Haircut
I have wooly, wavy, woozy silvery hair
Cut just 20% you earn your fare
In bad trim down
Make sure I won't look like a clown.
With white cover she cuts away,
Her scissors, snip, snip night and day.
In mirror see my hair disappear
Trimmed nicely above each ear.
Finally touched my hair—few curls,
The more she accommodates I would adore.
Finish look seems more like 30% gone,
Hair wetted, scalped, I mirror no fun.
Next time another barber or good cutter
Better not scalp me" I sadly angry mutter
For well-kept hair on head?
I'd rather make more love in bed.
poem by Arthur Weil
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Related quotes
Cutting edge
Like a sharp knife
cutting through a bitter lemon
into red lips dripping
the hairdresser takes my pleasantries,
chops them with a cruel hand,
throws them back in pieces in my face
snip snip into blond hair, brown hair, black, grey, white,
what heroic restraint, condemned
to a lifetime’s cutting, and not
to plunge the scissors into a spinal cord…
this little girl who cut her finger with
her mother’s scissors perhaps
to try to explain how they cut her heart
her love that would grow like hair
how can I know the heart
of this woman who cuts my hair
so expertly.. snip, snip..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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My haircut
My haircut,
It was a misserable time,
To watch my hair go,
Snip, snip, snip,
It drifts away in a silence unknown,
To all who have known,
The misserable haircut,
I love my hair,
But it had to go,
like seeing something die,
But i could never really weep,
It is sad to say goodbye,
My hair will grow back,
But only to see it go again.
poem by Trenton watson
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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
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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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This Morning At The Barbershop
This morning at the barbershop,
a barber is busy with the hair
of a much older grey haired man
that he is trimming neatly
and a young man
sits in one of the barber’s chairs.
When I sit down to wait
the young man rises
turning to me
and asks if he can cut my hair.
I was happy to get attention immediately
while the other barber was finishing
with the older man,
as he looks to finely tuned to me.
My hair was smartly cut
with a pair of scissors
and the young barber
held his fingers
to determine the length
and I wanted it shorter
than just cutting off the ends
while the other barber
first took a hair blower
from a drawer,
sprayed something over his own hair
before he started to blow it in the mirror
and he then said
that he cannot go
to the bank to wait in line
with a head looking like Tut’s ass
and I saw my locks
falling dark brown
with dots of grey around me
and saw the other barber
combing his long hair
and smiled at myself
about the vanity of humanity
while I looked at myself
and were starting to look much better.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Singapore Border Blues
I came by bus in a swirl of dust in the summer of seventy two.
I was young, I was poor, I hoped to score but I really hadn't a clue.
The seats were hard; I was on my guard when we bolted from the bus.
The border was there, but I had long hair so they readied to hassle us.
They were men in blue, a few women too, taking our arrival card.
They saw my face, they knew their place, they were going to make it hard.
"You have an air; you have long hair so you must observe our laws"
So Kate my friend did a bend and pulled out her best scissors.
She got to work, without a jerk and as quick as a Christmas sale,
She snip here, she snip there until my scalp was bare and pale.
His face turned sour, this was not my hour and he gave me back my case,
"You littered the floor, there's the door, you're not welcomed at this place."
So I left my hair and without much care, I turned and went on with our trip.
My head was bald but I wasn't cold and we eventually caught a ship.
It's been many a year, and Kate's gone from here since that incident.
I have a wife, I have a life and I have been quite content.
I travelled wide, gone with the tide and corners of the world I saw.
I made it a rule, it was even cool, to make sure to avoid Singapore.
Until one day, it would be fair to say, that the city needed my skills,
Return this way, there's plenty of pay, enough to cover my bills.
The flight was easy, I was never queasy, so I walked into the arrival hall:
Airport was clean, like a big machine, but the impression: good overall.
The men were in blue, a woman there too, who took the pass from my hand,
She gave a smile to greet, offered a sweet and welcomed me to this land.
For a small fee, I took the M.R.T., and the ad. there made me stare
Phone Beijing 101*, to have this done: Singapore will re-grow my hair.
In memory of
Kate Langley
1953 - 2006
*Beijing 101 have hair restoration clinics in Singapore
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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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
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Grand-stranding
With little success at hair retention
I've one strand left of small dimension
Scalped this way, I'm not enthralled
One-stranded now, I'm follicle-y bald
It's hair raising to feel alone and bereft
Deserted by all it's brothers who left
This ordeal has the hair standing there pining
Atop my bald scalp, so hairless-ly shining
The lonesome strand just keeps on grieving
Missing its mates, since their mass leaving
So soulful and sad, it can't seem to find
On the scalp of this lad, a hair-piece of mind
My dome once covered with hair-filled density
Has no foreseeable future-tense-ity
For so loyally standing hair-ly at hand
I'll always be grateful to that one last grand strand
poem by Stanley Cooper
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The Accentuated Curls
To twist around is a crime
It will distract the follicles
From being so sublime
The scissors dance around my curls
Waltzing through my particles
As barber John around me whirls
And sings- a jubilant, Italian song
And other barbers sign along
To juicy, creamy melodies,
While mirrors show my vanities
And carefree and distorted
The hair will be rewarded
With admiration from the rest
All people will boldly attest
That my hair is so wonderful,
That my hair is so beautiful,
That my hair has much grace
And it distracts from that hideous, grotesque face.
poem by Sasha Ioffine
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Get Your Hair Cut!
