Hair Poems - Poems For Hair

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I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair - Poem by Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Translated by Stephen Tapscott

Comments about I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair by Pablo Neruda

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Hair Poems
  1. 1. I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
    Pablo Neruda
  2. 2. Her Hair
    Charles Baudelaire
  3. 3. A Pin Has A Head, But Has No Hair
    Christina Georgina Rossetti
  4. 4. To A Lock Of Hair
    Sir Walter Scott
  5. 5. Sonnet Xiii:The Light That Rises From Yo..
    Pablo Neruda
  6. 6. Little Sleep's-Head Sprouting Hair In Th..
    Galway Kinnell
  7. 7. Dreaming Of Hair
    Li-Young Lee
  8. 8. Sonnet 18 - I Never Gave A Lock Of Hair ..
    Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  9. 9. Hair And Hustle
    Hasmukh Amathalal
  10. 10. Crisis Is A Hair
    Emily Dickinson
  11. 11. Finding A Long Gray Hair
    Jane Kenyon
  12. 12. Women Washing Their Hair
    Carl Sandburg
  13. 13. The Grey Hair
    Yehudah HaLevi
  14. 14. Song To Amarantha, That She Would Dishev..
    Richard Lovelace
  15. 15. Apology To Delia: For Desiring A Lock Of..
    William Cowper
  16. 16. To Aramantha, That She Would Dishevel He..
    Richard Lovelace
  17. 17. Bad Hair Days (A Fun Poem)
    Meggie Gultiano
  18. 18. La Chevelure (Her Hair)
    Charles Baudelaire
  19. 19. (145) Bad Hair Day! ! !
    Risha Ahmed (12 yrs)
  20. 20. Sonnet Xviii: I Never Gave A Lock Of Hair
    Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  21. 21. To Amarantha, That She Would Dishevel He..
    Richard Lovelace
  22. 22. Lines On Seeing A Lock Of Milton's Hair
    John Keats
  23. 23. Krishna Questions His Hair Braid Not Gro..
    Sant Surdas
  24. 24. Wrinkles And Grey Hair (Children)
    C.J. Heck
  25. 25. Hair Poem
    Bill Knott
  26. 26. Hair Raising
    Michael Shepherd
  27. 27. Braid The Raven Hair
    William Schwenck Gilbert
  28. 28. The One White Hair
    Walter Savage Landor
  29. 29. Her Hair
    James Whitcomb Riley
  30. 30. When Mother Combed My Hair
    James Whitcomb Riley
  31. 31. On Lucretia Borgia’s Hair
    Walter Savage Landor
  32. 32. Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair
    Stephen C. Foster
  33. 33. A Child's Hair
    William Watson
  34. 34. Angel Needs A Hair Cut
    Suzae Chevalier
  35. 35. Lady Silver Hair
    Theodora (Theo) Onken
  36. 36. Ella With The Shining Hair
    Henry Kendall
  37. 37. Art Is Long - Hair Is Shorter
    Clarence Michael James Stani ..
  38. 38. Hair In The Wind
    Frederick Kesner
  39. 39. An Ode To An Old Grey Hair
    Sidi J. Mahtrow
  40. 40. Black Hair
    Akiko Yosano
  41. 41. A Woman’s Dirty Hair
    Uriah Hamilton
  42. 42. Boy With His Hair Cut Short
    Muriel Rukeyser
  43. 43. Entangled In Her Hair
    Dónall Dempsey
  44. 44. Big Hair
    David Lehman
  45. 45. Your Orange Hair In The Void Of The World
    Paul Eluard
  46. 46. Hair
    Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
  47. 47. Imelda Marcos Doesn’t Compare To This Re..
    Joe Rosochacki
  48. 48. Hair
    Joe Rosochacki
  49. 49. Your Hair Dreams
    Dónall Dempsey
  50. 50. Upon A Braid Of Hair In A Heart Sent By ..
    Henry King

Hair Poems

  1. To A Lock Of Hair

    Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well - remember'd night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper'd love. Since then how often hast thou prest The torrid zone of this wild breast, Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin that peopled hell; A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean, Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion! O if such clime thou canst endure Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure, What conquest o'er each erring thought Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought! I had not wander'd far and wide With such an angel for my guide; Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me If she had lived and lived to love me. Not then this world's wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene, My sole delight the headlong race And frantic hurry of the chase; To start, pursue, and bring to bay, Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, Then - from the carcass turn away! Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, And soothed each wound which pride inflamed: - Yes, God and man might now approve me If thou hadst lived and lived to love me!

  2. Her Hair

    O fleece, that down the neck waves to the nape! O curls! O perfume nonchalant and rare! O ecstasy! To fill this alcove shape With memories that in these tresses sleep, I would shake them like penions in the air! Languorous Asia, burning Africa, And a far world, defunct almost, absent, Within your aromatic forest stay! As other souls on music drift away, Mine, O my love! still floats upon your scent. I shall go there where, full of sap, both tree And man swoon in the heat of the southern climates; Strong tresses be the swell that carries me! I dream upon your sea of amber Of dazzling sails, of oarsmen, masts, and flames: A sun-drenched and reverberating port, Where I imbibe colour and sound and scent; Where vessels, gliding through the gold and moiré, Open their vast arms as they leave the shore To clasp the pure and shimmering firmament. I'll plunge my head, enamored of its pleasure, In this black ocean where the other hides; My subtle spirit then will know a measure Of fertile idleness and fragrant leisure, Lulled by the infinite rhythm of its tides! Pavilion, of autumn-shadowed tresses spun, You give me back the azure from afar; And where the twisted locks are fringed with down Lurk mingled odors I grow drunk upon Of oil of coconut, of musk, and tar. A long time! always! my hand in your hair Will sow the stars of sapphire, pearl, ruby, That you be never deaf to my desire, My oasis and my gourd whence I aspire To drink deep of the wine of memory.

  3. Sonnet Xiii:The Light That Rises From Your Feet To Your Hair

    The light that rises from your feet to your hair, the strength enfolding your delicate form, are not mother of pearl, not chilly silver: you are made of bread, a bread the fire adores. The grain grew high in its harvest of you, in good time the flour swelled; as the dough rose, doubling your breasts, my love was the coal waiting ready in the earth. Oh, bread your forehead, your legs, your mouth, bread I devour, born with the morning light, my love, beacon-flag of the bakeries: fire taugh you a lesson of the blood; you learned your holiness from flour, from bread your language and aroma.

  4. A Pin Has A Head, But Has No Hair

    A pin has a head, but has no hair; A clock has a face, but no mouth there; Needles have eyes, but they cannot see; A fly has a trunk without lock or key; A timepiece may lose, but cannot win; A corn-field dimples without a chin; A hill has no leg, but has a foot; A wine-glass a stem, but not a root; A watch has hands, but no thumb or finger; A boot has a tongue, but is no singer; Rivers run, though they have no feet; A saw has teeth, but it does not eat; Ash-trees have keys, yet never a lock; And baby crows, without being a cock.

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