Get Your Premium Membership

Best Big Head Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Big Head poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of big head poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Big Head poems, articles about Big Head poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Big Head poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

View all new Big Head Poems

The Best Big Head Poems

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I live in a circus

I live amazed in an amphitheatre, 
A huge red and white domed tent.
Working with actors and jesters, 
Enduring a perpetual torment.

The crazies I know are the clowns,
Red nose and a big head of hair.
And the gym junkies, they’re the strongmen, 
Wrestling each day with a junked up brown bear.

And the farmers are the animal acts,
Talking with elephants, lions and a monkey.
While the women down town, they’re the hula hoop spinners,
Forever looking so spunky.

Then there’s the boss in charge, she runs the sideshow, 
With magic acts, rubber man and the pony.
She makes up the rules as she goes every day, 
Turning up as the bearded lady.

My life is in the flying fruit fly circus, 
Others, are they oblivious to sights I view.
Every day brings a new surprise, I see it, I wonder, 
I’m curious, do you see it too?

Long live James Tate. :)

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2016

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I'm Never Wrong - A Country Tune for Donald Trump

Well I got some big hair
Sittin' on my big head
And I got a big wife
Sleepin' in my big bed -
And I got a big reason 
For singin' this song -
It's great to be me,
'Cause I'm never wrong.

Gonna build a big wall
To keep them Mexicans out;
Gonna make 'em all pay
"Cause that's what I'm about
Gonna build it high,
Gonna build it long -
And it's a good idea,
'Cause I'm never wrong.

You might think I'd care
When the facts don't match-
You might think I'd feel
There was some kinda catch -
But whatever you say,
Whatever you do;
If I say that it's so, 
It just has to be true.

     I'm never wrong,
     I'm never wrong
     I'm never wrong
     I punish the weak
     Because I worship the strong
     And that's okay,
     'Cause I'm never wrong.

So I got my own plane
To fly over my crowd;
They like me brash,
They like me loud.
They all wanna believe
I'm gonna make 'em great
Though really I think
They're all second-rate.

So I tell 'em the things
I know they wanna hear;
I been tellin' these tales
Since this time last year.
No need for the truth
Or humility -
Just so long as they hate
That gal Hilary.

You might think that I'd blanch
When they call me out,
Or even admit
To a moment of doubt -
But that just wouldn't be me,
Because it wouldn't seem strong;
And it might suggest
That I could be wrong.

     I'm never wrong
     I'm never wrong
     I'm never wrong 
     Gonna have to face Hilary
     Before very long -
     And then we'll all see
     If I'm ever wrong.

     And then we'll all see
     If I'm ever wrong.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2016

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Big Ego

He's got a big ego,
he keeps offending people,
he scoops the same scoop,
and round and round we loop,
until the bubble pops
and the world sees him flop,
reject the rude,
deflate your ego,
swearing kills the mood,
you able?

I'm getting to cocky,
I could outbox Ali,
wrestle with The Rock
reach the top and stop and mock,
ego full of stock
forget the tick tock
because I'm 24 7
until I get into heaven,
insomnia beckons
and amnesia threatens,
bend rhymes like Beckham,
dunk punks like Jordan,
the mental perfection
with its rhyme injection,
about to live the lesson 
of the ego outstretchin'
the limit it can flex,
the crux, the critical,
I rhyme the old skool
and wear hip hop shoes,
I hate the mumble flop
with the words unused,
it's just ear abuse,
on the loose,
with no use,
it's noise with no excuse.

I suspect that this project
will impact and inflict,
sick tricks, and then retract
and evaporate back
to the gods intact,
before it's redirected
to another level head,
who wrecks and blows it,
crash the car, 
went too far,
you go from feeling cool,
to a sample of your stool,
that big head 
now gone and the face left red,
baking big mistakes,
taking punches from a heavyweight,
David doesn't always beat Goliath,
cometh the hour,
cometh the coffin,
you can't stimulate with coffee
because the heart stopped beating,
the soul is set free
and this world you're leaving,
beaten down with ease,
lying dead and bleeding,
how's that big ego?
You still offending people?

