Daily Writing Prompts

HAIR you all are and ......I love you!

Hugs aplenty for the weekend!
MC

To see me, the blind man started with my hair.
Running his hand across the top of my head,
he saw both my softness and the wayward ways
of curls blown wild in the changing wind:
a mix of entreaty and bold defiance he
easily recognized, and named.

Since then, I have seen through my own hands
the texture and character of men I have loved -
revealed in the fine shimmer of auburn,
the bald pate smooth and browned by sun,
the tight black spring of Africa, and the mix into
pepper of a coarser salt as seasons grind along.

Since then, I have seen through my own hands
the silky apricot of babies’ skin and hair made
all the softer by the softest touch, then seen
that hair through its first cuts: shaped into
the shape of growing children, adults emerging
to meet their purpose and take their place.

Since then, I have seen with my own hands
the dying of the day in my mother’s hair as
I stroked her head, my fingers tangling in
memories we could no longer speak when
speech had gone and all our shared stories
were left in my grasp alone.

Since then, I have seen with my own hands
the complex nature of hair bound tight, set free,
shaved clean, or matted with disappointment
and despair – and have learned to read in
each the wish to be so known: touched by
vision’s grace and finally, understood.

Seekandfind, This is truly one of the most beautifully full fleshed & sensate poems I have ever read. A real masterpiece. Lacking words to better express, I bow in with the deepest admiration.

my white hair

how I love
those silver strands
that
sail across carpets--furniture--counters
slide between wrinkles of sheets
explore the wet-pink of my dog’s tongue
globe-trot on garments of strangers
slip down drains to marinate in dank secrets

those bits of me
swept off the porch
snatched up by birds
wound in blades of grass
heaped with fallen leaves
wait for the wind

Pat 1-2008

Talk about sensate! What a beautiful tribute this is to the unpredictable slipping, sliding, sailing, windblown ways of life that ask only to be observed by one keen enough to honor them so.

Amy,As I said before, your "Hair" is exquisite.
I can only dare to scribe so.

Pat, yours too is so finely crafted...I am among greats here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hair

Identity worn
From when I was born,
Long, spoke my spirit well
Cut, it commented on falling spell
To times then.
Tears flowed,
Of what short showed.
Long again
Like an old friend,
Familiar, mine.
What I wear there
My hair.

Such wonderful contrasts we are finding with these "crowning glory" memories! Short or long, brown or silver, bound up tidy or blowing free, the hair we wear does speak our spirit..in ways I never imagined before we all responded to this prompt.

I'm thrilled you joined the group, Barbara!
O, could I relate to long, then short and back to long. Your poem speaks to many things 'deeply feminine' --including the effect of our feelings on the length, look and feel of our hair. Great entry!