Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 176 (Hairy Poems)

This morning, I shaved my head. It’s something I have to do frequently in this Georgia heat (definitely not in Ohio anymore). So with less hair on my head, it didn’t take me long to think up this morning’s prompt…

For this week’s prompt, write hairy poems. The poem can be devoted to hair (or a hairstyle), or it can just work a moustache in here and a mullet in there. I’ll be disappointed if there aren’t any poems about leg hair and bearded ladies.

Here’s my attempt at a hairy poem:

“To Shave and Shave Not”

In only minutes, a head covered in hair
suddenly wasn’t. My head, now much cooler,
won’t overheat, though it’ll burn easier,
and as I run my fingers over where hair
used to be, I realize that I’ve missed a spot.


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241 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 176 (Hairy Poems)

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    by juanita lewison-snyder

    each time i braid,
    i can feel my mother’s invisible hands
    upon the nape of my neck,
    smoothing and tugging
    smoothing and tugging,
    taking great care to lay the strands
    strategically overtop one another
    like lincoln logs forming
    a railroad trestle, the bun
    of which encircles itself,
    becoming the mouth of
    a long, winding, dark,

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. AC Leming

    Though of one last night, but of course I didn’t get up to write it…

    No one warns you that, 
    come a certain age, grey hair 
    shows up everywhere.  Everywhere.

  3. tunesmiff

    I believe I’ll let this one “speak” for itself…

    (c) 2012 – G. Smith (BMI)
    He’s a good ol’ fellah,
    Asleep on the floor,
    Waitin’ for Mama to
    Come through the door.
    So happy to see her,
    He finds her a ball,
    Dancing and wagging his
    Tail in the hall.

    If she goes to the kitchen,
    He’s right on her heel,
    Half underfoot while
    She’s fixin’ a meal.
    He’ll curl up beside her
    Till it’s time for bed,
    Then he’ll head back alone
    With no word being said.

    He likes chewing up,
    An old pair of socks,
    And he’ll gnaw on a bone
    Or sometimes a rock;
    I can’t believe all the hair everywhere;
    Under tables and TV and sofa and chairs.

    He lies in the sunshine,
    He lies lies in the shade,
    He’s the dictionary picture
    Of having it made.
    He barks when he oughtta,
    He’s got a big dog’s deep throat,
    And he don’t give a lick
    About this song that I wrote.

    He’s a good old fella,
    He sleeps on the floor,
    Waitin’ on Mama
    To come through the door.


  4. Marjory MT

    Have had little time to read and comment, but what I have read is great. Hope to be back to enjoy and comment later. Desided to do little hairy bits while using different poem forms.


    Two brothers now grown
    One head sports mass of thick curls
    Number two is bald.


    Side by side, boy and girl sit in class
    she hopes he does not think her too brash
    laugh, talk with no cares
    then he stops and stares
    loudly exclaiming, “You have a mustache.”

    A dark haired beauty of a lass
    Whom he adored from first sight
    –He watched if she should pass
    A dark haired beauty of a lass
    –he’s too shy to make a pass
    –still he dreamed of her each night
    A dark haired beauty of a lass
    Whom he adored from first sight.

    —Mind’s only its own
    Varied color, straight or curl
    Something most folks have
    Sprouts where’er it so chooses
    Or sprouts not to make some bald.

    —A wee lass sports a
    beautiful head of dark hair
    with waves and curls that
    her mom combed, braided and tied
    until that day of scissors.

  5. Khara H.

    To my kitchen

    My hair has a kitchen, and it’s a hot mess.
    Lord, how I wish for a comb like the whip for Elijah’s
    chariot, one hot with fire yet soothing for the soul.
    Still the stove in my kitchen needs a good scrub down,
    a good soak and gristle cleanse, burnt fresh
    in momma’s refining fire. But, dear Lord, don’t I love it
    natural–this kink and kiss of curls collecting rusty hues
    and wild as lion breath breathed through the Savannah
    heat. My hair has a kitchen, yes, but Lord,
    ain’t it wild as the Serengeti.

  6. Bruce Niedt

    Spring, After

    He stands at the morning window,
    coffee cup in hand, and notices
    the crocuses have poked through
    a dusting of snow in the garden.

    So this spring will begin without her –
    his grief has settled into a kind of stillness,
    no longer a massive clatter of fear and anger
    that banged in his ears all winter
    and froze him to the marrow.
    Her body kept its secret too long,
    and by the time they found the disease,
    it had spread through her hips and beyond.

