by Maddy Jones
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As Bald As My Boot (Fun Poem 79)
I woke up one morning
my hair all over the pillow
where my head should be.
I looked in the mirror
and was shocked at what confronted me.
My head was as bald as my boot.
My wife screamed, “We’ll have none of that! ”
She then started combing like mad
our poor old cat.
“I’m going to make you a toupee.”
Now whenever my hair gets wet
I start smelling like something
that popped out of a smelly old dustbin.
She never did say which end the hair came from,
the front or the rear.
I’ll leave you to guess that little bit of fun.
23 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Entangled in Her Hair
Her hair
covers my face
she
kisses my mouth
kisses my kisses.
She chuckles.
I stroke her hair.
She sways &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my chest.
She
titillates a nipple
...it tickles.
I run my fingers
through her hair.
She sashays &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my navel
& there...&
there...abouts!
I…almost beside myself
neither...here...nor... there...
Lost in the anywhere
of an everywhere.
I clutch
her hair.
She shimmies &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my crotch.
She
licks it
into shape.
She
goes to say
something
it’s on
the tip of
her tongue.
But, she says nothing
only: “Mmmmm...! ”
& smiles
...smiles.
I close
my eyes.
My hands
entangled in
her hair.
*******
TREAD SOFTLY
We rest on the bed
your head rests against my head
sharing the same dream.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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There Is
there is beauty in smaller things
a single red petal of a rose
in my pocket
a white pebble hidden
in my shoe
a lock of hair of my beloved
inserted
in a page of my favorite poem
a little space where i sit
in my garden
a single tree to shade
my head
a little bird singing above
my hair
a small rock where i can
just sit
and feel the slow
movement of this earth
in here
there is peace and quiet
in here
i am king
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Aging Gracefully
You asked if I'd still love you if you lost all of your hair
Your baldness seems a tragedy: you want more fullness there.
It's strange the way we always wish for what we seem to lack
And anything that goes away is what we'd welcome back.
But hair-well that might be a different story all together
We grow it long or cut it short depening on the weather.
In time, it seems to him there's no such thing as too much hair
She spends her evenings waxing and goes shopping for more Nair.
It really is amusing as we old folks go to bed
She has too much; he has too little hair upon his head.
Perhaps a doctor may invent a way we all can win
By building him a grand toupee with hair plucked from her chin.
poem by Suzanne McNamee
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The Dolls Braided Her Hair
She wove ribbons in her hair,
the gold strands mixing with the red.
It help her naivety,
her innocence until she met Kindergarten
who tore the ribbons from her hair
and threw them to the wind.
He carried distant memories
even further from her.
She lost everything to the wind,
trading it for logic and friends.
They cut her hair and threw some into story books,
burning them before her eyes.
Her dolls cried alone in her room
as they huddled together,
braiding the hair that had been cut from her head.
It made a crown of red and gold strands.
She ignored the crown and it disintegrated.
Years later when her own daughter was
talking to the dolls,
they told her about the crown.
She cried, and they braided her hair,
weaving it with ribbons.
poem by Andrea Stuckey
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I Am A Human Head
I'm a human head
And my best friend is also a head
I don't really need my best friend
Now my friend is gone
And I'm only a head by myself
I find I don't need my whole head
Now I'm just the top of a head
Just the scalp and the hair
I don't like the scalp just the hair
What do I really need?
Best friend also a head
Just the head
Just a scalp
Hair
Friend
No
Head
No
Scalp
No
Hair
I am only one human hair
With no scalp for a home
All I need's the top of a head
Now all I am is just a scalp
I don't have any head
I'd be glad if I had a head
Now I have a head
Look at me
I'm a fine floating head
Where is my friend the other head?
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Hidden Sun
In dreams...
eyes Willing
to look upon
the green tattoo
The sun on thy head.
I have named you
with blind faith
my hearts desire.
This sun I seek
Remains hidden
by night's black hair.
Unfortunate my journey...
Unending dream
Waiting
longing...
Just a single gust of wind
come blow thy blacken hair
and show the sun...
Now comes the true sun
and my eyes are open...
And that I greatly desired
One look upon that sun
will be forever hidden
in the clouds of my dreams.
poem by Afzal Shauq from Twist of Fates, translated by Alley Boling
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The Ying & Yang Of Her Hair
One day I tell her
I love her hair
up.
Another day I tell her
I like her hair
down.
“Which is it? ”
She frowns
“Up
or
down! ”
“Ah...”
I say
“Either
or neither! ”
“I love your hair
up
in that it can
come down
splash all over me.”
“And I love your hair down
in that it can be
put up
in a cathedral of curls! ”
“I love the one
becoming the other
…the process of
becoming! ”
You leave the room
only to return
with one side up
& one side down.
I laugh.
“Not quite what
I had intended.
You throw yourself
into my lap
let your hair
waterfall
all over me
& I
drown... drown
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Rope hair woman
Rope hair woman
Where you’re off to tonight
Rope hair woman
You’re lookin’ out of sight
O rope hair woman
I love with all my might
Rope hair woman if you could if you can
Let me be your dread lock man.
Dread lock man
Can you understand
That a rope hair woman
Does all that she can
To move you to that sexual point
Better then your hand
O rope hair woman
Here is my plain
Rope hair woman I will give
Up my womanly man
O rope hair woman
The world can understand
That you want a dread lock man.
poem by David E. Patton
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The Fur Balls Are Coming!
The fur balls are coming!
The fur balls are coming!
Along with the tree mice
and the needle balls.
Joining them are the half dogs,
Floozy and Flossy,
Brutus and Sweetie Pie
and not forgetting Uncle Phidias.
They arrived once before
twenty years ago,
but no one took much notice of them.
So just watch this space
and I will be telling you
when they will be arriving again.
7 February 2009
poem by David Harris
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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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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
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