"grooming" poems
In front of the mirror doing my hair,
It’s all in the prep work, don’t despair,
Soon be time for the big event,
all this grooming is time well spent,
walk like a robot, keep a straight face,
don’t want a single hair out of place,
grab the phone, yes this is the spot,
set it all up for the perfect shot,
try to look natural, find the right pose,
hide the blemish that’s on my nose,
impossible angles, arm muscles ache,
the phone in my hand is starting to shake,
follow the light, keep stumbling back,
I think I’m having a panic attack,
all this stress is really no fun,
but a click of the button and the deed is done !
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn
His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him
As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury
But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home
He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway
Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes
Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned feet
He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death
The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey
Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe
But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways
Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night
But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness
He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light
His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers
He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself
Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Hazy half-light mornings interspersed with giddy sleep
Silent showers and quick grooming
Breakfast maybe, chores and work and walking in my slippers.
Afternoons tense with labor and stress
Broken up by slow-falling meditative mind rain
And usually Fall Out Boy in my ears.
Quickdark evenings.
No light.
Demons aren't occupied with being scared of being burned.
Staying up until god only knows and then some
Laying in the dark and feeling panic
Ice bones, fire veins, a noose around my throat
And not even in a **** way.
Shaking, teeth chatter, eyes roll, spin, turn, off the bed.
Sit on the floor. Lay down. Room's spinning.
Stumble to the dresser.
Grab the cure.
Illegal cure, no one knows anymore.
Dulled by use, old when taken, press harder.
Crimson bubbles, drips, rolls and stains.
Demons lap it up, whisper thanks, leave.
Sun comes up, lay in the half light.
Fall asleep giddy with pain.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
When I was small
I had a favorite game
A game only girls loved to play
Paper dolls, pretty paper dolls....
My sister Sara dressed the paper dolls nicely
Elegantly dressed, pretty dolls...
and we loved to style them our ways...
We got bored easily and Sara begged me to buy more dolls...
I used my childish charm to get a rupee or two
My grand papa joked about our paper dolls
"no saree wearing dolls"? " no chapati making dolls"?
" No parantha making dolls?
and both of us replied.... " ohhhh.... shut up grandpapa"
When we grew up a little,
My sister and I were sent to a boarding school.
It was all girls school
and we were taught grooming, social etiquette
and how to be a lady...prim and proper
Dressed smartly, talked only when necessary
and sat up neatly, no head turns..
No giggling... only smile delicately
No tantrums or emotional plays...
just be poised... controlled.. poised and controlled...
Of course
We were not allowed to play paper dolls anymore
After awhile I hated the school...
Told my sister..... They were turning us
into paper dolls...
Paper dolls have no say...
They only follow.. They are puppets
Remember paper dolls we used to play?
All pretty in the outside but there is no life
to breathe....
Suffocated i felt here.....all I wanted to do is flee
Sis, cmon this is certainly not us... let's flee
WE SAID GOODBYE TO OUR BED AND WE DID RUN....
We managed to be who we wanted to be in the end
to live in real world, be with real people
given a freedom to choose what we wanted to do
with life...
We enjoy our life not the traditional way anymore
Have career and still we dressed nicely and elegantly
We are real people...
Unlike the paper dolls , who only look poise and beautiful..
but inside they are freezing.... lifeless....paper dolls..
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
it’s confusing to me
and maybe this is where
the grooming,
psychological abusing
comes from.
i’m used and discarded,
tossed into the recycling bin
until i’m reused again.
and again.
every time making me
a little weaker
than the time before.
a little less able to refuse.
a little easier to bend,
to break.
the lack of permanency
in the place i long for,
the place in which
i never got to stay for long,
only to be hauled away and
returned upon further notice.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 7:00 AM UTC
False prophet.
Web of lies.
Preying, grooming, seducing and sustaining
with the delusions of your own mind.
Grooming.
Grooming.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Sweeping past the lineroom yards
With a long hand held broomstick
Malayandi was a daily sight,
A hard and indelible insight
His quiet mouth a taco
Betel leaf and tobacco
The sweet red rose scent
Animate his hands to accent
Rhythms in the dirt puddle
strokes of savage broom
Frolic along sewage groom
Gargle alongside marbles
Rake up ripple giggles
Babbling bubbles fling
Driving mild stink flakes
To spread morning
Knit into a dead neat serenity.
