We Were 16
Red lips kissing,
Pink lips being kissed,
Nipples Hard,
Up and down,
Blonde hair,
Black hair,
Parted in the middle,
In a Volkswagon bus,
In the hippie year of 69.
2001
poem by Richard Stilwell
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Suffocation
Last night I had the weirdest dream
I dreamt that I was lying in bed
With this girl whose hair was
As black as the night and as
Thick as a forest,
And her hair, her hair was
Smothering me
Or at least, I thought it was
Her hair,
Until I noticed it was her hands
Running over my face,
My lips
My eyes
My cheeks.
As hot as the desert
And smooth as silk
But pressing down
Pressing me into my pillow
Until I could see nothing
But the pink of her skin
And I thought,
Im gunna die
Those hands are gunna
Kill me
Until I realized really,
It wasn’t hands,
But lips,
Sucking the air from mine
Engulfing my last breath
And drawing it into her being
And I thought, well,
At least lips are
A nice way to go
Until finally I came
To my goddamn senses
And I realized,
I realized it wasn’t her lips
But the words coming
From those sweet lips
That was suffocating me
And it was “I love you”
I was choking on
Not her hair, hands or lips
At all.
poem by Nick Downer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some times people just don’t get me
Some people just see my face
Glossy lips mascara-coated lasses and
Pink Rosy checks but that’s just the out side
There is so much more to me more than pink hair
More than manicured nails more then a pair of denim jeans
More then what meets the eye sometimes I think people just don’t
Get me those are the times I sit alone in my room
Those are the times that seem to go on forever
Those are the times even beauty can’t fix
The times I sing out my heart the times I feel
No one loves me
Those are the time I have sweat pants on my fav hoddie
And my blonde and pink hair tied up tight
The time mascara runs down my face from the tears
And my hair is socked from the shower that’s sound of betting water
Muffled the sods so no one could hear
Then other times people get my they see the gloss the pink hair and fitted denim jeans
On top of it all the see the goofy glasses and they know I will never grow up
The times were my gloss has faded from smiling and chatting to them but my eyes are fixed on my black high top shoes and he knows I want to cry
Those are the times he holds my and makes things right
Those are the time were I don’t get him
poem by leona True
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That Girl....
I see her walk down the halls everyday
The girl with the dirty blonde hair with black streaks
Her blonde hair cascading down her back like a golden waterfall
The innocent sparkle of those gorgeous pale green eyes
Her strawberry lips make her lovely words drift in my head
But the only thing I know is she's that girl......
Even though I have no idea who she is she's still beautiful
Oh I know who she is now.....shes me from 4 years ago
But to me she'll forever be that girl.....
poem by Justina Nicole Haner
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Picture of a 23-year-old Youth Painted by His Friend of the Same Age, an Amature
He finished the painting yesterday noon. Now
he studies it in detail. He has painted him in a
gray unbuttoned coat, a deep gray; without
any vest or any tie. With a rose-colored shirt;
open at the collar, so something might be seen
also of the beauty of his chest, of his neck.
The right temple is almost entirely
covered by his hair, his beautiful hair
(parted in the manner he perfers it this year).
There is the completely voluptuous tone
he wanted to put into it when he was doing the eyes,
when he was doing the lips.... His mouth, the lips
that are made for consummation, for choice love-making.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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My prayers
I touched your cold hands
hands that worked the land
caressed your tousled hair
hair that had known flair
kissed your silent lips
lips that sweet secrets keep
My prayers in vain
tears leaving stain
Your words lodged themselves
deep in the crevices and shelves
awaiting the moment of freedom
to shine in the kingdom
I touched her little hands
hands that hold no plan
caressed her soft hair
hair that dances in the air
kissed her sweet lips
lips that smile at the tips
My prayers in pain
soul bare lain
Her laughter clear as bells
chasing away spells
dispersing shadows with her light
casting wrongs putting them right
Your words came flying back
Have faith tho thee lack
it will sustain thee
in life without plea
My prayers in gratitude
love in servitude
Dumb Blonde-It Seems True
People call me a dumb blonde
sometimes it seems true
i trip over my own feet
and i cant find the answer to an easy math problem
can the color of your hair change how you act?
if its true ill dye my hair pink
green
red
blue
silver
anything but blonde!
i love how it looks but i dont wanna be stupid!
Dumb Blonde?
I guess so
poem by Izzy Barnwell
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Always Hate Hippies
You are a hippie
You smell like skunk
I'm your arch-enemy
A middle class punk
Get out
Get a life
Get a job
Everyone's smoking grass
Everyone is an ass
Can't you afford to cut your hair?
Cause Frank and I will cut it off for free
Never trus a hippie
They'll sell you bad drugs
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pink
A blush of pink:
She'd caught a roving eye -
He gave a wink.
Her smile had played a shy
And quaint florescence;
The siren of pubescence
Drew him in.
She bade him touch her hair,
Suggesting that he dare
To kiss her pulsing lips!
E'er the fool a man, he did:
The drips of blood began to cheer -
And so, another rid:
Tips of fangs are sharp, you know -
Dancing ivory feeds her soul -
See her claim a howl upon a chilling wind!
Slain, he lay across a crimson floor:
She grinned in her repletion.