One hand holds but the other can't reach,
near rhymes aren't real rhymes
and sand doesn't mean a beach,
but if you find the flow,
find a way to wined the cable,
then transmit clear and stable,
and accurate like a machete
you'll rhyme like a line of spaghetti,
but with deadwood on your lead 
and at ease in your bed head,
because it feels so easy with an ego, 
then know it wont make a good show,
so put your feet on the ground
be aware of how the words sound,
leave behind the prima donna 
or become another gonna,
stop the passive aggression,
or accept a massive devaluation,
fill your minds storage with knowledge
beyond the college,
there's always more to learn
and more wood to burn,
big heads remove themselves
when they burn their own shelves.

Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Crown Him Our Christ

Crown Him, Our Christ!

When the saints march forward 
Win the spiritual warfare in their bid
To prevail against the bits 
Of don'ts
When heart- darkened sinners
Are saved,transformed
Are able to abide by the nook
Of the do's
We can with every confidence
Rock our regal swivel chairs
And say Christ has done it all!
Let's crown Him with many crowns!
When the balm of Gilead avails
To quench the crest of woes
The Eastwind blows
When the stream of Beulah flows
Into your deserted bosom
When Storms become stillborn 
In the ocean's womb
By the voice Divine uttered
By our Saviour.
When your foes
Bolt with their hoes
From your glorious
And blessed Eden
They feel acrid fire
Behold how bitter the pangs
Of hell throes!
When many a sinner's heart begin
To melt into cushion
As many a sermon penetrate
Therein hook, sinker and line.
When the aroma of a victor's ointment
We smell
Thus have we every reason to say,
Let's crown Him with many crowns!
When Satan's big head
Is finally crushed into powder
And he loses complete interest
In our Bridegroom's dower
When to the Heavens
We all rise at last
And soar through the pearly gates
With yonder brethren
In a ride of billion sevens
We shall all wonder
Shout and say,
Let's crown Him with many crowns!
By Ebenezer K N Baiden- Amissah

Copyright © Ebenezer Baiden-Amissah | Year Posted 2017

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Big Head - Or is it Friend

I will never compete with you
Why would I that’s the clue

I am neither in competition
With anyone else to try to beat them

I just say it like it is
If you don’t like it then don’t read it

Just give me some respect
And never give me your advice
Just so your always right

Because my friend I can tell you
It’s you that hasn’t got a clue

So, in the end it’s you that lose
As no more me and no more you

Big Head You - Without a Clue
I think that I always knew


Copyright © Damian Keady | Year Posted 2018

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Big Head

I have a ridiculously large head, I think I’d opt for a smaller one instead. Oh, sure, you say that it suits me fine, That’s because yours isn’t near as big as mine. I bet that it weights at least thirty pounds, It looks even bigger than it sounds. When I lay it down on my waterbed, A tsunami rises so my wife has said. When I go to try on winter hats, The clerk gives me ones with ventilation slats, That way when it’s not on sitting my dome, It can be used as a guest room for my home. My giant head is entirely too big, Someday archeologists will venture on dig, They’ll think that I came from the highland, On the west end of Easter Island. Little kids stare up at my noggin, They think it could be used for a toboggan. Or a shed to hold random hodgepodge, That clutters things up in their dad’s garage. Don’t tell me that it’s due to my intellect, It makes your judgment sound suspect. It’s because my brain is fashioned like a brick, And my skull is so very, very thick.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Teddy Roosevelt once said -
"speak softly
and carry a big stick”

in referencing this statement 
might respond- 
I may not speak softly-
or do anything softly
but I am loved by all
and carry a big stick
a very big hard stick
with very big balls 
in my very big head
and all my very 
very good friends 
all of them 
Hispanic, black , white and Islamic
men, women and others
love me 
and them 

Copyright © RUDOLPH RINALDI | Year Posted 2015

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Once Upon A Ego

Once upon a time there never was an Ego
For it was alive by the breath of wishes of those who were suffocating from it
I carried the cross for being egoist
Had my hands nailed, had myself hailed
Confident rain was self-absorbed
Self-esteem felt the pain
Self-assertive had risen and reign
To conquer and succeed I was self-assured
That I too was not self-conscious
I never was an empty vessel 'cause I was self-contained
I couldn't handle to be self-effacing
Greatness was self-evident
People stand with me for being self-opinionated
For they cannot fall for self-pity
In the frame of success I see a self-portrait
Less of the devil for I was self-possessed
I had plans to be wealthy but not selfish
For my soul is sold to me