The perfect haircut suits you best,
Short back and sides, my lad!
So take your cash and go invest
In what makes most folks glad.
It's up to you to make the choice,
I gave you good advice...
So why look like the other boys,
When you could look quite nice?
I've seen you in the smartest suit
Let down by scruffy hair...
That's hardly what I'd call astute,
So almost debonair...
You used to be the one to watch,
The guy who had it all...
So why not take it up a notch?
Good-looking, standing tall.
Please get your hair cut soon as poss!
Don't dilly-dally, friend!
My word, it would impress the boss,
On that you can depend!
Keep up the good work that you do,
Eyes twinkling day by day!
Sit down, relax, snip-snip, you're through...
Thank God for that! Oi, vey!
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The monk with long pretty hair
I love this life,
Sworn to serve the poor,
My body honed to perfection,
With the life style,
The material skill,
The difficult chores,
And the blessing our the lord Buddha,
I will always honor him,
For he gave me the greatest gift of all,
My long pretty hair.
The others start to object,
Claiming my head needs shaving,
There just jealous,
I wear the orange robe,
What more do they want?
I’m always on time,
The best in my class,
I bet that’s why they hate me,
Because who could hate,
My long pretty hair.
Everyday I realise,
My hair is all I care for,
I made my excuses,
I need to be clean,
Because cleanliness is holiness,
Suddenly there’s not enough hours in the day,
I cut the training,
And fall behind on my chores,
To stare at perfection in the mirror,
My long pretty hair.
The Masters are angry at me preaching,
That my hair sets me apart,
As indeed it does,
I see the jealousy in every eye,
They hate me because I'm perfect,
Why should I shave my head?
Am I not the universe’s chosen?
Above all the others,
So what if I’m the better with,
My long pretty hair.
I’m banished from my home,
But that’s ok,
They left me a mirror,
Which I stare into all day,
I found my true love,
Better than my old life,
Helping and healing and fighting,
I rebel against my order,
Despite all I lose I still have,
My long pretty hair.
On the execution block I stand,
In all my glory,
They took my mirror away,
And dared to touch my hair,
Who can blame me for hurting them?
They deserved it,
And now I stand,
Proud and tall,
With my hair flowing free,
Caressed by the breeze
My long pretty hair.
And I now hang by the gate,
By my long pretty hair,
Final glory for everyone to see.
My long pretty hair.
poem by David Whittingham
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angry
' why are you so angry, ' the girl with the red hair asked me.
'why are YOU so angry, girl with the red hair'
'That's not important were here to talk about you.'
'Could you quit calling me that? '
'NO'
'I wasn't asking'
'But I was telling ya, girl with the red hair'
'lets get back to your anger'
'But i thought we were talking about your anger, so what makes you angry, ms'
'what makes you.angry, girl with the red hair? '
'you calling me that name what name, Girl with the red hair? '
'yes'
'why does it make you angry, girl with the red hair? '
'because all my life people have picked on me because of my RED HAIR.'
'O, well sorry to hear that'
'yeah'
'Well now that we atlked about your anger lets talk about mine...'
poem by Ke'Love Moss
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The Barber
I'd like to be a barber, and learn to shave and clip,
Calling out, 'Next please! and pocketing my tip.'
All day I'd hear my scissors going, 'Snip, Snip, Snip;'
I'd lather people's faces, and their noses I would grip
While I shaved most carefully along the upper lip.
But I wouldn't be a barber if ...
The razor was to slip.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Make Me Beautiful
Girl, I need my hair 'did'
I'll be over at 5
You are late
you kow I needed you
to put this Lace Front in
Did you bring glue and scissors
and Don't be messing up my hair
I spent alot of money
to make me Beautiful
Girl, I need my hair twisted
you know like Dreds
I need it done now,
how long do you think it will be
I don't have all day
and I'm hungry too
Girl,
let me go get some Chinese food
while you working on my hair.
Girl, I need you to come with me
to the hair store
How many wigs you gonna try on,
I want a long pony tail
down my back, with no curls
and I need some gel,
some hair pins too.
I put my perm in so hook me up
you hear!
Girl, its me, what you doing
I need to borrow a wig for tonight
I got a date and I 'need' to look good
I want my Do to look beautiful like
yours,
But Tonight,
Make Me Beautiful, like Beyonce
My nails, my nails
got to have them done too
let me see the colors
designs you have
I'm planning on looking good like her tonight
got me one of those push up bras
and that girdle that, make you 3 sizes smaller
I am going out tonight,
I'm gonna find me a man
and I just want you to,
Make Me Beautiful,
Girl, it's gonna be on! .
(Written By LadyAdrienne)
poem by Adrienne Clark Strachn
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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
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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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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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~Reconciliation~
A black woman migrates to Europe
War devastated Germany in she finds a tolerant white widower to cope
Years some later a mulatto is born with arrear
Unluckily the newborn not so towards white but usual spirally knotted hair
She grows up and gets because of her white father´s repute a government job
Ego came out spontaneous in black aggression as corn on the cob
Her work by job agency comes mostly foreigners for demonstrations
Majority a jobless black immigrant who has not the lucky touch of Midas parentage in confrontations
She looks of blacks down and she herself is black
When asked to justify says she is more white hidden traits back
She repeats her satisfaction from day to day
Until she went to a white german barber for hair trim and foam some day
Your hair is another says the white old barber woman
I have no experience and i cut not those hairs as talisman
Go to a black barber she added
They understand more your hair as they the same headed