Sunday, December 28, 2008

Today's Poem Seed: Hair

Write something about hair. Any kind of hair; your own or another person's. Questions to ponder: What does it feel like to cut your hair short? To grow it long? To shave it off? To leave it unwashed and neglected for days? To color it bright or dark? What are you trying to tell the world with your hair? Maybe you remember brushing your mother's hair as a child...or your mother putting your hair up in tight braids...or your hair being yanked or caught in something or tangled up with gum. Whose hair do you remember the feel of, the smell of, the color of? What kind of hair did you always want? What is the worse thing you have ever done to your hair?

Post your poems in the comments section. I'm looking forward to reading your stories!


The Good Typist said...

Cutting Off All of My Hair

This negation a negotiation
between see and be seen. Unseemly
as a woman--
these untouchable edges;
this aerodynamic vim.
After all, the fantasy
is about the trouble you go to for them:
all that washing and brushing
and making touchable.
Now here it all is, on the floor.
Are you floored?
Dry waste going to waste
no longer
unraveling down my waist.
Nothing left to hang over you
and swing softly,
Nothing to curtain my smouldering shoulders,
just my head skin feeling air again;
my whole head a bird, it's feathers
packed tight over skin, poised
for a takeoff.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Long hair
long enough to cover breast
should I find myself
from the shower
to ancient Rome
(where I would be put to death
for my obvious Celtic ancestry
and my pigeon Latin).

I had a mohawk once, spiked
with shaved sides.
Now the only bit shaved
is an inch square
above the spine
because she likes to feel
her influence, untangled.

The Good Typist said...

Thank you, Leatherdykeuk! I really enjoyed your poem. I love the idea of being teleported from the shower to some ancient land...although not so much being put to death. Nor being naked when I get there. ;)

Ex Libris Laura said...

A Butcher's Tail

Top Ramen
Upon my noggin
Won't you please
Come down?

Are you mad at me
We're sad to see
A death of death
My golden crown

No shield a cost
Soft blanket lost
Naked flesh
Expected frown

Thus I wait
Unknown fate
Yet hope remains
Long, shinning gown.