Anabella In The Morning
An embrace
Simple and earnest
Innocent and new
The smell of dreams in her hair
Hair black as crow
A sunny day beckons
Mourning dove coos
Life begins anew
poem by Guillermo Veloso
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Light Beckons Her
LIGHT BECKONS HER
Light beckons her
She that travailed much
Light beckons her
She that tasted life’s test in earnest
Light beckons her
She that suffered much in her years
Light beckons her
She that passed her test in flying colours
Light beckons her
She that claims all my heart’s honours
Light beckons her
She that travailed much now has repose
Light beckons her
See how the angels cuddle her in warm embrace
Light beckons her
Now rest is yours! Rest Caroline! Rest Adelanke!
For Light beckons you!
No noise with light but silence, sweet silence.
Therefore enjoy your rest, Adelanke
As Light beckons you!
Jude Adebosoye Ogunade
This poem was written on hearing the death of my mother.
poem by Jude Ogunade
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Black Crow
He sees the stormy anger of the world
And wants no part of it at all
And as the weeping leaves of autumn curl
He feels the savage winter call
See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill
Where there was no escape before
And as he spreads his wings and soars up to another level
He brings the icy prophecies of war
Black crow, black crow, tell me where you really go
When you fly into the sunset, high in evening sky,
Black crow, black crow, tell me what you really know
Will we flourish in this hurricane, or will we fall and die?
While children lose their souls and so much more
To ragged armies of the field
A vicious fanfare cries appeasing hungry savages
To trigger that their fate is surely sealed
I wonder where that black crow sleeps as day beckons the night
Or if he even sleeps at all
I wonder what he thinks of all the human traffic far below
Thats struggled on the road so, so long
Tell me black crow, black crow (solely? ) you pass above
Understanding everything but you know nothing at all
Black crow black crow, tell me what you really know
Do you understand the pain that we feel down here at all
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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La Gitana
Your hair was full of roses in the dewfall as we danced,
The sorceress enchanting and the paladin entranced,
In the starlight as we wove us in a web of silk and steel
Immemorial as the marble in the halls of Boabdil,
In the pleasuance of the roses with the fountains and the yews
Where the snowy Sierra soothed us with the breezes and the dews!
In the starlight as we trembled from a laugh to a caress,
And the God came warm upon us in our pagan allegresse.
Was the Baile de la Bona too seductive? Did you feel
Through the silence and the softness all the tension of the steel?
For your hair was full of roses, and my flesh was full of thorns,
And the midnight came upon us worth a million crazy morns.
Ah! my Gipsy, my Gitana, my Saliya! were you fain
For the dance to turn to earnest? - O the sunny land of Spain!
My Gitana, my Saliya! more delicious than a dove!
With your hair aflame with roses and your lips alight with love!
Shall I see you, shall I kiss you once again? I wander far
From the sunny land of summer to the icy Polar Star.
I shall find you, I shall have you! I am coming back again
From the filth and fog to seek you in the sunny land of Spain.
I shall find you, my Gitana, my Saliya! as of old
With your hair aflame with roses and your body gay with gold.
I shall find you, I shall have you, in the summer and the south
With our passion in your body and our love upon your mouth -
With our wonder and our worship be the world aflame anew!
My Gitana, my Saliya! I am coming back to you!
poem by Aleister Crowley
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Black Flowing Hair, A Memory Of You
I see you leaning by a wall next door
Against an afternoon sun
And though it is your back that faces me
I know
From the beating of my heart
That it is you, Black-flowing-hair
I can smell you
In mint
And you shall be inside me
As I breathe
So I can live for another time
You are
My tallest tree
On top of the Sleeping-dragon-mountain
And I look up to you
Like my full moon one cold night
Untouched by my fingers
Black-flowing-hair
The world may not have found love in my eyes
As I have none to boost
Since I have given it to you
All of it
I shall find it
But shall not take it back
From you
Your shadow is my god
And it is only that I can touch
Without you knowing
The shadow
Of your
Back
My self-made god
Is enough life
I do not ask much
I cannot
You do not know me
There is no need
I only give myself
I do not have to take any
In return
Now I declare
I have found my place
In you
I have found myself
In you
I have found you
I am Mute-white-dove -sitting
On the breast of Black-flowing-hair
Touching the clouds
Holding the rainbow
Saving all the raindrops of my life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Nappy Head
Your hair is dirty, good sir -
Said an innocent child to me one day.
