Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Day 5

Bad Hair Day

A little wisp of blonde hair
flies through the gentle breeze,
an aftermath of a light drizzle
that put a damper on our plans.

This wild ponytail straggler
line dances back and forth
like a metronome keeping time
or a persistent child nuisance.

The former bangs escape bondage,
bobby pins can’t keep them down,
tickling my eyes and nose;
tousled rebels with no cause.

Repeated hand sweeps avail me not;
the daunting wind won’t let up.
I surrender to the peer pressure
and set the rest of my hair free.


No, Only Wounds

Wounds run as deep as the seeds that plant them. I find myself hiding behind their scars. Fear imprisons my inhibitions, a loss
which freezes my dying soul. The candles I lined on the path to my room, pure as vanilla drifting on high; no halo do they produce, only darkness; no peace do they bring, only niggling. I am buried under mounds of regret; no sunshine do I see. I want to grow, to live again; yet I am a tree stump. Will you ever forgive me, let it go? Only then will I blossom and flourish, burst through the soil and bury my wounds.

@Laurie Kolp


Judy Roney said...

I feel your pain of a bad hair day every time I go to the gym, especially the "The former bangs escape bondage".

That poor tree stump, you personify and capture him well. :)

Lisa said...

What a fun post. Sorry about the straggler.


Reflections said...

Both pieces are wonderful... boy can I relate to the bangs that used to be.

Hyde Park Poetry Palace said...

bless you..
stay strong...

Hyde Park Poetry Palace said...


Welcome join us,

Thanks for the time, a free verse is accepted,

Your poetry rocks. Hope to see you in