A blush of pink;
Beneath a glowering sky
Her savoured drink
Was done.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
pink pink pink pink pink pink her blush
pink pink pink pink pink pink her blush
pink pink pink pink pink pink her blush
pink pink pink pink pink pink
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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If Roses Can Be
If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses
If hair can be
red
blonde
brunette
black
And still be hair
If eyes can be
green
blue
brown
hazel
And still be eyes
Then why can't humans be
black
white
hispanic
asian
And still be accepted?
Why can't people be
special
different
unique
original
And still be people?
If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses.....
poem by Jennifer Hall
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Love hair
I got down onto the bed and started kissing you but my long hair got in the way and I felt like I kissed myself.
Long straight hair which fell onto your head was the wall between me and you and I feared if I said: I love you, I would be saying it to myself.
I tried to move myself away from you but couldn't and soon my hair was all over your body, protecting it from my love.
I really felt like I loved myself when I kissed my hair that was against you.
And it started feeling weird after a long time doing it.
poem by Maria Junnonen
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Honey Brown Locks
HONEY BROWN HAIR
Honey dew, rays of sunshine fall upon
the silk of your shiny hair,
gently illuminating it in all
its radiant glory,
Woken up by nature`s rays, the warm
water cascades, washes tangles away so creams
and lotions beautify the flowing mass
of sensuous, surging waves
that I soon run my fingers through as I
blow dry, with you sitting on my lap,
Soon we lie on red satin sheets
And I whisper 'I love you'
As I thread a pink rose
Through those curls and waves.
So soon, gently kissing your curvaceous cheeks, lips, neck,
then I brush your hair lovingly, luxuriously,
in slow motion as we move to the jacuzzi
- a mirror above us........
If you would like your own personalized poem about your hair, please describe your hair to me, or if you would like this dream to come true and are ready for a loving, serious relationship, please let me know at [email protected]
poem by Richard Muirhead
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Pigtail
When all the women in the transport
had their heads shaved
four workmen with brooms made of birch twigs
swept up
and gathered up the hair
Behind clean glass
the stiff hair lies
of those suffocated in gas chambers
there are pins and side combs
in this hair
The hair is not shot through with light
is not parted by the breeze
is not touched by any hand
or rain or lips
In huge chests
clouds of dry hair
of those suffocated
and a faded plait
a pigtail with a ribbon
pulled at school
by naughty boys.
Translated by Adam Czerniawski
poem by Tadeusz Ròzewicz
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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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Beauty is not in colours
Black hair is nice, but not black teeth.
White teeth are nice, but not whit hair.
Red lips are nice, but not red eyes.
Black eyes are nice, but not black lips.
Beauty is not in colours;
Beauty is in the concepts.
25.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Casual Relationship
you ride in a bus
on a long trip to Pagadian
beside you is a woman with long black hair
pink blouse, not wearing a bra,
juicy lips, smooth skin,
perfumed
just the two of you
and it rains
heavily and the bus speeds its
way climbing steep roads
then her head rests on
your chest
she must be tired
your heart beats faster
something in your body
grows
you do not want this journey
to end
you caress her hair
she wakes up
and smiles
and then you kiss
at the terminal she rushes
to the road where a black car is waiting
she waves her hand
bidding goodbye
just that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Maundy Thursday
Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had,
(And kissed the Body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, immensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea, kissed - my lips did cling.
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Have hues a role?
Grass lends beauty to ‘green’;
Tooth lends beauty to ‘white’;
Sky lends beauty to ‘blue’.
So do lips to ‘red’.
Red lips excel red blood;
Brown horse excel brown ass;
Yellow gold excels yellow brass.
So does black hair, black skin.
Black hair yields to white hair;
Green meadow yields to gray one.
Brown curls yield to fallen leaves
So does tender skin to one wrinkled.
The stuff rules; the merit rules;
The young rules. Have hues a role?
13.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Oklahoma-Texas Line
Got an old dog, it don't like me much
That thing starts to bark his head off every time we touch
Sittin' on the porch listenin' to the radio
We sing every single song we know
Even the ones we don't
When she moves a little closer
She puts her hand in mine
Oh what I wouldn't give to stop the hands of time
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
She's got a part time job at the Tastee-freeze
She took the weekend off to spend a little bit of time with me
I got an old car we drove to the edge of town
We stopped by Old Man Millers' farm
Just to watch the world spin around
And she moves a little closer
She puts her lips to mine
Ain't funny how the good Lord out does himself sometimes
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house with a black top drive
Big oak tree with our names carved on the side
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house, little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Oh here they come
Long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
Everything I love...
song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The fetish object
He told me that he liked me for my lips.
I didn’t know then he liked only my lips
Nor did I know that he would not indulge
In any act other than kissing lips.
What I found erotic turned repugnance.
What I pandered turned to be an ordeal.
He not handling but my lips in bed,
I soon cringed at his approach itself.
My lips have become to him a fetish object.
I regret having got married to him.
The want of spontaneity and variety
Have put me in cold storage,
My lips being sore and body burning.
09.11.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I will never forget you
Your so beautiful hair
Your those black gorgeous eyes
Your those lipstick painted lips
Babe I will never forget!
Your those gestures of lips
Your those magnetic smiles
Belas in your braid of hair
Babe I will never forget!
Those opportunities
Your those attractive looks
Your those sittings beside me
Babe I will never forget!
Languages of your eyes
The giggle from your heart
And the way you robbed my mind
Babe I will never forget!
poem by Asif Andalib
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