Abuela's Hair
(for my 'abuela' Maria Luisa)
Abuela* refuses to cut her hair,
Every year she makes a new promise
To Saint Lazarus, and now
It must stay
Way past her waist
It dangles
Her tight bun
Unraveled
Like the gossamer strands
Of tarnished silver
Spiders leave behind
She never wears
It loose
For fear of looking
Like a foolish 'vieja”*
At night
I watch her free
The braided locks
And know
She dreams of running
through cane fields
The wind flirting
With her long silver hair.
(abuela - grandmother; vieja - old lady)
poem by Annabel Cruz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Los maderos de San Juan
¡Aserrín!
¡Aserrán
Los maderos de San Juan,
Piden queso, piden pan,
Los de Roque
Alfandoque,
Los de Rique
Alfeñique
¡Los de triqui, triqui, tran!
Y en las rodillas duras y firmes de la Abuela,
Con movimiento rítmico se balancea el niño
Y ambos agitados y trémulos están,
La abuela se sonríe con maternal cariño
Mas cruza por su espíritu como un temor extraño
Por lo que en lo futuro, de angustia y desengaño
Los días ignorados del nieto guardarán.
Los maderos de San Juan
Piden queso, piden pan.
¡Triqui, triqui,
triqui, tran!
Esas arrugas hondas recuerdan una historia
De sufrimientos largos y silenciosa angustia
Y sus cabellos, blancos, como la nieve, están.
De un gran dolor el sello marcó la frente mustia
Y son sus ojos turbios espejos que empañaron
Los años, y que, ha tiempos, las formas reflejaron
De cosas y de seres que nunca volverán.
Los de Roque, alfandoque
¡Triqui, triqui, triqui, tran!
Mañana cuando duerma la Anciana, yerta y muda,
Lejos del mundo vivo, bajo la oscura sierra,
Donde otros, en la sombra, desde hace tiempo están
Del nieto a la memoria, con grave son que encierra
Todo el poema triste de la remota infancia
Cruzando por las sombras del tiempo y la distancia
De aquella voz querida las notas vibrarán!
Los de Rique, alfeñique
¡Triqui, triqui, triqui, tran!
Y en tanto en las rodillas cansadas de la Abuela
Con movimiento rítmico se balancea el niño
Y ambos conmovidos y trémulos están,
La Abuela se sonríe con maternal cariño
Mas cruza por su espíritu como un temor extraño
Por lo que en lo futuro, de angustia y desengaño
Los días ignorados del nieto guardarán.
¡Aserrín!
¡Aserrán!
L os maderos de San Juan
Piden queso, piden pan,
Los de Roque
Alfandoque
Los de Rique
Alfeñique
¡Triqui, triqui, triqui, tran!
¡Triqui, triqui, triqui, tran!
poem by Jose Asuncion Silva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silver Strands
I found some silver strands resting on my pillow
Old Mother time taunts me, like dreadful weeping willow
I found more silver long strands dancing on my shoulder
Yes, constant sad reminder; I’m much much older
I found many silver long stands swimming in my shower
Stroking and washing away my youthful flower
Now, I see silver long strands crying on my head
Screaming, no to my youth and yes it is now dead
I hear silver long strands singing on my brush
To validate my years, No-no-no they must hush...
poem by lecie Bailey Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Flying Spiders
Shhhh. Can you hear it?
Spinning all around us
Regaling and astounding thus
With acts of human kindness
That equally malign us
Stare into a spider's web
Captured in the neural ebb
A milky way of silken thread
With lines throughout the kingdom spread
Wait for the wedding day
Descend from the mountain tops
On silver strands of wire
Fly the spiders in the wind
You'll come running for them
You'll come running far and wide
You'll come running for them
You'll come running for a woven
Glimpse of what you are inside
Gave up when the dogma died
An act of faith personified
The spider binds the groom and bride
Their isolation nullified
Dangling from the usher's nose
The mother in law, her fancy clothes
The orchestra in puppet rows
The notes spun from viola bows
Oh, my sense of wonder
Nearly fills this body cage
A web of flesh and fibre
And a timeless sense of age
Wait for the wedding day
Descend from the mountain tops
On silver strands of wire
Fly the spiders in the wind
Open up your eyes and then
You will see what defines us when
Spinning all around us
Regaling and astounding thus
Captured in the neural ebb
And strangled in the spider's web.
poem by Steven Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Long, Long Ago
Long, long ago, so very long ago
I waited for someone that I didn't know.
