365 Sonnets is completed! While there be no more new posts, feel free to read the sonnets and comment! :)

You can read my new poetry at Some Turbid Night: :)

Monday, September 21, 2009


He’s crafted hair for half a century,
so mine are pinpricks in a hairy sea.
He snips and combs, and strips away the old;
the excess falls like needles to my cloak.
They look like magnets, silver in the light;
at other angles, they are dark as night,
much blacker than the black that shields my clothes.
He starts to talk – on what he loves and loathes;
his loyal friends and customers all laugh.
His plans for after work, his coloured past –
these fill the place with laughter, joy, and mirth,
although there’s three of us (but soon a fourth).

He’s done with me at last. I smile and pay,
then turn back toward my mundane Saturday.


  1. "I enjoy long walks in the imagination, moonlit sonatas, and iambic pentameter."

    That is hilarious! I'm a big fan of your poems, I read them all the time. Keep up the great writing!

  2. Hi Jaime,

    Thanks for reading my sonnets, and for the encouragement too!


  3. Half a century?!?! I would feel bored much sooner than that.


  4. Hmmm...I would be bored too. Hair-cutting is just not my idea of an exciting job. Actually, he's been cutting hair for 49 years...I rounded :) Still...that would really get to me after a while.

  5. First and formost...I like the topic you've chosen. Its not east to weave such mundane moments in poetry. You've got a great grip on words young poet. Keep it up :)

  6. Not easy...but it's all you've got sometimes! Thanks for commenting :)


A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!