Best Balding Poems
Holy crappola
My hair's thinning out
I'm much too young
It's making me pout
My pride and joy
My whole life through
Can't imagine me bald
Bet neither can you
Given this guy is
So rugged and stylish
Admittedly sometimes
A trifle bit childish
A dapper chappy
But with everything said
My crowning glory
Is up on my head
It defines who I am
No will to carry on
If I wake up one day
And my coiffure is gone
So take a good look
At my profile pic
The thought of me bald
Is making me sick
© Jack Ellison 2012
*spot poetry written in 15 minutes or less about any random subject
I am the hair on a balding man's head
not lying down but standing instead
Choosing to fight the battle alone
escaping the scissors, evading the comb
Keeping the faith down through the years
dodging the blade of the old barber's shears
He wants to look hot and "spicey"
But hair "rugs" are much too pricey
So he's getting some plugs today
Cuz he just doesn't want toupee'
Will Shakespeare got some writers starting
He didn’t write odes about farting
His talent was rare
And so was his hair
He had an incredible parting
...adapted from 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with
bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small
Channel Island,
a representative sampling of people
just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all those disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this
sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can
sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring
them together,
'if it works...' are his words
for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount
these days
to keep all those evil-believers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him
an angel,
the more he does good deeds
the bigger they grow
till they're actually poking right out
of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds
in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact
they're all gone,
he need not keep himself in disguise.
But this scheme that he's started
gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good
that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens!
he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what
should he do?
He's conflicted like never before.
He sits down to ponder which way
he should turn,
till it's clear, sitting right at his door.
On the horns of a moral dilemma
he simply gives in to pure Good.
He embraces his folk, he just loves them
to death,
till his wings are full-sprouted; he could
take to the air and keep flying
just as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop the cosmos, who knows?