The wait was a long arduous task to bear.
I started seeing silver strands in my hair.
I kept myself busy and life was passing away.
And every day that passed I saw more gray.
Then when I least expected it there you were
with shining blue eyes that set my heart astir.
Your hair had grayed just like mine.
We met and were astonished at life's design.
Where were we when we both were young?
Where were we when our heartstrings were strung,
vibrating like violin strings waiting for delight?
We were crying soundlessly into the night.
But where we are now we appreciate so.
Our search is over from long, long ago.
We live with happiness and never look back
We never think about the missing years or the lack.
For only a fool would concentrate on the past
because what I waited for is here at last.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silver Palomino
(A mother dies leaving her young son
to come to terms with the loss.
In remembrance of Fiona Chappel,
for her sons Tyler and Oliver.)
I was barely 13 years old
She came out of the Guadalupe's on a night so cold
Her coat was frosted diamonds in the sallow moon's glow
My silver palomino
Sixteen hands from her withers to the ground
I lie in bed and listen to the sound
Of the west Texas thunder roll
My silver palomino
I track her into the mountains she loved
Watch her from the rocks above
She'd dip her neck and drink from the winter flows
My silver palomino
Our mustaeros were the very best, sir
But they could never lay a rope on her
No corral will ever hold
The silver palomino
In my dreams bareback I ride
Over the pradera low and wide
As the wind sweeps out the draw
'Cross the scrub desert floor
I'd give my riata and spurs
If I could be forever yours
I'd ride into the serrania where no one goes
For my silver palomino
Summer drought come hard that year
Our herd grazed the land so bare
Me and my dad had to blowtorch the thorns off the prickly pear
And mother, your hand slipped from my hair
Tonight I wake early the sky is pearl, the stars aglow
I saddle up my red roan
I ride deep into the mountains along a ridge of pale stone
Where the air is still with the coming snow
As I rise higher I can smell your hair
The scent of your skin, mother, fills the air
'Midst the harsh scrub pine that grows
I watch the silver palomino
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Silver
There are clouds that hang
silver-grey in the air,
before the winter sun
gives its first rays
of a drawling day.
Silver-grey the Monday starts
and while the day’s hours
pass much to slowly,
I am summoned to the old chief
with his silver-grey hair.
One of the women clerks
who wants to be boss,
wants to push a silver knife
into a colleges back.
I leave them alone to count their silver pounds
and wash my hands in the bathroom,
with a silver ray of water that squirts out of the tap.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Carey
The wind is in from africa
Last night I couldnt sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here carey
But its really not my home
My fingernails are filthy, I got beach tar on my feet
And I miss my clean white linen and my fancy french cologne
Oh carey get out your cane
And Ill put on some silver
Oh youre a mean old daddy, but I like you fine
Come on down to the mermaid cafe and I will buy you a bottle of wine
And well laugh and toast to nothing and smash our empty glasses down
Lets have a round for these freaks and these soldiers
A round for these friends of mine
Lets have another round for the bright red devil
Who keeps me in this tourist town
Come on, carey, get out your cane
Ill put on some silver
Oh youre a mean old daddy, but I like you
Maybe Ill go to amsterdam
Or maybe Ill go to rome
And rent me a grand piano and put some flowers round my room
But lets not talk about fare-thee-welis now
The night is a starry dome.
And theyre playin that scratchy rock and roll
Beneath the matalla moon
Come on, carey, get out your cane
And Ill put on some silver
Youre a mean old daddy, but I like you
The wind is in from africa
Last night I couldnt sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here
But, its really not my home
Maybe its been too long a time
Since I was scramblin down in the street
Now they got me used to that clean white linen
And that fancy french cologne
Oh carey, get out your cane
Ill put on my finest silver
Well go to the mermaid cafe
Have fun tonight
I said, oh, youre a mean old daddy, but youre out of sight
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Silver And Gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Silver & Gold
Words and Music by Johnny Marks.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Fair Silver Maiden
Oh my fair silver maiden
I see your eyes in the stars that light the dark,
Your hair in the swaying summer grass,
Your smile in the majestic sunrise
Oh my fair silver maiden
Your scent is always on the next wind
Your sweet, intoxicating scent.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden
How I long for you
How I cry for you
How I search for you.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Always beyond the next wind.
