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Poems On / About HAIR  10/7/2015 10:42:27 AM
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The Final Fall

You know that feeling you get when you stand at a roof top and look down. That feeling of complete sanity and of course the wind in your hair, the feeling of final freedom and peace in the soul. It’s not many people how gets that in their last moments of life. But how Sais that that’s not the way you feel when you’re dead, I certainly don't, do you? the causation is maybe not if you chose death to avoid life, or if you choose death because you think that whatever is on the other side might be worth it, I don't believe in sad stories and horrible endings, even if I sais so. But the reason why I don't cry at funerals is because I know that when we are ready to feel that freedom and peace, we do and then we are in a better place. The reason I choose to live is because I’m not free, I’ve never felt the ultimate high or the wind running through my hair as I fall throw the air and see the black ground below, I’m not free to leave yet. But I understand if you are my love, and I will find you sooner or later. I love you
Joanna Hale Macalle

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My Angel

met angel one sunny morning in early autumn. Her hair was long and her eyes blue as the sky above. Her hair was dark brown like the southern walnut trees that lined the Tennessee River bank. She took my hand and said do not have any fear my child. We walked through the calm and still valley like two friends who had met before. The leaves were falling and the rivers had paved a new course. Another summer had passed and another year was going to close. She talks softly and she spoke peace and happiness. She told me about life and why the world is the way it is. We sat on the shore like two strangers but as the sunset we grew close and found that we more than friends. We gazed out over the ocean and watched the ships sail like they have done since man had started time. I remember that night like it was yesterday and still to this day I can see in the sky smiling and watching over me. They say everybody has angel and well this how image mine watching over me and guiding me through life
joe hirsch

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One night in his sleep, a man had a vision of two kings. The first king, to his left, appeared not heavy, yet not thin. Seated at his throne and in a souls expression. He had a full head of dark hair with a neatly trimmed mustache and beard, touched with streaks of gray. His eyelids were heavy and his stare was not able to come and meet another's eyes. He wore a dark satin shirt, a leather vest studded with silver and gems, and a crown of gold with large jewels. He sat not so relaxed, his head pitched just a minute forward. At his feet an open treasure chest. It was filled and pouring over with gold coins, gems, deeds and more. The second king, to his right, appeared slightly heavier, older and wiser. Seated back, content and self assured. Wrapped in a pale soft cotton robe. He had longer slightly thinning gray and white hair, a flowing beard and mustache all freely expressed. His head leaned ever so slightly back, his eyes gleamed as they seemed to see all and at once,. On his head, shoulders, lap, and all around his feet and chair were animals of all sorts in harmony and snuggling to him. When the man awakened that morning, in recollection, hugging his family, he realized that he always had at hand, all that is true, all that is alive, and all that matters.
Michael J. Rogers

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Read more: hair poems, family poems, dark poems, silver poems, sleep poems, night poems, animal poems




It binds us, surrounds us, reminds us, denies us, the shades are many like grains of sand on the beach. Like a rainbow, displaying countless colors. Hey Nigger, Cracker, Wetback, Gook, Guido. There are as many profiles and stereotypes as they are spectrum of colors. Ignorance is bliss. It takes courage and intelligence to see the world through my eyes. Who are you to judge me? What’s my birth name? Do you know? Do you even care? My point exactly! ! Nigger! ! That’s right, don’t get twisted, a Nigger comes in all types of colors. Where do I fit in the bell curve? That's nonsense, how can that be? How can the color of my skin determine my fate? Curly, straight, nappy, good hair, bad hair what's this all about? Comb or pick choose your weapon, like I had something to do with it.
How would my life be without color? What is color other than an adjective describing a noun? Does color simply describe an object or person, or is there more to it? I don't know I'm just asking because it seems to get a lot of attention. Color, it may bind us, surrounds us, reminds us, denies us, but does not define us.
Craig Fieldings

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Poems On / About HAIR