Once upon a time there never was an Ego
For it was alive by the breath of wishes of those who were suffocating from it
Created by mental act, a big head bloated by self-inflicted praise and external compliments
It is evident that its been hated that I've been Ahead (a head)
Its better if people held their breaths and never deliver compliments
Reduce the explosion of me being big headed
Or leave me alone with my good looks & big nose
And I remain breath taking
Taking away opinions and displaying facts
Handsome, good looking has never been the question
To answer attraction with confidence

As I walk confidently around big names, as big headed
As they speak unmoving words with no flames
My big name, amongst lame names, 
I lament to their ineptitude
I have suffered the loudest noises of being tagged as arrogant
I now continue to walk boldly  & 
tramp on fingers of those who have cut their hands short not to applaud me

But what I say is Label me arrogant
Certify and stamp me as arrogant
Race for first place to call me too confident
And your opinion comes in at last place 
At the finish line, my gold medal, my golden thoughts
My presence is victorious,
Make me a subject to you predicates
As a premier of self-acceptance
A victim & short-faller of your acceptance
A preface to ego
There never was Once upon on a time
But there was confidence, it always had its Ego
Crucify me for juggling your critics
Once upon an ego
Once upon a Me
Cos it was,has, and will always be about me and my Ego

Copyright © Vuyolethu Sithatu | Year Posted 2014

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Surviving Your Own Life

My father and I did not share all that much,
More like passing a truck on the road
Parent’s squabbles I overheard offered me clues
And at times I caught glimpse of his load.

His freight always sealed with a padlock in back,
Any breakdowns he kept to himself,
His frustrations were private, his eye on the road,
His deliveries always top shelf!

His company’s rules left my Mom on the bench,
He in truth, perhaps liked it that way,
For it left her in charge of all family chores,
His great weakness was children at play!

Long hours of hard driving he’d learned from his dad,
His attempts to steer children went flat,
And his road map to family fuzzy at best
Little Grace for him, tit for his tat.

My mom had unknowingly married success,
So her tears rarely bought her a break,
Childhood poverty left (like a tread in the dust)
Her true voice was the sound rivers make.

Though truthfully she trucked a lot of the load
That my dad sometimes took credit for,
Supple reed that could bend so that he didn’t snap,
Her support for him not metaphor.

Her leaving him really was stuff of my dreams
Thought occurred though she might leave me too
Still I fantasied she’d find more happiness then
A true blessing from child’s point of view.

My sister experienced similar pain,
For my father’s rules always came first
But the bonds she and I formed helped both of us feel
Being male didn’t have to mean cursed.
There’s mystery still in just how we survived,
But maturity opened new doors
As we learned how to dance to songs Dad couldn’t hear,
In between and in spite of our chores.

If favor and love seemed in quite short supply
When he traveled then freedom was ours,
For when chores were done Dad’s control died on the vine
And we lived for these magical hours.

My books, rockets, music, and R/C airplanes
Did a lot to help fill in the holes,
I found mentors who lovingly showed me their world
Now my wizards of alternate roles.

My dad never once said “I’m proud of you son!”,
Didn’t want me to get a “big head,”
Good grades simply expected as if they were chore,
Consequences of failure unsaid.

Our family’s glue always duty not love,
I am sure this is how he was raised,
The worst beating I got? I forgot to mow lawn!
Mom and Sister took off, Dad was crazed.

Mom’s tears just ignored, how predictable that,
Torn to shreds was my trust in her love!
But if Mom’s love was flawed, did Dad’s even exist?
God himself dead in heaven above!

Yes, that was the day that I learned how to hate,
Dad’s needs and his goals? “Go to hell!”
It was day he lost heir, that my family died,
And the day I disowned him as well.

Though I was a boy perhaps nine years of age
My eyes only “looked out” after that,
For his business, his life, now meant nothing to me
With the world he built smelling like scat!