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden.
poem by Cameron Bird
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm running but to where?
Running, running
There is nothing lef to do.
Running...
Away from my tears
Away from my pen
Running to know who I,
am.
Running
But you, don't know what,
You're,
Running from.
Running in circles
Going nowhere.
I'm saying Goodbye
I am runnning away.
Never stop runnning
Words running throught,
My mind.
Running away,
Like the coward,
Like him
Horrible words
I am running and runnning,
For you.
I m running but to where?
I can't believe
That I've put up with you lies.
Im running from the past..
Running out the pain.
Running with out you.
poem by Maria Luisa Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Valediction (for Kate McGreavy)
My true love
had a silver hair
all sprung
amidst her raven
locks
with playful pain
she mocked me
as I drew it from those
glossy strands
and looked at me
a smile that struck again
the heart her smile re-made
*
A quarter century on
comes back that moment
as I sit alone
Though she long lost & gone
I still know where
in secret
lies that cherished thread
that binds me & the one I loved
& will
‘til someone throws it out
Or I die dead.
poem by Andrew Fincham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Point of No Return
Like a blinded fool
I followed the silver gossamer
through twists and turns
and ups and downs
never letting it out of sight
the little thread that binded me
dazed and delighted me
i kept it close and held it tight
living in the dreams it fed
listening to the lies it told
watching every sight it showed
alas! to my dismay
the days grew long and nights turned cold
the dreams had faded
the lies now showed
the sights were gone
alone i stood and saw myself
trapped in a shiny gossamer web
poem by Humna Hamid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Silver Platter
the silver platter is what your family gives you
your father makes it and you mother polishes it
and you are given what you need
in your life
some fruits and bread and meat and water
that you need in your journey when they start sending you away and
when they finally leave you
as what this world demands, the usual flow of life and the fading
death, and you find yourself still
thinking and coping and running and stopping and resting and running and walking and curling and stretching what
is all there,
then everything is consumed, the silver platter has nothing, tarnished
and you begin to worry
what used to be is not anymore,
you think life ends just like that,
no
reality bites now, like a snake, or a rabid dog, and you despise the
silver platter
its lasting effect on you, how it made you weak and unthinking,
complacent
and unable to grow your trees and eat the fruits
to raise your goats and eat their meat
to live your own life
and be strong yourself in the darkness that comes
when you still want to play
it is not too late, take the silver platter and throw it away
or bury it
lest another one comes and takes it and be another victim
of its temporary glow that almost killed you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Said The Thistle-Down
'If thou wilt hold my silver hair,
O Lady sweet and bright;
I'll bring thee, maiden darling, where
Thy lover is to-night.
Lay down thy robe of cloth of gold--
Gold, weigheth heavily,
Thy necklace wound in jewell'd fold,
And hie thee forth with me.'
'O Thistle-down, dear Thistle-down,
I've laid my robe aside;
My necklace and my jewell'd crown,
And yet I cannot glide
Along the silver crests of night
With thee, light thing, with thee.
Rain would I try the airy flight,
What sayest thou to me?'
'If thou wilt hold my silver hair,
O maiden fair and proud;
We'll float upon the purple air
High as yon lilied cloud.
There is a jewel weighs thy heart;
If thou with me wouldst glide
That cold, cold jewel place apart--
The jewel of thy pride!'
'O Thistle-down, dear Thistle-down
That jewel part I've set;
With golden robe and shining crown
And cannot follow yet!
Fain would I clasp thy silver tress
And float on high with thee;
Yet somewhat me to earth doth press--
What sayest thou to me?
'If thou wilt hold my silver hair
O lady, sweet and chaste;
We'll dance upon the sparkling air
And to thy lover haste.
A lily lies upon thy breast
Snow-white as it can be--
It holds thee strong--sweet, with the rest
Yield lilied chastity.'
'O Thistle-down, false Thistle-down
I've parted Pride and Gold;
Laid past my jewels and my crown--
My golden robings' fold.
I will not lay my lily past--
Love's light as vanity
When to the mocking wind is cast
The lily, Chastity.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beautiful Mother
Mother's hair was golden in olden days
She was known as 'The beautiful One'
And although her hair has turned to silver
She still shines like
A 'jewel' in the sun...
And it's not only because of her silver hair
That she is adored beyond compare.
Her ways are sweet, gentle and kind,
She's the 'beautiful One'
With the beautiful mind.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!