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Poems On / About HAIR  12/20/2014 11:53:11 AM
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Best Poems About / On HAIR
 
 
 
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  81.     

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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  82.     

whisky complexioned hair wig

I WAS BORN with a thick shock of curly hair,
silky strands of light brown cascading down my scalp,
broad outlines of eyebrow fringe,
they were my pride, cuddled on infinite occasions by my
mother,
glistening in sunshine like pure black shoe polish
paint,
caressing minute regions of my skull in breeze blowing
with high velocity,
mingling once in a while with the delicate periphery
of my inverted eyelash,
sighted as a puffed bunch of dark cushion by all in
close proximity,
I always kept my hair shampooed and meticulously
clean,
sobbed hysterically in private interiors of my room,
when a cluster of school mates harmlessly plucked a
few,
I was obsessed with the concept of evergreen hair
growth,
slept all night with tight fitted shower cap clinging
to my garden of hair.

Those whirlwind days of youth had now faded,
unwanted vigils of old age had crept in at amazing
speeds,
bald patches of skin now sparkled in sunlight,
resembled rich quality pure wax in pearly light of the
moon,
the hair which once inhabited my scalp,
now lay dumped, perhaps under stagnant waters of the
city sewer,
repetitive attempts of washing,
scrubbing, oiling, applying medicinal balm had
proven futile,
I had finally succumbed to the tyranny of fate,
nevertheless I still had fluffy fibers of ant red
hair,
which neither budged nor moved an inch,
projecting pompously from the artificial
plastic of my whisky complexioned wig.
 
Nikhil Parekh

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  83.     

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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  84.     

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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Poems On / About HAIR