"redheads" poems
you are
annoying and unfaithful
greedy and habitual
poor baby
what must you lust after now
and sob rivers with no reasons
you lack directions
and standards
and thrive on attention
of unattractive actions
you are eleven
going on ten
and have yet to blossom
we give up on you
since i occupy the back burner
behind rats and redheads
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
pruning fingers from a cold dead hand to gain twenty index
to power point a disjoint nexus, amongst ill guests
to better frame the nameless tool,
thumb-less apes could truck with -
in bands of frantic lack-wits
hording alabaster thumb-tacks
to pin jokes, they don't get.
a lapse in queens, the hard Chess...
an hour glass
with a grain of sand left -
wearing a jet pack, to delay the turn next
that checks your king.
or telekinesis, ghost-grips the silicon
in free fall... on pause to stave off
a game lost.
pruning fingers from another world of empty reach, i grasp -
at long last;
the short girl with the long red hair -
has two eyes, on task...scanning my true intent
with deep shy, heavy lids; a bright green
fixed on my nervous
laughter.
smitten; then, a Pabst
Blue Ribbon
kiss.
and sweet
disaster.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
or Redheads.
Crimson Irish curls
that cling to curves
like my lips cling to
your name.
Natural.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
*blondes, brunettes and redheads,
the goodbye colors of the
street's tree choir members
and their leafy gowned denizens,
the good stiff chill upon them,
the selfsame chill
in my anguished mind
now hiding,
sing a comfort food song
heard above the quiet terror of the
noises of a fall winters-wind precursor
"once we green,
once we were renewal,
life everlasting emblems
once,
you were wee,
green uncaring and free,
presuming that you too,
were in possession of
life everlasting
your colors have changed as well,
endless is the process,
only slower than
a tree's scheduled maintenance,
moreover,
returning you to your first
crayon drawing youth
unlike us, an impossibility
we will turn young again
for many seasons more,
you
never will
new eyes will feast upon our
glories refreshed and love our
cast shade cast
yet special are you the man,
poet who was chosen
to see and tell,
witness to our resurrection,
during our overlapping,
parallel continuum in time
when to the shade of hades
you physic sent,
our limbs, our leaves,
our perennial lives,
for-as-long-as-they-shall-last,
will cover thy remains and
give your poems back to the
sultry summer breeze from
whence they came
and the colors
of your words
will be the colors
of a free life everlasting"*
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Home
Some people can recognize
A tree or a front yard
and know
they've made it home
The walk from the car door
To the front porch
Becomes habitual
Instead of intentional
They get lost in the
Contentment of familiarity
But what happens when you
find yourself
So adrift, so off-course
That you've worn a path in the circle you find yourself walking in
What if the place you're looking for,
Your home
Was never really home After all
But rather a false sense of security
Wrapped up
In a pretty pink ribbon
On top of the layers
Of gripping manipulation
How many circles can I walk in
Before I give up looking?
How long before I'm lost for good?
Home for me
Is not the familiar walk
To the front door
Or the yard with overgrown grass
that makes weeds look like bushes
Home is a sea of senses
Blending together in perfect harmony
Home is walking in
And seeing red
Red skillet
Red chair
And my favorite redheads
Home is the smell of
Fancy hand soap
Fresh laundry
Fragrant candles
And farty brussel sprouts
Home is the first sound you hear
A chuckle
A musical
The clearing of a throat
Our favorite tv show
Home
In a nutshell
Is freedom
Freedom to laugh
To cry
Or maybe both at the same time
To yell and to vent
Without the burden of shame
Or regret
So home
You see, is more
Than the tree
Or the porch
Those things could vanish
And leave you stranded
Home is laughter
And friendship
That won't leave you lost
It is safety and belonging
That says
“You are okay”
It is the weight of a burden being Lifted off your shoulders
Home is love
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
We will start with every Jew of every sect.
then every Muslim of every sect.
then every Christian of every sect.
then every Buddist of every sect.
