Bad Hair Day Poems
Bad-Hair Day
Student:
I looked in the mirror
with shock and with dread
to discover two antlers
had sprung from my head.
The kids in my class
were complaining all day,
Classmates:
�We can�t see the board
with your horns in the way!�
Student:
The teacher was cross.
He asked,
Teacher:
�What�s your excuse?�
Student:
I said, �Well, I think have
used too much mousse.�
The End
� 2004 by Linda Knaus. Adapted from the poem in If Kids Ruled the School, published by Meadowbrook Press
Student:
I looked in the mirror
with shock and with dread
to discover two antlers
had sprung from my head.
The kids in my class
were complaining all day,
Classmates:
�We can�t see the board
with your horns in the way!�
Student:
The teacher was cross.
He asked,
Teacher:
�What�s your excuse?�
Student:
I said, �Well, I think have
used too much mousse.�
The End
� 2004 by Linda Knaus. Adapted from the poem in If Kids Ruled the School, published by Meadowbrook Press
I woke up this morning and my hair was such a mess
Its grey roots are showing through - oh dear I must confess
This lovely shade of titian red it really isn�t mine
But when I get the colour on I just look so divine
I open up the bottles and mix the liquids so
The mixture smells disgusting; but then again I know
Once I�ve hit the bottle and the mixture is all gone
Grey hairs will be covered so I have to carry on
My hair is dyed I cannot lie, but it makes me feel so great
To eradicate the grey ones it�s really down to fate
My mum went grey at an early age and dad he has hardly any left
So if I couldn�t dye my hair at all I would be quite bereft
Jan Allison
BAD HAIR DAY
There was a young lady named Fairday
On Monday she had a bad hair day
She twisted and clipped
But it flopped and it flipped
That poor young lady named Fairday.
She let her hair down
But she looked like a clown
Then she wailed and she cried
Said "Be damned, I've no pride"
So went to work wearing a crown.
c ELR 2013
Surreal Bad Hair Day
I stare in the mirror with fear on my face
So late for work my heart starts to race
I move the old brush, striving for perfection
As I gaze in horror at this shambling reflection
Each move of the hand makes it look worse
I am in need of a stylist or possibly a hearse
I squirt on some gel and it hits the mark
I turn on the dryer and out shoots a spark
I run all around with my hair quite ablaze
While it looks very hot it will be no new craze
I search for some water and instead I find cheese
I find this quite odd as I pant and I wheeze
I glance at my hair and it appears to be fur
But it did not before, of this I am sure
I begin to wake up, things start to come clear
I can see plainly how I had nothing to fear
Now it makes sense, things are not as they seem
Isn't it strange of what an animal can dream?
Copyright � 2015 Patrick Bird
