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

  • Anonymous 5/7/2019 9:33:00 AM

    Cannabal by the way Reply

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  • Destini rosalez 1/23/2019 7:04:00 PM

    What is the theme of this poem Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Susan Williams 6/6/2018 9:55:00 PM

    He does have a sensual way of looking at life and women Reply

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Douglas Scotney 6/6/2018 8:57:00 PM

    hungry guy.......... Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • The Loved One 6/6/2018 5:03:00 PM

    All bow to thee o mighty Pablo, Lord of Love and Longing Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • Ravi Kopra 6/6/2018 1:59:00 PM

    another translation:
    https: //

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  • Edward Kofi Louis 6/6/2018 1:02:00 PM

    Silent and starving! !

    Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

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  • Rajnish Manga 6/6/2018 12:37:00 PM

    Nice poem of a lover's passion and longing. Reply

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  • Robert Murray Smith 6/6/2018 1:18:00 AM

    This poet has imagery in his pocket. Dispensed with ease.++10 Reply

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  • Bernard F. Asuncion 6/6/2018 1:11:00 AM

    Such a fine poem by Pablo Neruda👍👍👍 Reply

    0 person liked.
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Read all 19 comments »
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. Sonnet Xiii:The Light That Rises From Yo..
    Pablo Neruda
  5. 5. Dreaming Of Hair
    Li-Young Lee
  6. 6. To A Lock Of Hair
    Sir Walter Scott
  7. 7. Little Sleep's-Head Sprouting Hair In Th..
    Galway Kinnell
  8. 8. Sonnet 18 - I Never Gave A Lock Of Hair ..
    Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  9. 9. Hair And Hustle
    Hasmukh Amathalal
  10. 10. Finding A Long Gray Hair
    Jane Kenyon
  11. 11. Crisis Is A Hair
    Emily Dickinson
  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. Hair Poem
    Bill Knott
  16. 16. To Aramantha, That She Would Dishevel He..
    Richard Lovelace
  17. 17. (145) Bad Hair Day! ! !
    Risha Ahmed (12 yrs)
  18. 18. Sonnet Xviii: I Never Gave A Lock Of Hair
    Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  19. 19. To Amarantha, That She Would Dishevel He..
    Richard Lovelace
  20. 20. Lines On Seeing A Lock Of Milton's Hair
    John Keats
  21. 21. Bad Hair Days (A Fun Poem)
    Meggie Gultiano
  22. 22. La Chevelure (Her Hair)
    Charles Baudelaire
  23. 23. Wrinkles And Grey Hair (Children)
    C.J. Heck
  24. 24. Apology To Delia: For Desiring A Lock Of..
    William Cowper
  25. 25. Hair Raising
    Michael Shepherd
  26. 26. Braid The Raven Hair
    William Schwenck Gilbert
  27. 27. Her Hair
    James Whitcomb Riley
  28. 28. When Mother Combed My Hair
    James Whitcomb Riley
  29. 29. Krishna Questions His Hair Braid Not Gro..
    Sant Surdas
  30. 30. Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair
    Stephen C. Foster
  31. 31. A Child's Hair
    William Watson
  32. 32. The One White Hair
    Walter Savage Landor
  33. 33. Angel Needs A Hair Cut
    Suzae Chevalier
  34. 34. Lady Silver Hair
    Theodora (Theo) Onken
  35. 35. Ella With The Shining Hair
    Henry Kendall
  36. 36. Art Is Long - Hair Is Shorter
    Clarence Michael James Stani ..
  37. 37. Hair In The Wind
    Frederick Kesner
  38. 38. An Ode To An Old Grey Hair
    Sidi J. Mahtrow
  39. 39. Black Hair
    Akiko Yosano
  40. 40. On Lucretia Borgia’s Hair
    Walter Savage Landor
  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. Hair
    Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
  46. 46. Imelda Marcos Doesn’t Compare To This Re..
    Joe Rosochacki
  47. 47. Hair
    Joe Rosochacki
  48. 48. Your Hair Dreams
    Dónall Dempsey
  49. 49. Upon A Braid Of Hair In A Heart Sent By ..
    Henry King
  50. 50. Ice Cream Hair
    Jasmine Aira

New Hair Poems

  1. Crowning Glory, Elizabeth Kurian
  2. "Death Fugue" Translation Of P.., Michael Burch
  3. Original Hair, Edward Kofi Louis
  4. Can I Touch Your Hair?, Naomi Rae
  5. Can I Touch Your Hair?, Alexis Branch
  6. Don't Touch My Hairby: Rage Almighty, Jay Ward
  7. Hairby: Elizabeth Acevedo, Jay Ward
  8. A Sonnet On My Previously Unruly Curls, Gayathri B. Seetharam
  9. Black Gold, Asit Kumar Sanyal
  10. Hair, SylvaOnyema Uba

Hair Poems

  1. 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.

  2. Dreaming Of Hair

    Ivy ties the cellar door in autumn, in summer morning glory wraps the ribs of a mouse. Love binds me to the one whose hair I've found in my mouth, whose sleeping head I kiss, wondering is it death? beauty? this dark star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head. My love's hair is autumn hair, there the sun ripens. My fingers harvest the dark vegtable of her body. In the morning I remove it from my tongue and sleep again. Hair spills through my dream, sprouts from my stomach, thickens my heart, and tangles from the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb. Hair ascends the tree of my childhood--the willow I climbed one bare foot and hand at a time, feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing my father plead from his window, _Don't fall!_ In my dream I fly past summers and moths, to the thistle caught in my mother's hair, the purple one I touched and bled for, to myself at three, sleeping beside her, waking with her hair in my mouth. Along a slippery twine of her black hair my mother ties ko-tze knots for me: fish and lion heads, chrysanthemum buds, the heads of Chinamen, black-haired and frowning. Li-En, my brother, frowns when he sleeps. I push back his hair, stroke his brow. His hairline is our father's, three peaks pointing down. What sprouts from the body and touches the body? What filters sunlight and drinks moonlight? Where have I misplaced my heart? What stops wheels and great machines? What tangles in the bough and snaps the loom? Out of the grave my father's hair bursts. A strand pierces my left sole, shoots up bone, past ribs, to the broken heart it stiches, then down, swirling in the stomach, in the groin, and down, through the right foot. What binds me to this earth? What remembers the dead and grows towards them? I'm tired of thinking. I long to taste the world with a kiss. I long to fly into hair with kisses and weeping, remembering an afternoon when, kissing my sleeping father, I saw for the first time behind the thick swirl of his black hair, the mole of wisdom, a lone planet spinning slowly. Sometimes my love is melancholy and I hold her head in my hands. Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death. Then, I must grab handfuls of her hair, and, I tell you, there are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men taking off their boots, their hearts breaking, not knowing which they love more, the water, or their women's hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward the feet.

  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.