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
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Related quotes
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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Embracing Age
Strainds of grey hair they dye
Behind youth they try to hide
In a bed of denial they lie
they look at age with false pride
It's hard to think that nowadays grey hair is rare
Let me tell you something I wish to share
From old age I won't hide
I will embrace it and show of my grey hair with pride
poem by Rayana King
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Wrinkles and Grey Hair (Children)
Mommy's getting wrinkles.
Daddy has grey hair.
It wasn't very long ago
when those things weren't there.
Wish I could smooth the wrinkles out
and darken Daddy's hair
to stop the changes going on.
It makes me feel so scared.
Grampa, does it mean they'll die?
They have wrinkles and grey hair!
I never used to worry
before those things were there.
Grampa said to look at him.
There were lots of wrinkles there,
and on his head, a snowstorm
was the color of his hair.
'Wrinkles only come to point
where smiles were, here and there.
It's your mommy's turn to get some
for the happy times you've shared.'
His white, and Daddy's grey hair
well, it was there to show
who had lived the longest time
so everyone could know!
Grampa said it's part of life.
We love, we learn, we live.
We earn grey hair and wrinkles,
they're prizes only God can give.
Iris
Not how you would be thought of, your color
Being grey, silky, like a second skin, your hair
Flecked with it. Now, hearing your way of saying
Iridescent while I read your poem, three years
After your death, I am compelled to check
You out in Ovid, Lamprière, Bulfin, then
A book of flowers, where I discover you
On marshy ground, not grey exactly—in fact
A pretty blue-grey, a quiet type, with a green cowl
To shelter the thoughtful inclined head.
Not at all the bright-winged messenger
Who’d drown the world if Juno put you up to it,
But a quiet sylph, who could color her message
With a sly tilt of the head, those grey eyes steady,
Lips pursed, making a pretence of kissing.
You could supply so many ambiguities—
Gradations and streaks and tones of grey and blue—
That for twenty years I saw your story told
Where the sky lay on the wintry hills, weighed down
With tears Mnemosyne allows for you:
Flower, messenger, poet.
poem by James Phillip McAuley
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My vanity
When you see the grey in my hair
will you remember the black that was there?
Or will you forget and just see grey
that forms at the roots on everyday?
I used to wear it long and flowing
and preen about how it was growing.
I used a hair brush and counted the strokes,
but that's a waste of time for older folks.
Vanity's been replaced by common sense
although I say in my defense
that if I could I'd still like to see
that shiny lustre of ebony.
Beauty is burdensome anyway
and eventually I'll accept being grey.
But not just yet, maybe next year.
Alas by then more grey will appear.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Better lose hair than head
Better ‘tis to lose hair than thine head,
As is between butter and bare bread;
If not a thing comes fair
Today, how can be hair?
So hail heads that bare are— bald, not dead!
____________________________________________
There is one thing worse, they say, than having a
bald pate— to be defensive, curse your fate. I was
not yet thirty when my hair began to be grey though
not thin. This was perhaps Nature's way of balancing
things as my face had badly tanned by the time I was
in my ‘teens. As the years added themselves to my
age the contrast only widened. But it was much
after I retired from paid work, the hairline began to
recede a bit. After all, a balance must be maintained.
This little ditty sums up my philosophy on hair.
________________________________________ ____________
-Tongue-in-cheek | 01.04.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again.
quote by Annie Dillard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men Looks Much Better With Grey Hair
Men looks
Much better
With grey hair
Because
Grey hair
Makes the men looks
Handsome
poem by Aldo Kraas
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When you awaken some morning and hear that somebody or other has been discovered, you can put it down as a fact that he discovered himself years ago - since that time he has been toiling, working, and striving to make himself worthy of general discovery.
quote by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Grey World
Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.
Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.
Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Different Roads
I have discovered during my years of travel,
So many have different schedules...
To arrive at the same destiny.
With the taking of different roads...
Streets and paths.
As we attempt to complete,
Assignments on our journeys...
Before we leave to pass.
I have discovered during my many years,
Of conflicts, mistakes made and experiences...
I have managed to survive with a wish to succeed.