Child’s error that I thought my dad had no pride,
Just because it was not shown to me
In rebellion youth often believes he’s escaped
But just Grace has the power to free.

Rebellion itself means you’re likely enslaved
If you’re not him where’s freedom of choice
After all, even broken clock’s right twice a day
How can this be an authentic voice?

The fact you find value in some other path
Doesn’t mean he is totally wrong.
And the fact on occasion he grievously erred
Doesn’t mean yours is far better song!

Spent much of my adult life not being Dad
Always viewed overtime with disdain
Nothing ever should mitigate family time,
Lived in fear I might cause my wife pain.

Mom’s misery made kids think Dad was to blame
She, an artist, faced demons alone,
With Dad’s focus aloof to the needs she expressed,
And yet later she bloomed on her own.

The marriage that I feared was destined to hell
Wound up bringing our parents some grace.
For our mom, not becoming a business savant,
Saw her art bring a smile to Dad’s face.

Deciding to search for new truth on my own
College Science seemed like my best bet.
An approach to what’s right with no feelings involved,
As I dreamed of my lost safety net.

On joining the Peace Corps in college third year
I felt sure I’d meet Damocles sword,
But Dad gave not a caution and when I returned
My two-year diversion ignored.

When Vietnam War came I tested 1-Y
For I’d put my right hand through glass door,
When I finished my Masters joined Peace Corps again,
Seemed I’d whetted an urge to explore.

My life’s greatest irony came when Dad died
Turned out my life was what he had dreamed,
At his grave his best friend shared his pride in his son,
With one word his existence redeemed.

My marriages, job paths, won’t tell you much more,
Though my upbringing brought gain and loss,
I’ve found pain a good teacher and ditto mistake,
Life works best when “buck stops with the boss!”

For me Science showed itself lacking in warmth
And relationships came to the fore,
Now the give and take found in emotional life
Is my joy every morning and more!

Brian Johnston
September 4, 2016

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2016

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Before Rene Descartes does this world depart 
he gives analytic geometry its big head start 
from bugs that draw graphs crawling on his ceiling; 
as he lies sprawling, sick in bed, reeling.

Copyright © John Smith | Year Posted 2011

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Favorite Recurring Nightmares Part 1

Don't you think that this title is darkly divine?
But, of course, there will have to be weirdness that’s funny,
Though my nightmares are many and have complex arcs
There’s some risk here I might have to work for my money!

Nightmare 1. To Wake Up Black

Can there be a fate worse than the skin of a black?
Can you show me a white man who seeks this advantage?
“Well, my guess is they wash their hands?” sycophants say,
For the “Mark of Cain” (1) stains them as racists teach adage.

Is it possible Donald is jealous of blacks?
Can’t you feel Donald’s pain as white Pillsbury “Dough” Boy?(2)
His clear “victim” persona when “tough guy” is sought?
The abused (3) cannot love when not losing is soul’s joy.

Poet’s Notes on Nightmare 1.
(1) White racists who call themselves Christians have long taught their children that since Cain killed his brother, all blacks are the children of mankind’s first murderer. Blacks have been cursed by God and are therefore to be considered subhuman. 

Christ says that if you even think about murdering someone, you are already guilty of the crime in God’s eyes. Might the Mark of Cain, perhaps, be that you were born on this planet? God knows the “blackness” of your heart and still sent Christ to die for your sins.

(2) A reference to a monster in the movie "Ghost Busters."

(3) It’s said Donald Trump’s father had to rescue him several times from total bankruptcy, poor dad! Given Donald’s apparent contempt for the poor and needy, it is easy to imagine that his father also held him in contempt, poor kid! The lesson he learned: “If I don’t need anyone I have nothing to lose! (No one can hurt me!)” The reality seems to be, however, that there are few people in the world more thin skinned than Donald Trump!
Nightmare 2. To Wake Up Poor

The idea the wealthy wake up destitute
Seems improbable nightmare. Why should the rich worry?
The “real” wealth more in habits and friendship than gold,
Who can steal worth of practice or force trust to hurry?

