TWO POEMS ABOUT HAIR
Here are two poems. I wrote the first, and shared with a friend.
She responded the next day with one of the funniest poems I've ever read. I think they go great together, I asked permission to share with others. She said "Sure" and so, without further ado, are two poems about HAIR!
TWO POEMS ABOUT HAIR
MINOXYDIL? I THINK I WILL
Oh, the men of my blood have an honored tradition
and sadly, I join in the latest edition.
And that family rite is an oft-stated prayer
that we leave this world with a full head of hair.
Now, the sight of Heaven fills me with unease,
for all of the Blessed have hair down to their knees.
And I AM a tad worried 'bout the spiritual angle
Since I've never encountered a bald-headed angel.
Perhaps our admittance will not be allowed
unless we be kin to the Fabio crowd.
The men of our clan have always been smart
(or crooked, which in itself is an art).
And I just assumed that the Good Lord did trade
a Lofty IQ for an untousled head.
So I had hoped, that since I'm such a goof,
I might keep some hair 'pon my cranial roof.
And, yet, I too suffer familial pain,
as I watch my sweet locks clog up my drain.
Therefore I continue the family tradition
and voice our prayer in it's latest rendition;
That I leave this world of sadness and sin
with a little more hair than I had coming in.
Philip Taggart
8-98
JUST SAY NO TO RUGS
Fret not, my feebly follicled friend...
To lose one's locks is not the end.
In fact it can be quite a blessing
To shed one's cranial window-dressing.
Think of all the dollars and cents
Wasted on hair maintenance.
Then think of all the subtle slander
Aimed at hair with ire and (!) dander.
Think of how, when something's scary
People always call it "hairy"--
When's the last time someone called
A nightmare creature big and bald?
Things go wrong, it's a "bad hair day."
Wouldn't it be quite a rare day
If we blamed our sorry fate
Upon a shining hairless pate?
Always in this hirsute world
Atrocities have made hair "curled"
Anxieties have made hair gray
Old age has made hair go away---
The scalp alone remains unfazed
And never changes once it's razed.
So love your head, now shinier, clearer--
Let it double as a mirror!
And next time that you think you wish ya'
Could be cured of alopecia
Put away that foam, that pill
That bottle of minoxodyl.
Throw away that jar of Rogaine--
Using it will bring you NO gain.
Learn to love things nature's way---
Otherwise, there's hell toupee.
c. Wiseowleye (rorianne schrade, shared with permission)
She responded the next day with one of the funniest poems I've ever read. I think they go great together, I asked permission to share with others. She said "Sure" and so, without further ado, are two poems about HAIR!
TWO POEMS ABOUT HAIR
MINOXYDIL? I THINK I WILL
Oh, the men of my blood have an honored tradition
and sadly, I join in the latest edition.
And that family rite is an oft-stated prayer
that we leave this world with a full head of hair.
Now, the sight of Heaven fills me with unease,
for all of the Blessed have hair down to their knees.
And I AM a tad worried 'bout the spiritual angle
Since I've never encountered a bald-headed angel.
Perhaps our admittance will not be allowed
unless we be kin to the Fabio crowd.
The men of our clan have always been smart
(or crooked, which in itself is an art).
And I just assumed that the Good Lord did trade
a Lofty IQ for an untousled head.
So I had hoped, that since I'm such a goof,
I might keep some hair 'pon my cranial roof.
And, yet, I too suffer familial pain,
as I watch my sweet locks clog up my drain.
Therefore I continue the family tradition
and voice our prayer in it's latest rendition;
That I leave this world of sadness and sin
with a little more hair than I had coming in.
Philip Taggart
8-98
JUST SAY NO TO RUGS
Fret not, my feebly follicled friend...
To lose one's locks is not the end.
In fact it can be quite a blessing
To shed one's cranial window-dressing.
Think of all the dollars and cents
Wasted on hair maintenance.
Then think of all the subtle slander
Aimed at hair with ire and (!) dander.
Think of how, when something's scary
People always call it "hairy"--
When's the last time someone called
A nightmare creature big and bald?
Things go wrong, it's a "bad hair day."
Wouldn't it be quite a rare day
If we blamed our sorry fate
Upon a shining hairless pate?
Always in this hirsute world
Atrocities have made hair "curled"
Anxieties have made hair gray
Old age has made hair go away---
The scalp alone remains unfazed
And never changes once it's razed.
So love your head, now shinier, clearer--
Let it double as a mirror!
And next time that you think you wish ya'
Could be cured of alopecia
Put away that foam, that pill
That bottle of minoxodyl.
Throw away that jar of Rogaine--
Using it will bring you NO gain.
Learn to love things nature's way---
Otherwise, there's hell toupee.
c. Wiseowleye (rorianne schrade, shared with permission)