So Many Different Hairstyles
Braids, pigtails, buns,
So many different hairstyles.
Blondes, brunettes, redheads,
So many different colours.
Red, purple, orange,
So many different dyes.
Mohawks, buzz, mushroom,
So many different haircuts.
Bangs, trims, layers,
So many different hair fashions.
Curly, wavy, straight,
So many different hair types.
Short, medium, long,
So many different lengths.
Bald, thick, thin,
So many different hairs.
Gel, hairspray, mousse,
So many different hair glues.
Bobby pins, clips, pencils.
So many different accessories.
Scrunchies, hair bands, elastics,
So many different frills.
Straightener, curler, blow-dryer,
So many different electric devices,
Comb, brush, separator,
So many different appliances.
poem by Janneke Tenvoorde
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Hair Styles I Remember
There are hairstyles I remember wearing
oh so long ago.
My father had a fit with most of them
told me, 'go comb that mess out before you go! '
I'd rat it up with the small toothed end of comb
so the base would hold it up.
Then took a brush to smooth it some
and then I sprayed it so it stuck!
The wind could blow its hardest
but my hair withstood its gail!
When anyone would touch my do
they said it felt as hard as nails!
There was one do called the, Bee Hive
It was hallowed out in the center.
Some gilrs would hide their smokes in there
and have a puff or two after schools dinner.
Then there was the bouffant flip
it was the smallest flip you'd ever seen.
Your head looked like this big balloon
with a small hat rim of hair flipping up, was keen!
Then the Pixie and the Bob
boxed off hair cut for cool guys
long hair for the slobs!
Then the Beatles made their hair debut
my father hated them.
Everyone wore the Nauru jackets
and their pant legs tight and slim!
Then Farra Faucet, that's a funny name
but her hairstyle look, was in the hair book hall of fame!
Not too many new looks I see now a days
just long or short, no curls, no waves.
No teasing of hair, no spray or thick gels
But highlights for sure, all look swell.
I'm glad those days are over with
took forever for you to get ready.
Now it's just blow and go, and sprits or two
and your off on a date with your steady!
poem by Linda Winchell
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Types really don't matter. I have been accused of preferring blondes. But I have known some mighty attractive redheads, brunettes, and yes, women with grey hair. Age, height, weight haven't anything to do with glamour.
quote by Clark Gable
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Boy's Trials
When I was but a little lad
One thing I could not bear,
It was to stand at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
They didn't keep boys' hair as short
As it's kept now-a-days,
And mine was always tangled up
In twenty different ways.
I'd twist my mouth and grit my teeth,
And say it wasn't fair-
It was a trial, and no mistake,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd brush and brush each stubborn curl
That grew upon my pate,
And with her scissors nip and clip
To make the edges straight.
Then smooth it down until it shone,
While I would grin and bear,
And feel a martyr through and through,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd take my round chin in her hand
And hold it there the while
She made the parting carefully,
Then tell me with a smile:
'Don't push your cap down on your curls
And spoil my work and care;
He is a pretty little lad
When mother combs his hair.'
I'd hurry out and rumple up
That mop of hair so thick-
A vandal, I, for she had worked
So hard to make it slick-
And wish I were a grown-up man
So nobody would dare
To put a washrag in my ears,
Or comb my tangled hair.
Heigho! now that I'm bald and gray,
Methinks I would be glad
To have her smooth my brow and cheeks,
And whisper, 'Mother's lad!'
A longing for the care-free days
Doth take me unaware;
To stand, a boy, at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
poem by Jean Blewett
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She loves her hair stretched
accustomed to curly hair
when we were yet children
living in the same house
I feel uneasy why she
wears stretched hair
And she takes pride
about her new found fashion
And taste for something straight.
Curly hairs and split ends
Never gave her luck
She got an ugly husband
Who does not understand her
Rich maybe, but slaps her
It is time she gains confidence
In herself to a newer face
A stretched hair, straight
And candid and ready to
Fight now, win or lose,
At whatever costs she must
Deny her old self, the one
With the curly hair, she is
Ready for the consequences.
Her right as a new woman
With stretched hair is now
Or never, she has no time left
Anymore for hiding and cowardice and tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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If You Can Do Hair With Flair
If You Can Do Hair With Flair
If you can do hair
and do it with flair
Be somebody
Be yourself
Styles of an old rendition,
Adding to a new edition
Tints and dyes
For wows and oh mys
Braids
Weaves
Cuts
Trims
To the left
To the right
Curls
Swirls
If you can do hair
And do it with flair
Be Somebody
Be Yourself
by Alfreda Doyle
poem by Alfreda Doyle
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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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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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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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That girl
That girl
with bangs on her hair
a pink headband, thick lips pure red,
curly hair, mini skirt, and bleached legs
as white as may sky,
the way she sits tells me
that she is a woman now
beautiful to be with
because of her
bad habits.
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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Hairy Woes
(This not a poem. One day I thought whether I could write about hair problems and this is what I could come up with. Have a good hair day.)
Oh all the balding men of the world! Neither split your hair nor let your hair down; instead, get up to fight against hair experts and hair industries because, you have nothing to loss except hairs, which you are already losing anyway.