On festival seasons vacations
Instead of grooming the vassal
comes blooming with big vessels
Collects cooked food in measures
From each and every homestead
People pour in quiet leisure
Rice in a *** of metal
Curry in another kettle
Filled with reverence and pleasure
His heart is brimming sure
All different kitchen meals
In a single container appeals
All children of the same ranch
With many a range
of community
A bonehomie of unity
The children heard
from their friend his daughter
They'd preserved
All those food in cold water
And all the while
They'd eat from it too
This collected meal
for a week or two
This made the children to
look up at them
With same respect due to
a national anthem
Are they more advanced?
With knowledge enhanced
In matters of life and cleanliness?
Malayandi was unaware
That his humble duty covered
Sweeping as well grooming
The children's hearts
With arts of rare sensibility.
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
mid-day showers
i'm grooming myself for another girl
as sweet as fourth of july pie
but i always preferred the fireworks
now you're a notion in my head
a hologram of scenarios that never even occurred
i haven't cried in twelve months
or wrote a poem since april
but still when i put pen to paper
the words have your taste all over them
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
heavy head, ****** and tired sleep echoes through my corridor head. love, a treasure, buried deep within my x-marked chest; i stuck blades of grass in a picture frame, because everything else went away: like the cleaning lady outside my door, vacuum like a pet dog, pawing at carpet, grooming it with its soft, snuffly nose. mess cleaned and she went away. vacuum like a pet dog, hip-hugging, man's best friend.
lines in the bathroom, lines out the back. waiting and shaking with a crazy laugh filled with warmth like a smile radiating from my muscles. powder leaves the plastic surface, like the cleanin lady outside my door, and her sniffling, snuffling vacuum-dog. ****** into a ten dollar bill, with a whimper and a sigh, the pup hops away with its owner, the cleaning lady off to brush along some other fool's corridors.
on the cold steel, the train slows down, a mile out from the station. up hill, down hill, steam choking carriage, searching for thrill in the click clack, crazy rails of a cool powder train. in the bathroom crushing pills to get you up hill, down hill, with a steam choked carriage and that cleaning lady outside my door, she brought that dog, and he was barking real loud, makin' a fool out of me, in the bathroom of that click clack, crazy powder train. hands scritch' scratchin' on the white sheets, until in a moment, it all crumbles to dust, ridin' on the wind's back, leaving like they all do, like the cleaning lady outside my door, and that pet vacuum-dog of hers.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
*Expletives are explored
Requisites are implored
Grooming artificial intelligence!*
Bharti
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
we leave by passing through.
by outlasting
roots.
by grooming deep runes
like arabian
horses....
mountainous [ pontoons ]
spine crack
liqueur
of soft doom
and true Orchids...
the ******** aftermath of covenants
at half mast
a limp flag of jolly rogers
pettifogging
dull noggins.
we pass through, phantom roosters
ante-Bantam
in the Bedlam....
Conscience
Chauntecleer
as
Opaque.
our blood has new boots
and now our hearts
can Mussolini
{ you strangle The Headless Horseman; as i lust for your Ichabod }
no cranes.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
*at night you can spot him strolling the pavement,
the modern archimedes, with a bottle of bavaria beer,
using his cigarette lighter to detail the bottle cap
with one smooth use of leverage, as taught
by paul the ex-convict, the hopeful dub-step d.j.*
the 19th century had its pan-slavism,
but given there’s a union between the germanic people
and slavic people while mama siberia is
left behind freezing,
outside with the big bad wolves and bears -
having exported serious existential literature
of doom and grooming gloom to scandinavia,
the balkan slavs still uncertain, rejected in favour
of the bulgars and the romanians,
i can mention the northern slavic trans-slavism,
not quiet trans-gender, such a linguistic surgery of the soul
requires little details like:
my point was proved about the up-turned nose in england
concerning public intellectuals... they do great cornish pastry
and music anyway, let the french do the thinking
and find joy in it -
plus reading philosophy books
in english is like pulling your teeth out, standing in a bucket of
ice cold water with someone setting fire to your hair.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
*He said she was special...
*He told her she was pretty too.*
He wants to let go,
Of history and start anew.*
But she can't see,
Through his screen,
Into his life,
And his thoughts unseen.
She was naive,
Young, and stupid,
Didn't understand,
The concept of grooming.*
Now she has no trust,
In others or herself,
Because of that one man,*
Feeding off her health.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
Perfect body proportions
Totally magazine hot.
Two percent body fat.
Bone structure of a god.
An hour workout daily
Jogging or the gym.
Specimen of health
Neither fat nor slim.
A high-dollar hairstyle
Nothing out of place.
The finest of products
Moisturizing the face.
Clothes from the proper
Stores with the right names.
Never take a chance on
Discount shopping games.
And, don’t forget the shoes
They have to be just right.
