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About This Author
 Writing poetry allows me to exercise my imagination and share it with others. I strive to write for the benefit of the reader using carnival fun mirror images of my life's experiences.
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| Come, let me tell you of a dear friend of mine, The coolest dude to ever walk a fashion line. Whether the culture is punk, goth or glam, He goes by the pen name of Big-Hair Sam. When Big-Hair Sam was a midwestern boy, He lacked confidence, so shy and coy. One night he saw hippies on the evening news, Sam then knew the path he'd one day choose. But Sam was the son of an old fashioned dad, Who insisted Sam would be a short-haired lad. So Sam had no choice but to sit in a chair, While his dad would cut off all of Sam's hair. Every single day when Sam went to school, All the kids would laugh, Sam felt like a fool. Sam could only dream of when he'd be free. To grow hair as long as he wanted it to be. When Sam was of age, hired by a lumber yard, He saved up his money and worked very hard. From a little old lady, Sam bought a '64 Chevelle, Then one glorious morning he said, "Fare thee well." Sam moved to Seattle where he let his hair grow, He lucked into a modeling job for a fashion show. In a world of hairdryers, crimping irons and rollers, Sam became the most sought of all catwalk strollers. Sam's hair, more colorful than a girl from Harajuku, Was backcombed and flipped into a hair raising do, So popular his big hair look eventually became, All the crowds would chant his professional name. Embodied with glamour, he's calm, collected, and cool. To the world, Big-Hair Sam has proven he's nobody's fool. He's worked hard, knows his stuff, please, don't be misled, Big-Hair Sam's much more than what's above his head.
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