    He always thought she was beautiful,
    even when she had lost all her long red hair.
    Perhaps I’ll keep some in the drawer,
    he had teased. So you’ll still have some
    even if it doesn’t grow back.

    Soon, the tulips she planted by the driveway
    will come up, in all their colors –
    pink, yellow, and especially that fiery red.
    He opens a drawer, pulls out a lock of hair,
    and thinks about all the flowers this spring
    that will remind him of her.

    1. Bruce Niedt

      I forgot to mention that this poem was also written in response to the “Wordle” prompt in the Sunday Whirl blog. I used all thirteen words from the word-bank prompt: window, hand, crocuses, grief, stillness, massive, clatter, marrow, secret, hips, perhaps, colors, flower.

  7. uneven steven


    This mammalian passcode
    something like feathers
    that a little girl
    puts up with
    a band
    epoch after epoch
    declaring we’re all
    hotblooded, hotblooded
    no egg laying for me
    descended scrotum, 95.3
    so cool
    the smug swinging
    dreaming of handlebar
    raised lighters swaying
    to the hairy
    stardust reunion band
    playing the same encore,
    encore, again and again,
    knowing the bored bar owner
    mother who keeps checking her watch
    is just waiting
    for the next big thing
    to take the stage.

  8. RASlater

    Double Standard

    Have you ever noticed
    Something unfair about our lives
    That what a guy can do
    A lady just cannot
    I like not the look
    But I love the feel…
    …of my hands running over the stubs
    …of the wind whistling around my ears
    …of my lovers hands as he caresses
    …of not being overheated
    I love the freedom
    …of being able to wash and go
    …of not getting long hair caught and pulled
    …of not being a slave to fashion
    …of being me
    Yet I know not what is worse
    The looks that I get
    Or the looks that dart away
    As though I had the plague
    It is just hair
    It does not define who I am
    And will grow back
    And be in my way before you know it
    I don’t know why people feel so threatened
    By something I chose for myself
    That hurts no one, not even me!

    I started ‘shaving’ my head last summer, and did it again just this past weekend. Loving it! you’d think by some people’s reactions that I was asking them to do it as well! lol!

  9. DanielAri

    For the fuzz

    Now that it’s refused me, I’ll refuse hair.
    That’s how I decided twelve years ago
    to strip my head razor-clear and take air,
    snow and sight without the diplomacy
    of coiffure. Know my mind, world. It is here.

    Since the divorce, my do has kept a low
    profile, though I spot it on the fringes
    at times. It has never regained the glow
    it had when my follicles were engines,
    the sex machines of our honeymoon years.

    Me, I’m okay, though, sure, I get twinges
    when I see some full-headed man, recall
    Burning Man. You were my shock of orange.
    At 22, we pulled a ponytail.
    How could I ever have cursed my Jewfro?

    I was young and could complain my gall out
    without recognizing there’d be fall out.

  10. claudsy

    Fame or Folly

    Samson gained strength
    From locks famed by all,
    Little knowing the price
    Would cost more than
    Any would suspect.
    Godiva hid behind tresses,
    Studied and flaunted
    Before those who would gawk,
    Whispering as she rode
    Toward her fate dire.
    Whether Chinamen’s
    Pigtails or little girls’ pride,
    Hair’s a temptation for
    Scissors everywhere.

  11. PSC in CT

    Hope to return later to read & comment. For now, here’s my “drive-by” posting — this poem was inspired by two separate prompts:

    1: Poetic Asides: a Hairy poem (In this instance – a “Hairy Situation, Still Shedding”)
    2: Poetic Bloomings: Enough is Enough (Which is how I feel about this “Hairy Situation”)

    Grudges to Graves

    Tale of old times: dissenting views, two
    too stubborn for discourse, dialogue
    sporting myopic opinions
    disagreement sparks dispute
    descends to squabble, bicker, brawl
    word gauntlets thrown, seconds chosen,
    family feud ensues, lingers, loiters
    Albatross animosity remains
    wounds won’t scar
    blood still seeps
    into eternity

    * * *

  12. teagore


    On Congress Street a bell tinkles
    The door opens hesitantly
    Revealing a wall of bodiless heads
    A rainbow of human hair
    Sunflower, Copper Shimmer, Midnight Black
    Sales tags dangling from Styrofoam ears

    You want try?
    Trills the Chinese lady
    Sorting scarves behind her counter
    The woman in the pink cap nods
    Fingers silky black beaded braids
    Pats a frizzed ash blond bob
    She squints at the labels on the glass shelves
    Cher, Marilyn, Jackie O