The scientific study published in, 'International Journal of Fake Studies', has proven beyond doubt that, all kinds of hairs and particularly black hairs, absorb sun light and thus indirectly contribute to the global warming whereas, shining bald pates reflect sun light back into the atmosphere, thus help to make earth’s climate cool. So taking these facts in account, bald persons should be given the tax rebate in form of carbon credits whereas, high taxation should be levied on persons with hair for leaving carbon footprints behind.
It is true my friend, that you are paying the tax as well as losing your hair, but try to imagine a plight of less fortunate ones, who neither earn enough money to pay the tax nor have enough hair to loss.
'Son! Why do you worry about your hair problems; get me mustards seeds from the home, that doesn't have hair problems', thus spake enlightened sage, hearing which young man became calm.
The biggest cause of hair fall, dandruff and other hair related problems is existence of hair.
No person with hair on his head, can solve all your hair problems, neither can the person without hair.
As, not all the armies of the world, can stop the idea whose time has come so, not all the hair experts can stem the progress of baldness, whose time has come.
Only two things are universal, hair problems and human stupidity, but I have doubt about former, thus spake Einstein of hair science.
Not all the trichologists, dermatologists and hair experts together, armed with shampoos, hair oils, hair dyes and herbal ointments can cure all the hair ailments, as long as hairs are there.
As long as hairs are there, there are going to be hair problems, similarly as long as shrinks are there, there are going to be mental problems.
The hair industry expands their business by perpetuating the two myths, first is there are more hair at unwanted place and other is, there are less hair at desired place.
Hair here, hair there, hair everywhere similarly: problem here, problem there, problem everywhere.
He fell in love with her hair and married the whole girl, soon he was without hair.
In early part of his life man losses his hair to earn money then he uses same money to gain hair back.
Don't bask in a glory of the hair, you used to have in past, instead tell me, do you have gorgeous hair now?
There is some truth in a myth that the bald men are fortunate; to begin with, they don't have to spend their fortune on comb, hair products, hair cuts and last but not least girls.
There are more blondes on streets of India than women of the rest of the world put together; thanks to Garnier. Take Care.
White hair is nothing but a flag hoisted by a tired life, signaling armistice with hostile time, which eventually leads to surrender to the death.
Blessed are the monks who shave their hair themselves, a symbol of a vanity of the world, because nature is going to destroy that vanity eventually anyhow.
Oh Sinner! Vain is your attempt to hide your sins, for sins will shine in your life as bald pate shines through the sparse tufts of hair.
It is irony that the monks who do not care for their hair often have beautiful and luxuriant hair.
Trees are nothing but hair of Gaia, the earth; if you destroy, them then earth too would take her revenge by creating conditions, that won't allow the hair to stay on your crown.
More often than not, one owns heir are responsible for one owns hair fall.
If you cannot prevent hair fall, enjoy it.
15/01/2011
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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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)
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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Shinning gem's
so special is your hair
without
a seconds and
a countless of gesture, your
fingers wish
to touch
your glooming
hair
in your head
looking back the comb
that splashes the
thinned
shinning hair, as it flashes
all the oily
smooth curly strands, where
between its
length
the little tiny lies wish
to reach
the bottom
views of the beautiful
hair
my bosom friend
love to settle
her magnificent glows of gems
I kept it a
blinks for a while, tempted
to smell
wondering what
would it be, yet!
so fulfilling
to
blow the wind
dazzling to reach the
alluring hair
of my beloved
friend, the only precious
gems she
possess until, the beautiful
angelic hair lost it’s
fragrance of
existence, a glimpse of
dust mesmerize
the memories of the YOU
poem by Antonio Liao
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A girl with curls...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
I don’t like my curly hair.
Everyday I say a prayer.
God, please make my hair straight.
I want to make two long plaits.
Do you think He hears my plea?
Oh, she asked innocently of me.
Dear, you look truly like an angel.
But they are always entangled.
Please, please pray for me.
I want hair like you, you see.
Do you think He really loves me?
Darling, He loves everyone you see.
Then why did he make my hair curly.
He loves you very, very dearly.
On hearing this she did a jig.
He must have a heart really big.
I just can’t love everyone.
That boy who teases me, for one.
Then she clapped and ran about.
Kicking the ball, scream and shout.
Forgot all about her curls.
How dainty is my little girl!
Of Anika, for Anika, my grand daughter
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Wavy
I thought that I had wavy hair
Until I shaved. Instead,
I find that I have straight hair
And a very wavy head.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Ode to Baldness
Heads that shine are “oh so fine”
And mostly trouble free
No hair to fly when wind is high
They’re always slick and neat
No hairspray or Brylcreem to buy
No brushes or pocket combs
And many ladies, I’ve heard it said,
Are fond of the old chrome dome
That must be why so many these days
Full heads of hair will shave
But, you can’t shave hair that isn’t there
I got mine the natural way
Now, you men of poetic métier
Whose hair has taken leave
Just write a verse if you’d care to link
With the bald headed poets’ league
Copyright C R Clark-3/2/2008
poem by C.R. Clark
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The barbar down the lane
Most time as much a scissor talk
Call for long legs and hair walk
A thing that happens all the time
To every pocket that has least a dim
The man change a hair one
With smile and happiness morning in line
A hair enters and 'voom' disappears
The man inside with hair on repairs
Our barbar down the lane
Is a man with no shame
My hair I dedicate to him
And mine is down with all vim
The everday I wish to enter
And embrass the comb in my hair
This then I know it him
The barbar down the lane
poem by Henry Nii Ayi Cobblah
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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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