[Jayne Osborn]

This is a nice subject for a poem, isn't it? The downside is that there's bound to be a huge postbag, so the chances of winning are...
no, I mustn't be pessimistic; that's dumb (but what did you expect from a blonde? )

(Reminder: 24 lines max.)

Jayne

From Literary Review Deputy Editor Tom Fleming:

Next month’s subject is ‘hair’. Entries must rhyme and scan and reach these offices by 27 November.

The Literary Review
44 Lexington Street
London W1F 0LW

editorial@literaryreview.co.uk

[John Whitworth]

Ah, I knew about this a couple of days ago and got myself a head start.

Hair

As eunuchs praise the love they never had,
Bald as an egg, I sing my TRICHIAD.

The hair that gave the Spartan warriors power,
The hair Rapunzel tumbled from her tower,
The hair that sprouts unbidden under arms,
The hair that grows on masturbators' palms,
The buttered hair of the ferocious Tartars,
The holy hair of Jesus' Saints and Martyrs,
The raw, red hair of vagabonds and bad men,
The hair that grows beneath the skins of madmen,
The long, blonde, braided hair of New Age cuties,
The hobbit hair that turns their feet to bootees,
The hair the sirens combed upon the rocks,
The pallid, hairy legs of kilted Jocks,
The hair Porphyria's lover wound around
Her neck to murder her without a sound,
Crisp, curly hair Lord Byron mourned the loss of,
Heroic hair Delilah proved the boss of,
Soft hair hot walnut shells scoured from the thighs
Of Roman boys,or else Suetonius lies,
Harsh, hideous hair of devils, rank and rough,
Light lamplit hair on girlish arms... enough!

Though finer lines Tom Eliot never penned,
My TRICHOMANIA here must have an end.

[Brian Allgar]

John, it seems to me that what you've got there is filthy .... lucre. (In case my meaning wasn't clear - BRILLIANT!)

I grow old and depraved,
I must keep my trousered ankles shaved.

[Ann Drysdale]

I dare you to shave a peach.

[Brian Allgar]

Nah, you're right, I wouldn' t dare.

I have seen the mermaids shaving, peach to peach.

[RCL]

Hair Hair!

Harvesting hair from my ears patiently,
I glimpse the young man that used to be me.

Tweezing the hair from my imposing nose,
I know where the hair from my head now grows.

Trimming my chin hair, now turned yellow,
I see that I am a ripening fellow.

Clipping my crotch hair, lank and grizzled,
I grasp that libido has finally fizzled!

Ralph

[Brian Humeniuk]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

Ah, I knew about this a couple of days ago and got myself a head start.

Hair

As eunuchs praise the love they never had,
Bald as an egg, I sing my TRICHIAD.

The hair that gave the Spartan warriors power,
The hair Rapunzel tumbled from her tower,
The hair that sprouts unbidden under arms,
The hair that grows on masturbators' palms,
The buttered hair of the ferocious Tartars,
The holy hair of Jesus' Saints and Martyrs,
The raw, red hair of vagabonds and bad men,
The hair that grows beneath the skins of madmen,
The long, blonde, braided hair of New Age cuties,
The hobbit hair that turns their feet to bootees,
The hair the sirens combed upon the rocks,
The pallid, hairy legs of kilted Jocks,
The hair Porphyria's lover wound around
Her neck to murder her without a sound,
Crisp, curly hair Lord Byron mourned the loss of,
Heroic hair Delilah proved the boss of,
Soft hair hot walnut shells scoured from the thighs
Of Roman boys,or else Suetonius lies,
Harsh, hideous hair of devils, rank and rough,
Light lamplit hair on girlish arms... enough!

Though finer lines Tom Eliot never penned,
My TRICHOMANIA here must have an end.

Hello John. Love it! Love it! Love it! I love the way this all rolls off the tongue. I read it and was instantly taken back to my puberty with....."The hair that grows on masturbators' palms", I wonder how many male readers quickly looked at their own guilty hands(just to make sure) whilst reading that particular line? Your poem started to fire me up, but while reading it, I also came to the conclusion that you'd covered all the bases. That said, I could only come up with,
Hair today, gone tomorrow,
youthfully hirsute, then bald with sorrow
the comb is discarded for lack of employment
but kept anyway, for periodic rememberance.......I'll come back to this again I think. B.
Just read it again John with regard to the line....

The hobbit hair that turns their feet to bootees,
would it not flow better with....
The hobbit hair that turns their feet into bootees, just a thought. B.

[Brian Allgar]

Originally Posted by Brian Humeniuk

The hobbit hair that turns their feet to bootees,

would it not flow better with....

The hobbit hair that turns their feet into bootees, just a thought. B.

No, I'm afraid it wouldn't. John's line is an iambic pentameter with a feminine ending. Your suggestion would simply destroy the metre.

[Brian Humeniuk]

Hello Brian, I'd like to say I understand your answer, but the simple truth is, I don't! I think I'd better go and swot up on what I thought was my native language, and find out what it is I need to know. Thanks for the reply.B.

[John Whitworth]

Of course you are right, Brian A. I thought of Lady MacB. The Thane of Fife had a wife....

Wasn't the late Queen Mother Thane of Glamis, or Thaness.

Brian H. Thank you sir.