Poems (!) for those bad hair days!


Did you ever consider expressing your mood of a bad hair day with a poem? Well, some people did!

Bad Hair Day Poems
Bad-Hair Day

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,


“We can’t see the board
with your horns in the way!”

The teacher was cross.
He asked,

“What’s your excuse?”

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


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

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