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Poems On / About HAIR  11/21/2014 8:48:09 PM
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Best Poems About / On HAIR
 
 
 
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  81.     

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.
 
Garland Jodie Jeen

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  82.     

Abandoned

Abandoned
The little girl with the curly hair
The little girl with a burden to bear
The little girl whose eyes shine with sorrow
The little girl whose mothers' cruelty has left her hollow
She tried to scream, to get away
But the wounds of this world kept her
So she stayed silent
Did not try to wretch herself free from the abuse
She tried to blend, to stay unfocused
To ward off the blows, the scolding and tears
The little girl with curly hair
The little girl with a ratty dress
The little girl who forgot how to cry
The little girl that wishes to die
She tried to hide, to avoid detection
But found she was
So she did what most would do
She prayed and begged for safety, for a love she never had
That night her mother found her took her by the roots of her curly hair
The mother hit and pillaged, tearing away all hope
The little girl with the curly hair cried out and pled for life
But mother saw it fit to cut her hair and beat her bloody
The little girl with curly hair lies dead in her grave
Wondering where her prayer went
 
Baylor B...

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  83.     

Rihana

I am coming back
with the girl who lured
the city with her song

I grabbed her
As she oozed down
from the disco party
And just like her painted hairs
I yearned to be free
while rooted in her..

the strands of her hair used to
dance with all the rogue winds..

I have to steal
the menstrual blood of spring
to redden her lips
that were charred
by the kiss of summer

There is only a single room
in the thatched house
when I returned with the girl
who lured the city with her song

Sitting on its steps
that are plastered dry with cow dung
May be I will blacken her hair
with medicated oil.
During noontimes,
while I comb
and count her hairs one by one,
I will put to death
the lice I find there
and will claim that her body
was solely my own home

While thus crossing boredom
once, when I find a grey hair
from her head
Maybe I will pluck them all out
without her knowing it
When she comes to know of it
Maybe she will paint
those strands of her hair,
But never will she attempt
to lure the cities again.
 
Sujeesh N M

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  84.     

Hair Brushing and Love Wanting

The combing of the hair
the brushing
the hand holding the strands
brushing her hair

Coco wishes
it was her hair
wants to feel more
than hair

wanting to feel full stop
to enter in
to hold
to kiss

to take
each inch of skin
and lick
and o gods of wherever

is this love?
such overwhelmingness
such empting
and the hair held

the fingers
letting run through
the sensation
the breath held

the breathing paused
love o love o love
and then
there is this

that wanting
to be with
wanting
to have and kiss

and the brushing of hair
and eyes taking in
each aspect
from each angle

and she is speaking
and Coco hears
but doesn't
listens but the words

are slippery as eels
and are gone
but there
allusive

just out of reach
and the neck
and the skin
and that space

her eyes settle on
and that bath time
that watching
as one does

that drying of another
as one is paid to do
but more
o love wants more

not once
not twice or thrice
but forever
if such there is

for this young miss
for Coco
to have and hold
and deeply kiss.
 
Terry Collett

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