That the real purpose we all are here to achieve...
With a final judgement made on those tasks,
Is to please the wishes of One God!
With every question we had to ask,
Answered.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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39
I only woke this morning
To find the world is fair—
I’m going on for forty,
With scarcely one grey hair;
I’m going on for forty,
Where man’s strong life begins,
With scarce a sign of crows’ feet,
In spite of all my sins.
Then here’s the living Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the living Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The teens were black and bitter,
A smothered boyhood’s grave—
A farm-drudge in the drought-time,
A weary workshop slave.
But twenty years have laid them,
And all the world is fair—
We’ll find time in the Forties,
To have some boyhood there.
Then here’s the wide, free Forties—
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wide, free Forties!
We’re good for ten years more!
The twenties they were noble,
The bravest years, I think;
’Twas man to man in trouble,
In working and in drink;
’Twas man to man in fighting,
For money or for praise.
And we’ll find in the Forties
Some more Bohemian days.
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The thirties were the fate years;
I fought behind the scenes.
The thirties were more cruel
And blacker than the teens;
I held them not but bore them—
They were no years of mine;
But they are going from me,
For I am thirty-nine.
So here’s the stronger Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
And here’s the good old Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
poem by Henry Lawson
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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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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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Grey
Looking at an opal, a half-grey opal,
I remembered two beautiful grey eyes
I had seen it must have been twenty years before . . .
For a month we loved each other
Then he went away, I think to Smyrna,
To work there; we never saw each other again.
The grey eyes ---- if he lives ---- have lost their beauty;
The beautiful face will have been spoiled.
O Memory, preserve them as they were.
And, Memory, all you can of this love of mine
Whatever you can bring back to me tonight.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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My First Boyfriend
My first Boyfriend
was Stanley Gardner
whomI met in kindy
all thirty long years ago.
He wore silver braces
and thick jam jar glasses
whereas I had buck teeth
That jutted out a mile
and a mop of frizzy hair
but he declared his love for me
by sharing his vegemite sandwich
and orange juice popper
in the sandpit,
in the middle of the oval
And now 30 years on I meet him again
with his wife and child
He has the straightest of teeth
and sans hair and glasses
And me with straightened hair
And perfect teeth
courtesy of my cosmetic teeth makeover!
And my orthodontist
The Return
They turned him loose; he bowed his head,
A felon, bent and grey.
His face was even as the Dead,
He had no word to say.
He sought the home of his old love,
To look on her once more;
And where her roses breathed above,
He cowered beside the door.
She sat there in the shining room;
Her hair was silver grey.
He stared and stared from out the gloom;
He turned to go away.
Her roses rustled overhead.
She saw, with sudden start.
"I knew that you would come," she said,
And held him to her heart.
Her face was rapt and angel-sweet;
She touched his hair of grey;
. . . . .
But he, sob-shaken, at her feet,
Could only pray and pray.
poem by Robert William Service
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It's been fascinating watching all those pictures of me with a lot more hair Jeremy, and looking very young. And we've all got things we've said, twenty, thirty years ago, indeed the whole world has changed since then.
quote by Peter Hain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dangerous to My Health
There are those who were born,
To have no other purpose in life...
Than to agitate others.
I admit,
When I was younger...
I thought I would like to specialize in this field.
Since I was told by several people,
How I got on their last nerve.
And the doing of it I found to be quite easy.
I became bored with that.
Especially when I discovered there were others,
Practicing this craft.
And not doing it with enough bite.
So tempted was I to help them redo their agitations.
I was very serious when I thought I should show them,
My own techniques.
I was young and full of testing authority.
If my parents were alive,
They would confirm and validate my comments.
But...
When my mama screamed at the top of her lungs,
Pulling on her hair with her eyes bulged out...
Shouting at me one day,
'Boy, that's it! You've gotten on my 'last' nerve.'
I knew then...
I was able to do it to such a degree,
To threaten my own existence.
She frightened me.
And I knew then I had reached perfection.
And something inside me said...
Continuing to do that could be dangerous to my health.
So needless to say...
I've discovered more advantageous skills to develop,
Over the years.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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