I haven’t been paying a lot of attention lately. To anything.

But I stumbled across a little poem here whilst wandering about meaninglessly and thought I’d post one in response. It’s supposed to be sort of sad, reflecting my mood. But, as usual, it comes out sort of silly.

Do you miss me

Now and then

In memories

Of way back when?

We lay together

Touched the sky

Then drifted somewhere

By and by

Until that day

Did we lose sight?

Succumb to darkness

In that night?

Do you still miss me

When you sleep?

Do visions of me

Gently creep

Into your dreams?

Into your head

Beneath the sheets

Upon your bed

Or do you dream

Of someone new?

Do you miss me?

I miss you.

This is a continuation on my observations regarding our tendency to obsess about our hair. I observed that Australian men, when viewed from the northern hemisphere appear to be standing upside down, and therefore their hair falls out as function of gravity. It was pointed out (unsurprising) by Meg that there is, in fact, no shortage of bald men in America.

I wondered then if it might have something to do with the magnetic effect of the poles, in which case men from equatorial and tropical regions should be quite hirsute (I think that there may be evidence supporting that) whilst Eskimos should be bald (not so much evidence).

It’s a very silly theory, I know. I have lots of them. And it prompted a few silly lines of verse.

***

Eskimos they all wear hats

There’s nothing under there

They eat a healthy diet

But don’t have any hair

The wearing of the headpiece shows

How much they really care

That they can never be as hairy

As a scary polar bear

***

P.S. Before you women start jumping up and down pointing to your attractive manes ….

there is more iron in the male diet (everybody knows that) making our hair more magnetic and therefore more susceptible to the polar magnetic follicle effect.

I can’t seem to stop this morning. Some days are more inspiring than others, I suppose. And I’ll want to delete or at least edit all these posts by the end of the day. But I haven’t posted for a while, so I’m making up for lost time

My excuse on this occasion is that Kate posted a picture of the ocean along with a beautiful poem about its power.

And the ocean has always called to me. If it calls to you too then feel free to hold my hand …

***

I poke my toe beyond the sand

To where I hope to understand

That everything thing, it ebbs and flows

Everything. It comes and goes

The water’s deep. The river flows

The ocean holds what no-one knows

Nothing certain. Nothing planned

Come swim with me. Come take my hand.

***

We all have things to obsess about, of course. Old age is a bit of a thing for me, as I have just confessed, recently. But we all obsess about our hair just a little bit, don’t you think?Women might obsess a bit about their boobs and backsides (does my bum look big in this?) and men about some other personal measurements, but we all seem to hope that our hair might somehow disguise our other frailties. But ‘bad hair days’ leave us exposed to the world.

I was around in the sixties and seventies. Hair was important back then. I had lots of it. Long flowing blond curls. Did it help me through those difficult adolescent years? Probably not.

The handsomely weathered face that I hide behind here might suggest that I have an abundance of age defying follicles. But I don’t. Most of them deserted the sinking ship long ago.

Anyway …. Esther provided a five word challenge this morning on the subject (my morning, anyway, it might have been her evening. I’m on the bottom of the planet. Standing upside down from a northern hemisphere perspective. That may be what causes my hair to fall out) and I gave it a try. I may, as usual, have gone a little off script …. a few five word comments, all unhappily joined up together (that’s two more).

Here it is

***

Hair. Everywhere. It shouldn’t be
Don’t dare. Stare. At me
My naked head to see
So bare. Cold. Up there
Where it used to be

***