But the ones never taught keys to wealth haunt my dreams,
For all poverty tends to endanger soul’s passage,
To delay satisfaction and set aside gain
That might bridge future need, is prosperity’s message.

Nightmare 3. To Wake Up a Woman

After three wives, my sister and mom, (I feel faint),
There is so much about me that nobody knows yet,
With no kids of my own, my best insights suspect...
Though I fear inner voice, something less is no sonnet.

I would have to turn off burning need to be right,
And perhaps open heart to adopting a daughter,
There’s no way that I think I would want to give birth,
Why give birth to a child, men and Trump will just slaughter.

Nightmare 4. To Wake Up a Republican

OMG! Can it be I’m home safe in my bed?
This bad boy was “togetherness” way past my limit!
Always game, Donald Trump staked his claim! (“It’s my fame!”)
But he wisely picked hall with a “locker room” climate!

Young and old, tall and short, no dissent to report,
Queers (NOT GAY!), making hay, toes lined up, how they play! While
Trumps homogenized, GMO geese took the stage...
“Heil!” “Big Boy!” razzmatazz, “Yes!” “Big Hands!” razzmatazz, “Heil!”
Nightmare 5. To Wake Up Tone Deaf

You may laugh but to me this one’s scary as Hell!
It’s a dark deprivation, akin to not seeing!
You can hear, but the rainbows of color in sound 
Are all missing, all tones are just grey shades of being.

As a child I could hear “Middle C” in my head
(Some name notes the way you call Rose red, pink, or yellow),
All men gifted with “Relative Pitch” carry tunes,
As can “Absolute Pitch” man, incredible fellow.

How could music be treasured if all tones were grey,
Could the beauty that’s poetry dance with flame absent?
Lord, I weep for the folk who can’t see with their ears,
Let me die if You must, but please spare me that torment.

To my heart each new note has the face of a child,
And these kids make the world quite enormously brighter,
Please you Lord, let me be, always your “Middle C!”
Never lost in a crowd, may I always be fighter.

Nightmare 6. To Wake Up With a “Big Head!”

Not much worse in the world than a man with “big head,”
To be one that’s so dumb he thinks his poop’s important,
No slight ever so small his foot can’t find his mouth,
Get too close and you’ll feel like you need disinfectant.

Late night comedy writers can lay down their pens,
Here’s a man who thinks he makes the sun rise each morning,
Feckless bully who can’t keep his pants or lips zipped,
Even Statue of Liberty bows head in mourning.

Nightmare 7. To Not Be A Christian

It’s not even your choice when the rubber meets road,
Many claim to be Christian while secretly seething,
They confuse “faith” with saying that “Christ is my Lord.”
Although words can be empty, changed hearts show re-birthing.

Rather let me be “*****” one the “pious” reject!
It is Grace and not choice that leads all to the Father
The flock’s weeping is useless unless they repent,
Any vote cast for Trump just mob living in anger.

Help me lift up my brother and hate just his sin,
Won’t You free me to doubt Lord but teach me to question,
“Living faith” simply dead in those certain they know,
And let Grace and not judgement feed my reinvention.

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2017

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men

Adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.


 Robin’s Thick Member

We wuz out huntin that day
Ah remembers as plain as can be
When a ansome buck came us way
Fust to shoot was me mate Unlucky

Now that buck he just looked in us faces
With an air of his royal decree
Displayin his arrogunt graces
At the arra there stuck in the tree

Ah says, “Robin, he won’t be best pleased
At missin his dinner agen
Your damn good at arrain trees 
An pissin off his merry men”

If we goes back to camp with no meal
That maid, she will giv us sum stick
She’ll shove us sum manky old veal
An the merry men will all be sick”

Then Unlucky he says that he saw
Over there be-ind the rockery
A big ol boy of a boar
But his arra, yes, it foun a tree

Stood Marion with expectation
The night would be one great party
But after me grand explanation
We was whipped a foot up from the knee

Then Robin  “Unlucky”, he says
“You’s a poor shot as all us can see
If that buck agen inter view strays
Just bloomin well aims fer the tree.