Then every Vedic Hindu of every sect.
then every Animist of every sect.
then every New Ager of every sect.
then every person who lives "religiously".
then every person who "believes in and worships" any "god" or "goddess".
then every person of either *** or any of the five skin colours.
then the redheads.
then the disabled.
then the "gays" male or female.
then the "Politicians" of any belief.
then every member or supporter of any Oligarchy anywhere.
then every Capitalist and supporters of every sect.
then every Socialist and supporters of every sect.
then every Liberal and supporters of every sect.
then every Monarchist and supporters of every sect.
then every "aristocrat" and their supporters.
then every Militarist and supporters of every sect.
then every Fascist and supporters of every sect.
then every "Freedom" lover of whatever belief.
then every Revolutionary and supporters of whatever cause.
then every Criminal of whatever crime.
every Hippy.
every Ecofreak.
every alcoholic user.
every tobacco smoker.
every Cannabis smoker.
every priest of every "religion"
every Khat chewer.
every ***** of any junk.
every celebrity especially public ones.
every historian.
every novelist.
every poet.
every lecturer.
every expert.
every "adviser".
every spokesperson.
every print or electronic journalist especially.
every Television chat show host.
every one else.
Its the only way to get neither War nor Peace
on this war ravaged planet,
but simple existence without any corruption or criminality.
and then who will be left?.
NO ONE!!
Except me and my twin flame
and oh boy will we have a great time of it.
Alone but all one.
just us and the Isness of the Universe.
wandering this beautiful playground gifted to us by the Isness of the Universe.
The Isness of the Universe to walk with and talk with.
Fruit hanging from trees .
Cold clear waters to drink.
Nuts to crunch.
oh and Amber our huge sheppie--
connosseur of Pork Crackling
and doggy nonsense and wisdom.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
If:
There were no people of color, they'd pick on redheads.
If there were no redheads they would pick on people with glasses.
If there were no people with glasses they’d pick on fat people.
If there were no fat people, they’d pick on welfare recipients.
If there were no welfare recipients, they’d pick on non-Christians.
If there are no non-Christians around, they'll pick on Catholics.
If there are no Catholics around they'll pic on Christians from any denomination except theirs.
If there are none of those around, they'll pick on college graduates.
Obladee, obladah, yeah! Yadda yeah, the list goes on...
(The same thing applies with Non-Christian bigots. Just change a word here and there.)
Bigots are bigots
No matter what the name
The underhanded tactics
Are all just the same.
They are heartless and evil.
That’s the name of their game.
They are social criminals and
Look for someone else to blame.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
I once again write this poem in time,
as the hands tick with the clock.
To take a stand and declare, that surely
"Redheads Rock!"
Blondes may have some fun, and
brunettes can put up fight.
Now we come more bold and brave,
as our flags wave "Gingers Unite!"
Don't think we will be bullied.
We will defend our honor as our duty.
Too all the coppers, golden, orange,reds...
and to I - the "Auburn Beauty!"
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
Welcome to my basement
there are plenty of things, toys and tools
play me a song of dismal fools...
You are welcome, but can never leave
I need your parts for the puppets I weave...
It's a place of madness, messes and mayhem
as my machine sews limbs into marionettes...
Dead bodies galore, that I shall resurrect,
as i work diligently to delicately intersect.
drilling holes and threading string
"creep" plays in my mind as I violently sing...
Replacing your eyes with the brightest of blue
wiring your mouth to move on cue.
mechanical hinges and formaldehyde a plenty,
you'll love your new look as will many...
My workshop my joy, my happy place,
except for the stench a horrid disgrace.
look at the walls and all the pretty puppets
lined up in a row like the famed Henson Muppets...
A vast collection of blondes and brunettes
redheads not allowed they're crazy at best.
don't mind the blood it congeals so fast
unlike your beauty it's essence won't last...
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Dichotomy of One
I like them hot but I dabble in the cold
the thoughts of a child but eyes that are old
love my music loud but soft whispers of love
the beast of an Eagle the beauty of the Dove
things that are simple but ideas of Gordian
the rock of a guitar the polka of an accordion
a fancy Italian suit and old faded jeans
thick juicy prime rib and ham and beans
keeping low minding my own world
dangerous stunts to straighten hair curled
mindless sitcoms not needing a look
immersing myself in an intricate book
tall gorgeous blonds with really long legs
petite redheads with a set of lips that begs
a shiny new Gibson a beat up Alvarez
a fancy top hat and a soft satin fez
I am so simple that I am complicated
I understand nothing and everything related
one more day with you is my thought for real
I never tire of telling you how you make me feel
Gomer LePoet ....
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
I walked my dog this morning
and it was the perfect time for a walk
(thanks Chrissy).
It was just as the morning sun was
making its face known.
I got to see the gentle morning
cloud that coated my childish
forest hills get burned away;
I got to see the familiar mist
on my nearby lake be born,
I had never seen it start to rise,
but this morning, I watched
it grow.
The white light of the sun was
drowned in the atmosphere
to become a gentle yellow that
shown on the trees,
and everything was breathing,
was aglow, with the multitude
of dew that had gathered from
yesterday's rain showers.