I have what they call African hair,
A natural nappy head.
Its brownish colour they call mousy
What I really would like called auburn.
And so the kid had observed,
She was innocent though
And I had to explain to her
That the same creator who endowed her
With her long beautiful black curly hair
Had also done the same with my kinky mousy one!
poem by Kimani wa Mumbi
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My Mothers Hair
One of your hairs fell out last night:
A piece of your life was gone without a sound.
I know a difficult day is coming,
My heart, pierced, utters a quiet cry.
Let my childhood smile again in the sun
And turn me into an innocent little head louse
So I can crawl through the jungle of your hair
And sing a song of darkness in its fragrance.
Under your fingernail-roof Ill sleep in my house;
In my black dream Ill water your black trees.
Ill pick black fruits, and hair-jungle bees
Will bring me black poems to be opened.
How will I live, without your hair?
How will I breathe, without its fragrance?
How will I survive, when I am discovered
By ghosts of wooden combs combing your hair?
Let me wear shows made of dawn-flowers
And crawl without a sound into your sleep.
Ill take the place of the hair that's gone
And sing of hair-clouds flying from night to day.
poem by Ovwigho Joseph Ovedje
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Her Wet Hair Feels Cool on My Skin
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin
As she came fresh from the shower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
Her whispers soft, a quiet wind
Caress my senses for an hour.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
I’m at peace more than ever when
I lay down with her in her bower,
She lies near me and rest begins.
Now love’s sensations lie within
A subtle simple touch of power-
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
She holds my heart fast with a grin
Delicately, like a flower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
I say that now if this be sin
I don’t in fear of death cower.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin:
She lies near me and rest begins.
2009
poem by William Mcgehee
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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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It was a huge shock. I've never had hair that short in my life! I think the rest of the cast and crew were mourning my haircut more than I was! But after a while, I felt liberated, I learned to embrace it.
quote by Camilla Belle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black is color of my true love's hair
So many songs have been written about my love.
The beautiful color of my true love's hair. The hair of a powerful beauty.
Black as a wormhole or as simple as a crayon.
Made of ions, electrons and protons, my love must have created all things
for her hair supports everything.
From the planets, moons, suns, constellations and universes. My true love has no prejudice or hatred for any one being instead love for all she creates.
Her face lights up planets and her waters house life while her skin supports all walking creatures and four legged enigmas.
Her eyes are stars gazers while her smiles are super novas
and her beautiful black hair is simply the dark matter in space.
poem by Josephe Buchanan
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Crow On The Cradle
(from the soundtrack to no nukes; peformed live by jackson browne with graham nash & david lindley)
The sheeps in the meadow
The cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
Hell laugh at the moon
And cry for the sun
And if its a boy hell carry a gun
Sang the crow on the cradle
And if it should be that this babys a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesnt curl
With rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes
And a bomber above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow on the cradle
The crow on the cradle
The black and the white
Somebodys baby is born for a fight
The crow on the cradle
The white and the black
Somebodys baby is not coming back
Sang the crow on the cradle
Your mother and father will sweat and theyll slave
To build you a coffin and dig you a grave
Hush-a-bye little one, never you weep
For weve got a toy that can put you to sleep
Sang the crow on the cradle
Bring me my gun, and Ill shoot that bird dead
Thats what your mother and father once said
The crow on the cradle, what can we do
Ah, this is a thing that Ill leave up to you
Sang the crow on the cradle
Sang the crow on the cradle
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elongated Hair
She 'done gone and did it'
She pulled it out
The elongated hair on my side
Oh how I did pout
It had grown long before
Back in earlier days
I had kept it short myself
using several different ways
After time had gone by
I wanted to let it grow
I decided to give it a try
and become a freak show
I'd let it grow down to my hips
or maybe to my knees
this hair could grow up to my lips
or at least to my kidneys
She'd noticed it that day in passing
while feeling 'round my tummy
I had thought she'd just been sassing
She said, 'I'll cut it off you dummy'
I did protest then to her notion
It smelled of sheer butchery
To cut of this hair in such a motion
would be a crime to both it and me!
Then came the day when it happened
While I lay in her bed so quietly
The life of my hair would come to an end
with a tug from her hand so quickly
I had mourned it for a moment
and I'm sure I looked sad
whatever had been her intent
I told myself it could not be bad
So now it has another chance
to begin a life anew
Elongated hair please do advance
Again I'd like to see you.
poem by Sean Furlong
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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)
Tonight I Draw Your Hair
Tonight I draw your hair,
A hair of simplicity,
With a mysterious beauty,
That no one can ever resist,
A hair that blooms with the sun,
That always shines every sunrise,
And turns into deep black at sunset,
A hair of smooth silk,
That touches my face like a baby,
And comforts my soul into a sleeping baby,
Like the lullaby that can put me into sleep,
Your hair blooms unlike any other.
-GanNi
poem by Geovanni Leaño
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Katrini
do you remember how we competed for a painting contest
in high school?
i was always looking at you for inspiration,
you were so beautiful
i got near you to make a scent
of your black silky hair
you were looking at me too
perhaps my black curly hair
complimented yours,
we were drawing something what our parents
did not tell us
it was too late for us to know
their love
was theirs not ours to follow
the year comes talking to me
my very own beautiful sister
how could i have loved you?
nature's foolishness played
a prank on me again,
but no, i didn't mind, my heart
knows how to love anew
it has its own feet to walk me
away and start loving for some
exciting beginnings.................
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Black Is The Color Of My True Loves Hair
Traditional
Black is the color of my true loves hair
His face so soft and wondrous fair
The purest eyes
And the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands
I love the ground on where he stands
Black is the color of my true loves hair
Of my true loves hair
Of my true loves hair
Oh I love my lover
And where he goes
Yes, I love the ground on where he goes
And still I hope
That the time will come
When he and I will be as one
When he and I will be as one
So black is the color of my true loves hair
Black is the color of my true loves hair
Black is the color of my true loves hair
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hallelujah: A Sestina
A wind's word, the Hebrew Hallelujah.
I wonder they never gave it to a boy
(Hal for short) boy with wind-wild hair.
It means Praise God, as well it should since praise
Is what God's for. Why didn't they call my father
Hallelujah instead of Ebenezer?
Eben, of course, but christened Ebenezer,
Product of Nova Scotia (hallelujah).
Daniel, a country doctor, was his father
And my father his tenth and final boy.
A baby and last, he had a baby's praise:
Red petticoats, red cheeks, and crow-black hair.
A boy has little to say about his hair
And little about a name like Ebenezer
Except that you can shorten either. Praise
God for that, for that shout Hallelujah.
Shout Hallelujah for everything a boy
Can be that is not his father or grandfather.
But then, before you know it, he is a father
Too and passing on his brand of hair
To one more perfectly defenseless boy,
Dubbing him John or James or Ebenezer
But never, so far as I know, Hallelujah,
As if God didn't need quite that much praise.
But what I'm coming to - Could I ever praise
My father half enough for being a father
Who let me be myself? Sing Hallelujah.
Preacher he was with a prophet's head of hair
And what but a prophet's name was Ebenezer,
However little I guessed it as a boy?
Outlandish names of course are never a boy's
Choice. And it takes some time to learn to praise.
Stone of Help is the meaning of Ebenezer.
Stone of Help - what fitter name for my father?
Always the Stone of Help however his hair
Might graduate from black to Hallelujah.
Such is the old drama of boy and father.
Praise from a grayhead now with thinning hair.
Sing Ebenezer, Robert, sing Hallelujah!
poem by Robert Francis
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Pictured Life
Music :rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine, ulrich roth
Ooh! dark meditation,
Your second sight can show my light
In a crystal ball.
Sweet are the days, intoxication
Crow-black the nights caging my mind
Behind the wall.
Into the rock through walls of red dreams
Into the rock to find the cream
Into the rock through walls of red dreams
Pictured life from yesterday.
Ooh! dark meditation,
Deep down inside a stream of light
Begins to flow.
Sweet are the days, intoxication
Crow-black the nights caging my mind
Behind the wall.
Into the rock through walls of red dreams
Into the rock to find the cream
Into the rock through walls of red dreams
Pictured life from yesterday.
Pictured life, pictured life
Pictured life from yesterday ...
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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