Tuesday, 3 November 2015

The Haircut.

I went for a haircut
To Mammy number three
She’s good at the job
And it’s free.
Salon a hive of gossip
A mushroom of chat,
The truth; a rock to a bee
Black this; white that.
An auld one pipes up
Graves unclose,
Off to post
The devil goes.
Red bad apple
Rot at the core
Lie in her jaw
Opens the door.
Athletic mind, fragile body
Alloy of cramp and rust,
Nor felt the shafts of cupids cart
Certain dawn, doubtful dusk.
The padlock of silence
Redundant here
Sanity goes for a swim
Me and regret had never met
Until I went for a trim.


  1. Life can be confusing at times. Whatever the regret, one can always begin again. :)

    Take heart, my friend. :)
    ~ Turquoise

  2. Your comments always make me take heart. Unfortunately, one can never begin again; that would be rewriting the past. Nice to hear from you!

  3. One definitely can't rewrite the past. You're right: My words "begin again" are technically flawed, as "the beginning" of what one might have regretted is truly past. However, as life unfolds into the future, there are those colloquially expressed subsets of "new beginnings" -- admittedly a poor choice of words still, as there is only that single true "beginning" to which one previously referred; and yet, one might perhaps find relief in the thought of those humanly inspired, colloquial subsets of "new-beginning" types of hope. A philosophically inferior way of saying, "May the future get better and better for you." (Insert many smiles here. Haven't tried "logic" for a while. I wonder if it made sense.) ~ Turquoise :)