Directly against the yellow air,
blue bark gnarled by time,
green mosses with redheads
sticking out in patches within
patches.
Red cardinals flinging themselves and
thrashers too in their characteristic
Spanish flair. Ravens aplenty,
fishing crows too, their ugly cries
adding to the density of elegant
morning conversations.
Among all of this, one bullfrog called
once during the morning walk. I
took a moment to turn and look towards.
Most of all, there were colorful
southern flowers that rang down
in chains, left right one-two's
that drooped with dew, and they
were drained of their former glory
for Spring has been over.
The walk:
a nice good morning and a
reminder of breath, a way
to clear morning thoughts
and bring a hint of the road.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
Copyright Louis Brown and Warner Baxter
***I only like the young ones the beautiful and tall
the brunettes or the redheads, or the bleach blonde Barbie doll
head over heels in love again and I spin into a daze
but love can't last forever, 'cause we got too different ways
I get bored way too easy no woman loves me long
it's incompatibility and sad to be alone
it's just the natural way of things, these matters of the heart
and with all my insecurities it always falls apart***
*and tonight once more, I'm out of love again
back out in the cold cold night with that familiar icy wind
summer days are memories and winter's just stormed in
and tonight once more, I'm out of love again*
***I only like the young ones, the beautiful and tall
if they've got it all together, it's for sure I'm gonna fall
where there's spark there's fire, it burns up in a blaze
but love can't last forever, 'cause we got too different ways***
*and tonight once more, I'm out of love again
back out in the cold cold night with that familiar icy wind
summer days are memories and winter's just stormed in
and tonight once more, I'm out of love again*
***I get bored way too easy, no woman loves me long
it's incompatibility and sad to be alone
so as I travel down this road I sing my sad love song
I'll keep rollin' town to town, 'till this road finds me a home***
chorus
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
They say there are three ways people can escape their woes
Sleep,
Drugs,
And death
I've tried 2 out of those 3 things so far
And so far,
I'm tired of my bed
And my supply of green has turned red.
You see, my problems are a lot like my addictions,
Just a bunch of smoke and ash
Cause I can't get up off my ***
This poem is for the boy Who packs his happiness into bowles with no milk
And measures good times in grams (not. golden)
Nothing feels as good as purple
And redheads are only cute when they come off of trees.
Can't you see
I'm mentally ******* ill!!!!
But you know what they say
That sticky icky can sure cure the sickly.
Quite quickly
As a matter of fact
If you don't mind I please ask,
Have you ever smoked marijuana before?
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
------------------------------------------------------> I felt his perfect, plastic hands
| As they touched my bleeding lips,
| My broken arms
| My blood-eagled ribs
| He put me in the chest
| Buried me six feet under
| And never dug me up again
| Each pair of hands has its own set of Barbies or Kens
| Just to play with every day
|-------------------------------------------------------------------
I found this room once |
In my secret home of dreams |
The room looked like my childhood |
Just like it |
And these dolls |
They lined the walls |
Ken dolls |
Dozens upon dozens |
Of my pretty little Ken dolls |
My dears |
Beautiful, each one |
Blondes, brunettes, even one or two redheads |
Some brand new |
And some showed little signs of wear |
Little signs of having been loved by me |
Tiny marks of minor hurt |
Some with little scratches on their arms |
One with wing-shaped claw marks on his back |
Many with bleeding lips |
In the middle of the room |
There was a dirt hole in the floor |
A chest, |
And a pile of broken dolls |
Oh, these were once my lovelies too |
Four little beautiful Ken dolls |
Bleeding lips, open chests, and broken arms |
One by one |
I placed them, gently as I could |
In their tiny coffin |
And buried them deep in the senseless earth |
Beneath my feet |
Standing, wiping dirt from my hands |
Hoping I could never have cause |
To dig them up again |
But I glanced around the room  
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
I like my coffee black
I like my liquor clear
I like my women green
And my truck so blue
I like my lakes that way too
I like little white lies
Brown boots with chartreuse ties
I like redheads
And yellow cake
with cream frosting
And my oranges orange
and tangerine dreams
I like purple mouthtains
Full of silver majesty
As a golden sun goes down .
