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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Ines
I saw that glance
As you looked back
Your eyes so brown
Your hair so black.
Those perfect lips
A sculptors dream
That oval face
Your skin like cream
You hair like silk
Down that sweet back
I wish you'd looked
At me like that!
Copyright © Res John Burman 2009
poem by Res John Burman
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!
Hair, oh really?
They say that hair is beautiful,
they say that it's divine.
I say that it is relative,
have you looked at mine?
They say hair can be a keepsake,
for loved ones you have lost.
I say it's the first thing you choose to lose,
when you pay heartache's first cost.
They say that hair is lovely,
it frames the face within.
I say it blocks the lights,
hiding that wicked grin.
In The Swimming Pool In The Park
Your sister called her
the girl in the red beret
and there she was
in the outdoor
swimming pool
in the park
her gran sitting
in the stands knitting
and Janice saw you
and said
Fancy seeing you here
can you swim?
You stood
in the shallow end
of the pool
in your blue trunks
looking at her wet fair hair
clinging to her body
and her eyes bright
in the sun's afternoon light
No not so far
you replied
I can
she said shaking water
from her hair and head
I can swim the length
and back almost
you looked over
at Jimmy in the pool
talking to friends
she touched your hand
and said
I can show you
how to swim
and she smiled
and you felt her hand
on yours and hoped
Jimmy wasn't looking
seeing her touch you
Maybe another time
you said
pulling your hand away
and plunging it
into the water
I've got to go
you said
my friends
are waiting for me
and she looked at you
her eyes now sad
and she said softly
No stay with me
I like it
when you are near me
and she stood there
in her pink swimsuit
her hair sticking
to her face
her eyes watery and blue
and gazing hopefully
(the noise and laughter
from the pool
momentarily shut off)
at seven year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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)
Bathroom Barber
I'm not a bathroom barber I've learned
gave myself a hair cut with my own two hands.
When all of a sudden I heard a loud noise
which took my mind off what hair to cut I had.
Then SNIP, it went off my head!
a large patch bald of hair is missing.
The dog looked at me puzzled and barked
and the cat raised her back and was hissing!
I must admit I looked a fright
with that large patch of missing hair.
When I got up nerve to look in the mirror
I even gave myself a scare!
I was only trying to save a buck
and give myself what looked to be so easy.
But with this patch of hair now missing
my head feels a bit more breezy.
I guess I'll have to spend the money
go to someone, where to them it isn't harder.
And never again will I pretend, to be a Bathroom Barber!
poem by Linda Winchell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The day I met you was a bad hair day
The day i met you was a bad hair day. This one piece of hair just wouldn't stay. You must have noticed, you must have seen. You were just a little distant, your mind in another place I could see it in your face. So after we talked for a while you excused yourself with a pleasent smile. But what would have happened if my hair had looked good? Would we have talked longer flirted more? We could have shared a night of fun but instead you turned away, It's scary to think that my feature could lay, on one piece of hair that just wouldn't stay.
-Author Unknown
poem by Thang Boojie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Going Grey
I woke up late this morning
And looked into the mirror
But the woman looking back at me
Had a grey streak in her hair
Where did this grey streak come from?
It wasn’t there last night
How did it get into my hair?
My god I looked a sight
I washed and I washed my hair 3 times
And washed my hair some more
But the grey it would not come out
And I was getting stressed for sure
I grabbed the phone to ring my friend
And said get your arse round here
I have a big problem that you need to fix
And bring all your hairdressing gear
Half an hour seemed like a life time
Before my friend was here
She said what’s all the fuss about
I sobbed and wept oh dear
I removed the towel from round my head
Well I didn’t want anyone to see
Look I’ve got greyness in my hair
And I’m only thirty three
She sat me down to have a look
And said don’t worry dear
We can soon cover all that up
With hair dye, so don’t fear
She put this dye upon my head
And then made me a brew
He had to wait for ages
Until the colour did come threw
So now I feel much better
And don’t need to get irate
I don’t have any grey streaks now
And my hair looks really great
poem by Lynn Cowman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Hair Just Hung Like That
My beautiful hair just hung like that.
It mattered that others' looked neater.
But I was like the rockband people,
Who realized where genius lay.
It lay in dishevelement of hair for sure.
The unrulier the more evolved the musician.
His synergistic flow from his hair to his guitar.
Flow of music,
Flow of hair,
It's musical relationship
Of orderly then disorderly harmony.
Guns n Roses and Linkin Park.
Their non-hairstyle created syncopated notes.
For whatever their musical stories told,
There was no reason to straighten their hair out.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
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!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
His Lock Of Hair
I looked at him and thought to myself
I must keep a lock of his hair.
So I clipped it while he was asleep
for there would soon be none to spare.
I remember when I saw him first
his hair was what caught my sight,
so full and wavy catching the light
as dark as a moonless night.
I would run my fingers through it
and see a smile on his face.
I would watch and see him groom it.
Not a strand was out of place.
Little by little it was not as full
and the treasure I would see
was slowly leaving as days went by
and I knew eventually
that his beautiful crown of glory
would become a thing of the past.
And so the lock of hair I clipped
was saved so it would last.
For now that his hair has fallen away.
I show him the lock I did save.
He smiles again as he's done before
as he finishes his morning shave.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Christmas Carol
The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)
The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at him.
And all the stars looked down.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Best Way to Comb the Blonde Hair
Years is the worst unforgivable hairstylist
He cuts my hair short;
shorter than our short story..
He cuts my hair off;
off the last relationship..
Now it's 4 sharp in the afternoon,
i, wooden, seize the comb, wooden.
Mirror does not tell lies
age can only climb high.
the comb runs through my hair
my hair flows through somewhere
more strands of hair are gone..
more worries are born
I forget how I combed hair
back in those years..
A young blonde is coming..
and i gonna ask her this question.
poem by Garland Jodie Jeen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ten Grey hairs and a silver one
I discovered my first grey hair
when I was Seventeen years old
It had to do with broken up my first relationship
I discovered my second grey hair
when I was Twenty years old
It had to do with the quarrels at home
I discovered my third grey hair
when I was Twenty-one years old
It had to do with searching for work
I discovered my fourth grey hair
when I was Twenty-three years old
It had to do with loosing my job
I discovered my fifth grey hair
when I was Twenty-five years old
It had to do with giving up my unborn child
I discovered my sixth grey hair
When I was Twenty-eight years old
It had to do with opening my pub
I discovered my seventh grey hair
When I was thirty years old
It had to do with giving birth to my daughter
I discovered my eight grey hair
When I was thirty –two years old
It had to do with the first day at the kinder garden school
I discovered my ninth grey hair
When I was thirty-four years old
It had to do with to find out that some thing was missing
I discovered my tenth grey hair
When I was thirty-five years old
It had to do with the fights between my sisters and mum
My one Silver hair I discovered lately
Has to do with you
Because I miss you so hard …
poem by Pascale Ost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!