One set of shoes for daytime
And another for the night.
Not just any socks, either.
They must be picked with care.
You can’t be caught with
The wrong socks out somewhere.
Once the apparel is suitable
The grooming done just right
It’s quite all right to be seen
In public, day and night.
Otherwise the right people
Might trigger your worst fears
By thinking you were shopping
At Walmart, Kmart and Sears.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
What's up?
Nothing much just a visualized image of a homicide.
Sometimes the mind wonders around thinking of someones death.
Imagining grey matter splatter across 4 walls, out of the 4 walls of your bedroom.
Your pet cat is fine and seems unmoved as it sits grooming.
Sometimes this event occurs because hopefully you've fallen onto hard times with ****
Other times it's just the usual thing, wrong place wrong time.
It's kind of a game of cat and mouse; the only thing Jerry is that my dreams don't come out as a cartoon.
Sometimes the process of muscle and bone twinges leave a sweet rhythmatic tune.
But the one I like the best is when you pay for your own suicide, it's only worth a dime.
The insides pool and leave such provocative tinges.
Your new found beauty is the only thing that can make me cringe.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
Imagine grass,
tall bright green grass.
Each individual blade,
Swaying freely in everlasting fields.
Harmonious, peaceful, simple.
Now imagine,
a lawnmower,
loud,
demanding,
ruthless.
cutting down,
grooming,
and controlling the grass.
No more does it sway freely.
Religion is my lawnmower.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
from the ripe age
of 8 years young
i found myself with
too much access
to a dangerous place
where scary men lurk
to steal little girls like me
"you're beautiful," they'd say
"i love you"
"if you leave i will **** myself"
grooming me like a
villain's lapcat
luring me into a
fake love so that i may
be violated over and over again
conditioned to be a victim
of manipulative animals
who treat me, a child,
like a lover
"i've always liked younger girls,"
my brainwashed mind
blushing at the idea
that someone, somewhere
thought i was worthy of "love"
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 2:46 PM UTC
1
If unicorns were real
I can’t imagine much would change
I might own one
Get high on the finely chopped fibers of fur
Collected from his grooming
And when girls ask me how I came to be so sweet
I’d tell them how I was ***** once by my unicorn
How some sorts of sticky sweetness haunt your soul forever
2
In the second grade
I swore I had dinosaurs living in my backyard
This is after I swore that I actually had a backyard
Never mind the hand-me-down t-shirts
So big I often exposed a boney shoulder
I had the strangest tan lines then
3
Under my bed was a cave
Where the boogeyman taught me
I should be more afraid of my father’s feet at the entrance
And less afraid of things I could not see
In the shifting dark I could have been anywhere
Anywhere was somewhere
My father’s claws could still not get me
4
For the longest time I thought my grandmother’s ghost
Haunted me
I’d often wake to the smell of her musty home
Mixed with her perfume
and the sweet scent of the soft earth she often tended
Until one day I didn’t notice her anymore
Ghosts are the parts of the people we miss
When our stupid brains are still learning how to deal with loss
I’d like to say that once I finally stopped missing her
She was free to leave earth for heaven
I don’t believe in heaven
5
If god were real
And I could live forever by his side
I would still break everything
From bones to hearts
Because I can’t live for tomorrow
I need to live for today
6
As a man
I still tell stories in order to get people to like me
So
When my unicorn finally dies
Or majestically sacrifices himself
For my sake
I will grind him down to glitter
And unicorn glue
(Which is very strong)
I’ll make a sign so big you can see it sparkle from space
*I was here ************
And this is how I will live forever
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 5:39 AM UTC
A flamingo in a bright back garden is grooming it’s feathers. What it sees from the shade cast by the statues of ancient Gods and facing an incarnation of the Buddha is a mystery. Balanced on one foot in a corner pond covered in dark green pads and innocent opulent white lilies it peers down towards the warm tiled floor. The limestone slabs are etched with chalk hearts like fortune cookies next to hopscotch and drawings of monsters and men. I am a scatter-brain, but I cannot feign an understanding of what this bird is looking at, and so fondly. Parched dead leaves not cleared from autumns past dwell below a dusty circular patio table mixed with used cat litter and fallen grapefruit that have dropped from the tree above. Though most of the colour is muted or bland there are infusions of vibrancy from the vermillion bed sheet to the violet bloom of clusters of flowers that pierce through the vines and corrugated iron. My garden at Giverney without a bridge in the centre of the picture, there are instead are two chairs. Comfortable chairs whose metallic legs and arms glisten in the light and whose black pleather fabric absorbs the heat of another wild day.