And girls in pink
That wink
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
theres a danger to redheads
twisted legends
their freckles arent souls but beware
if they ask to have your name
red to white to red; life to death to decomposition
theyre of a lost breed, of softly whispered promises, of favors
theres a danger to the wild ones
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC
All of this dreaming came first with a silent knock upon the glass. At least one of the girls had pretended to. Three redheads pressed each other’s bodies up in the corner, huddling as if they were some team about to spring their paws across some morality clause.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
I haven’t been to church
In a while
I pray at the pub
With redheads Jameson and
Fish n chips
I haven’t been to church in a while
But who really cares
I’ve got nothing to confess
Cause everyone’s a sinner
I go to the matinee
On Saturday
Repping the IRA
I go to Essex on Sunday
And get rained on
I go home
And my hag of a wife is gone
She moved across the pond
With a bloke
Who works on wall street
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 10:33 AM UTC
All of this dreaming came first with a silent knock upon the glass. At least one of the girls had pretended to. Three redheads pressed each other’s bodies up in the corner, huddling as if they were some team about to spring their paws across some morality clause.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
In the wandering maze of the mind
dead ends and threads ends,
bedsteads and redheads, empty huts
and bicycle sheds
tracks to run down in the rundown
old town,
but it's what I remember.
A map is of no use or that's my excuse
and such as it is it will do,
in this wilderness
I am at home, it's the place that I knew,
where I grew up,
never known any different and
yet I get lost.
And at times when my mind is light and clear
I can still see her
smiling across the widening years.
I raise a glass in salute
and say cheers
then swim through the river of tears
to the waterfall of fears
and
back to the wandering
maze.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:33 PM UTC
All of this dreaming came first with a silent knock upon the glass. At least one of the girls had pretended to. Three redheads pressed each other’s bodies up in the corner, huddling as if they were some team about to spring their paws across some morality clause.
Still outside the door they slid around each other in the corners, anxious to release the chaos that would glisten all around the patron flesh, in beautiful lines of heat leaving sweat-tattoos.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
ट्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्त्रेद्रेल्य Can the UN mission in Black Rock's store distract $100 billion in the last face of Moses? Turn on the light; the red light, the red one, the head of water; the feet of the composer, the child, a great loss in the ocean of the oceans at night; the skin, the stars, the light in the light. The stars are hidden in the stars: yes, George, George and many other poets. Unknown Unknown Unknown, Unknown, Unknown Cristiano Windows Processing Time's Crone; Black Girl, Boy, Good Girl's White Eyes, redheads' Stars' Eyes, Naked Night, Night, Mother of God's City, City, Great Man in the Morning of the United States; Hair, United States, Working through three colds in the Greek female's middle ocean; John Junior's women on the IMF jury are true blue fire goddesses lifting children to the Euro's natural miniature f Tkar Rkriti hope alive in nature, not invisible dancing incidents on ****** lands of Africa; gay lyrics mint park lost glory to feel drunk and odd with her friend Barbie in Poor Asian socks standing, a poor woman Devil Laughing at the Daughter of Peace's meat machine; Liquid Vitamins Pendants O, alas, enjoyed by modern computer Wonders, Alchemy Photo Mountain Vitamin Mouthlet semi hearing Mesa ESSE bringing old problems to the reading of new weapons. The sheep asks the mother to sleep in different angels for Mother Nature to put them to bed. Ask for the Shaw model soccerball football Act soccer football pattern holes model law, my son, sister of my soul, guitar sister टेम्पल; Theme; King's Ugly light source, the museum between centurion centuries dances in the city to live music and chump change, witch languages and underwear; Brilliant sound, colorful cloth clothing, gypsy jewelry, white walls and sky devils; groundwater, guns, blonde **** and **** shoots; right, Soutine, C. Revolutionary ranting vibrating footballs on fire; football T-shirt, carrying a small pistol; loving painting and थे Holy स्पिरिट's shade shadow ऑफ़ ान Italianगर्ल.Ttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt Crones
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
I want my red hair almost orange looking to be down on the side with a braid.
I the background to be dark, almost black, but not quite. I want red eyes looking at me through the sky, almost in the shape of the birds looking side.
I went there to be unknown creatures almost demon looking, through the trees.
I feel lost but can not be found. Describe that and paint that in your own way. This is how my life feels, like a redheads depression.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
It is simply now a choice to feel naked. She feels it’s appropriate now to undress for the public which will soon follow her lead. Into the night, they will tear apart the conventional moral creed with ritual dance steps resembling tiger speeds!
All of this dreaming came first with a silent knock upon the glass. At least one of the girls had pretended to. Three redheads pressed each other’s bodies up in the corner, huddling as if they were some team about to spring their paws across some morality clause.
Still outside the door they slid around each other in the corners, anxious to release the chaos that would glisten all around the patron flesh, in beautiful lines of heat leaving sweat-tattoos.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC