This page is specially prepared for hair poems. You can reach newest and popular hair poems from this page. You can vote and comment on the hair poems you read.
I Saw Him
I saw him leaning on a tree
Wine shirt blue jean
Perfectly shaped hair perky lips
He smelled like Prince charming in my fairy tale
As I went walking up and down to take the evening air,
(Sweet to meet upon the street, why must I be so shy?)
I saw him lay his hand upon her torn black hair;
(”Little dirty Latin child, let the lady by!”)
Edna St. Vincent Millay
The room is full of you!-As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!-
Edna St. Vincent Millay
WHEN night drifts along the streets of the city,
And sifts down between the uneven roofs,
My mind begins to peek and peer.
It plays at ball in old, blue Chinese gardens,
What Wor It?
What wor it made me love thee, lass?
Aw connot tell;
Aw know it worn't for thi brass; -
Tho' poor misel
Her baby was so full of glee,
And through the day
It laughed and babbled on her knee
In happy play.
Love Lies Bleeding
You call it, "Love lies bleeding," so you may,
Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops,
As we have seen it here from day to day,
From month to month, life passing not away:
Truth went forth on a search one day
I For the source of love that he might say
He had found its depth and its breadth for aye.
Edgar Albert Guest
He came without an invitation
Lying under the stairs
As if waiting for my permission
Was scared and cold the first time I took him in hand.
Late October Woods
Clumped in the shadow of the beech,
In whose brown top the crows are loud,
Where, every side, great briers reach
And cling like hands, the beechdrops crowd
Madison Julius Cawein
Again want to enjoy all these views
B/c now realized how precious chilhood is.
Again want to be child
Turned to a monster
But not a boaster
With one look
You turn to stone
He resembles! He resembles quite like him.
The first day i light my sight on him, i can explicitly see 'him'.
Of late I have begun to feel a hunger
To take in with greed, like a forest fire that
Consumes and with each killing gains a wilder,
Brighter charm, all that comes my way. Bald child in
Cinderella in the street
In a ragged gown,
Sloven slippers on her feet,
Shames our tidy town;
“Jessie, Jessie Cameron,
Hear me but this once,” quoth he.
“Good luck go with you, neighbor's son,
But I'm no mate for you,” quoth she.
Note To Dad
There is a new one called Bob, or is it Rob.
His face is round just like a door knob.
He has a mop of hair that looks like a mob.
Although he is not, he acts like a snob.
The Sunshine Cat
They did this to her, the men who know her, the man
She loved, who loved her not enough, being selfish
And a coward, the husband who neither loved nor
Used her, but was a ruthless watcher, and the band
A raven, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And, on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted
Say, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil,
With Violet blue;
Since you have seen the beauty of my saint,
And eke her view;
Addressed to Francis Greenleaf Allison of Burlington, New Jersey.
You scarcely need my tardy thanks,
Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend--
John Greenleaf Whittier
The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,
And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.
But everybody said, 'Watch out, that's Tiger Man McCool.
He's had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.
A fool there was and he made his prayer
(Even as you and I!)
To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair
(We called her the woman who did not care),
She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is wound in mine,
She has the form of my hands,
She has the colour of my eyes,
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
Helen In Egypt
Helen herself seems almost ready for this sacrifice
-at least, for the immolation of
herself before this greatest love of Achilles,
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
As drear and barren as the glooms of Death,
It lies, a windless land of livid dawns,
Nude to a desolate firmament, with hills
That seem the gibbous bones of the mummied Earth,
Clark Ashton Smith