The flamingo is a strange visitor to this garden that is mostly derelict and sparse,
It’s gangly frame leaps out of the water ***** it’s wings and departs.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
The ninth beatitude
Blessed are the transformed
and the transformers
For they shall know gratitude.
Hair attitudes are our beatitudes
How can I not love my hair
Short, cropped. *****
Long, cascading locks
Braids falling adoringly
Embracing cheekbones of
Historical beauty.
Hair diva's
Divinity, defying gravity...Black hair
Submitting to heat, or the nimble.
Fingers of scientist, chemist who
Are born to a life dedicated to
Beautification of her sisters and daughters
None since Madam C.J. Walker has had
This talent in abundance.
She put her wrist in the twist.
And the "aid" in the braid… new wave
Whose passion is to adore what
She's put into you; She is the true
“goddess of hair”
You are In good hands as
She dares you to move, or
bat an eyelash less
She bashes you, or threatens
to abort the mission Leaving you to
Your own device-Her advice is to become
at one with her- Become putty in her hands.
Her hands plant, plaiting love and patience
into every wrung…Moms,
And Hair Magicians, growing hands
That loom, weave and condition;
Grooming reluctant ducklings.
Into graceful swans
Grooming you for greatness.
(To my best friend)
https://scontent-ord1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/11026273_1641865029363011_1932455644687694397_n.jpg?oh=2c95a0eb069b5f996f26494e277bd734&oe;=56C6FF8B
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Tuft of winter coat
Snags upon an open door frame
Escapes the new brush
Tumbles upon hardwood floor
til captured by the old brush
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 7:37 PM UTC
If you wish to win your man’s heart somehow
Show interest rolling your admiring eyes,
As he raves over the pet subjects of his choice,
Occasionally responding to what he says
Simulate keenness, though you don’t have it
When he prates over his job and its challenges
Pep up his confidence through words of concern
Make him feel, you are there to share his tensions
A wife’s pleasing demeanor and care
Can ease a man’s life and his blues
As filtering sunlight melts the mists
That hides the meadow’s lovely blooms
Know his favorite food and the cuisine he loves
Prepare them oftener than he can expect
The easiest way to get into a man’s heart
Is through gratifying and titillating his palate
Though he may show disinterest in flattery
Compliment him over the ‘great things’ he has done
You’ll see his former stance suddenly changed
Through praise, sure, his heart you have won
In the privacy of your closet on cool, starlit nights
Lie closer to him, even feigning false passion
As a flower bares its perfumed heart to the bee
Give yourself completely to him sans restriction
Thus win him through the magic of wooing
Delight him with your soft whispers of crooning
Never forget to take care of your grooming
And sure, day by day you will see your love blooming
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
I recommend a light oil and a short comb, keeping sissors to hand to cultivate that King George V shape or, if you are feeling brave, go for the majesty of a full Henry VIII.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
While waiting for your date, you brought
Out your car key, then wipe it on your shirt
Sleeve and begin to pick your ears with it.
I shook my head.
Done with picking your ears clean with your
Key, you used your handkerchief to clean
The key, then put it back in your pocket.
I kept staring at you.
Our body left to itself is in constant motion;
So you blinked, scratched your chin, and shifted from
One buttock to another: on the chair outside the cafe.
I smiled at you.
Done with the motion, you looked around you
To see if someone was watching you; satisfied
That no one was, you started picking your nose.
I peeked at you from behind my book.
When you realized what you were doing and
Where you were doing it, you quickly removed your
Finger from your nose and straighten your tie.
I shook my head.
After a while, you began observing your
Nails; before you know it you have started
Biting off your nails, one after the other.
I kept staring at you.
As you put the finger that you used to pick
Your nose with into your mouth, realization
Dawned on you. Quickly you removed it.
I smiled at you.
You spite air three times while cleaning
Your tongue inside your mouth. Using your hands
You covered your mouth and nose, and then breathed into them.
I kept peeking at you from behind my book.
Your date arrived and gave you a peck on your check.
I, your observer, sitting two tables across from you,
Took a sip of my tea then stood up and left: thinking cats
Are not the only animals that groom themselves publicly.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 2:27 AM UTC
The grounds echo sounds of gardeners grooming.
The blue sky canvas and a wash of clouds,
hang lightly, dressing up the place for show.
Pruned branches and piled neat cut grasses show,
uneven sweat stained shirts, on grooming
gardeners, hoped on winds below the clouds.
The vaulted layer heightens heat, no clouds
move, the breeze blows no reprieve, a no show
by day's end, the gardeners need grooming,
without clouds, a shower shows good grooming.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:34 PM UTC