    In front of the chipped mirror
    She removes her cotton cap
    Exposing unrelenting pink scalp
    A strawberry mark on her neck
    Previously hidden by a thick, black ponytail
    What you like? Coos the Chinese lady
    The woman sits up straight
    Wraps large sunglasses around her bald head
    Jackie O, of course

  13. Dyson McIllwain

    May 26, 1969: Montreal

    All we were saying
    was give it a chance.
    Romance had lead us
    to this place for the
    sake of the human race.
    Newlywedded and bedded
    for the cause, to applause
    (and guffaws) not all
    understood, but our message
    was good. War is over,
    if you want it. Two virgins;
    a different version of a love-in.
    It begins in bed, and goes to their
    heads instead, growing it
    for peace. Hair Peace.
    All we are saying;
    give “it” a chance!

    Saturday is the 43rd Anniversary of a splendid plan, with or without the man!

  14. Nancy Posey


    Long after the clearing widened from the tip of your pate
    to the whole wide expanse, leaving a distinguished void
    I rub with genuine affection, I discover follicles erupting,
    stiff bristles stubbornly appearing overnight from ears,
    from nostrils, just outside your peripheral vision.

    Where once, in younger days, we snuggled on the sofa
    smooching, now I perch beside your La-Z-Boy,
    tweezers in hand, my grooming ritual, another midlife
    courting dance, another way to show my love.

  15. Lynn Burton

    A Hairy Situation

    As predicaments go, he stewed
    over the obnoxious and lewd
    comments carelessly thrown his way,
    biding time as the feud
    collides with big egos and ‘tude.
    He wonders, leave or stay?

  16. PowerUnit

    Leo snips, and pauses
    No hurry, another busy Saturday morning
    The girls cut the kids’ hair, it’s written in his verbal contract.
    Another snip, and a question about what you do for work, even though
    you’ve been coming here once a month for twenty years.

    The hair on the floor is too clean, he says
    You can’t lay it under the shrubs to keep the deer away.
    It smells like shampoo and hair gel, not like a person, anymore.
    It’s a shame the owner’s son is too old to want to clean up the cuttings.
    It’s a shame Leo is too old to clean up his own cuttings.

    The men line up and wait, patiently
    reading the morning paper
    and antique car magazines
    while children play on the floor
    The old woodstove watches silently
    as he has since the day
    the barber shop opened, long before
    he was retired for electric heat.

    It starts to rain outside
    and we discuss the election, and the hockey playoffs
    and his latest project around the house, the same fence
    he was building last month, and the month before.
    It’s hard to build fences when your Saturdays are spent
    working for just enough money to keep your car on the road,
    but Leo smiles, and he laughes,
    and he makes you feel like you belong
    in his barber shop.

  17. cstewart


    Sunglasses for the eyebrows,
    Thick or thin, wafting or blunt and short,
    Pulled to the side, held by the ear or headband,
    One side? Attitude. You lookin’ at me?
    These hairs exist to speak to the brows
    (And look down at or over the eyelashes)
    But their intention is to shade the brows –
    With cool impudence.

  18. seingraham

    Crowning Glories

    Women and girls learn
    From very early on
    That there are many
    Things about themselves
    For which they can be made
    To feel less than, or badly

    They may be too fat
    Too thin, too short, too tall
    Not fashionable enough
    Too athletic or not enough
    Way too shy or way too friendly

    Now the luckiest of those
    Of the feminine set, ride out
    These years with help from home
    Or great teachers or some innate
    Knowledge that someday
    It will all be fine

    But the one thing they all seem
    To yearn for through everything
    Is a wonderful head of hair
    And no matter what
    There are just some who are never
    Destined to have one

    And it never changes
    No matter how secure the woman
    If she is denied that one thing—
    Hair that people admire
    Hair to die for
    Hair that is indeed
    Her crowning glory
    She is never really, good enough


  19. Ber

    Hairy Tales

    Long ones
    Short ones
    Stubble on the face
    Bum fluff
    Baby boys
    Feeling out of place

    Arm pits underneath
    Filled with gruesome hair
    No don’t look it is growing every where
    Like pine needles startled
    Forrest underneath

    Oh no to warm need air now
    Oh short sleeves they will do
    Maybe a nice dress would work
    Oh no may shave there now too

    There is always one that peeps out
    To kick you when your down
    It is like it waving at you
    It is long hairy and brown

    Waxing and shaving every where
    Hours spent alone on this
    Tweezers at the ready
    Don’t try this when your …..drunk

    Red face chin eyes weeping tears
    Torn dry skin
    God those are large over grown hairs
    Leave them long enough
    And you will need a garden shears


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