Michael Shepherd

(8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

! Cutting edge


Like a sharp knife
cutting through a bitter lemon
into red lips dripping

the hairdresser takes my pleasantries,
chops them with a cruel hand,
throws them back in pieces in my face

snip snip into blond hair, brown hair, black, grey, white,
what heroic restraint, condemned
to a lifetime’s cutting, and not
to plunge the scissors into a spinal cord…

this little girl who cut her finger with
her mother’s scissors perhaps
to try to explain how they cut her heart
her love that would grow like hair

how can I know the heart
of this woman who cuts my hair
so expertly.. snip, snip..

Submitted: Monday, May 14, 2007
Edited: Friday, February 25, 2011
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  • Alison Cassidy (5/19/2007 1:49:00 AM)

    Michael I'm sure there is not a subject on earth that you could not turn it into an interesting and very readable piece of poetry. This one takes me back to mum and the kitchen scissors (not too sharp) attacking my fierce child frizz as tears of despair rolled down my protesting cheeks - '...please mum, why can't I grow it? ' love, Allie xxxx (Report) Reply

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