Coz averages seem to dictate
You could bag that buck if you tried
If only you’d concentrate
An wern’t so bloody cross eyed”

So Unlucky he thinks to his sen
I’ll show them a thing or two
That big head an his stinky men
Will be dinin on best red deer stew

Once more he foun his sen afore
That deer who was showin no fear
He watched as his arra did soar
Past that grinnin bucks twitchin left ear

But wait, that buck he was down
His hooves in the air on his back
The arra that just missed his crown
Had given him sheer heart attack

He was cheered when he got back to camp
An the night became one great party
With a bow he was proclaimed a champ
An no longer known as Unlucky.

Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2016

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Place to Begin

There isn't anything too late, if you love it.
Love doesn't solve everything,
and it isn't the only thing that's important,
but it has a big head start on everything else.
If there's love, there's a place to begin.

Copyright © Randolph Byrd | Year Posted 2014

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.


I once knew a man named red
Who had a really big head
If not for the thinking,
And all of the winking,
He knew you'd always be dead.

Copyright © Criss Tripp | Year Posted 2015

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

She married a postman

She married
a postman
a good man
who comes
and goes
with good news
and bad
wedding invitations
and funerals
hiring letters
and pink slips
lottery winners
and eviction notices
my dog hates him
barks nonstop when he turns
the corner
and i keep saying
stop it
hate the message sender
not the messenger
this guy
is a good man
that's why she married him
not because he's a genius
all he does
going from point A
to point B
things in this world
don't work like this
big head
too smart
she married him
because of the 
big heart...

Copyright © Dino Spahillari | Year Posted 2012

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Johnny Wade

Occupied of dirty laundry
Comic books
And Chuck Palahniuk
This grungy fume
Smells of coffee beans
Stirred with cigarette butts
And dirty feet
Neutral Milk Hotel is singing
Through that dirty old stereo of yours
On top is a stack of
Scratched up mixes I created
Elliott Smith
Built to Spill
And Leslie Feist
Scribbled with my sharpies
24 pack purchased at Costco
This scene
Is all too familiar
And this room reeks
Of the late Saturday nights
Spent watching Spiderman one and two
Not three
Those summer days
Full of slices at Dream
And rooftop adventures
The miles soaked
In that dark maroon truck
Where your baby brother’s safety chair
Always got tangled up with the seat belt
You got frustrated
And I just laughed
Those kitchen afternoons
Full of Honey Bunches of Oats
And mouth-watering sandwiches
Light on the mayo
And heavy on the mustard
The lazy Sundays
Keeping our hands warm
With a cup of English Breakfast
Find us downtown
Wondering around Second Street
Notes left on the counter
Don’t forget to water the plants
And absolutely no guests
With an examination mark at the end
Love, Mom
You never did forget to water the plants
Hand in hand 
With a zip lock bag full of trail mix
Extra M&M’s
With the world at our feet
That smile of yours
Takes me back
Seventh grade
Three seats ahead of me
A small frame
With a big head 
Abnormally long arms
A devious smile
From ear to ear
No braces provided
Massive hands
And uneven bangs
A deep voice
For a little man
Stuck inside
A supernatural world
Full of villains
And superhero capes
Plaid jacket
Snatched from Goodwill
Cheated the soda machine
And smacked lockers
Just to hear the magnetic mirrors
The face is so familiar
And the past is vivid
But I know nothing about you
How are you?
How is she?
Do you remember that
One time we
Raced in the dark
Till our insides almost exploded
That night I almost fell
Off your rooftop
Pointing out the Big Dipper
These times
Float through my mind
By the way
Your hideous attempt
To draw a triceratops
Is still hanging on my wall
Thanks for that

Copyright © christine dong | Year Posted 2008

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Very Big Head

Tribute poems are flying back and forth Had more than my share, my voice is hoarse From thanking you all I'm having a ball Head's so big now, can't fit through the door © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Poem For Deacon Jeanne Miller

Poem For Deacon Jeanne Miller

Was amazed when I found my worst enemy
Actually ended up being I, myself and me
Throughout all of time and deep into space
And, of course, it was me setting the pace.

Out of complete control turned out being
And only myself who was worth seeing
Had an ego within my bright, big head
If only I had listened to God instead.

Should know that blessed will be the one
Who gave God credit for what they had done
It is He who I have religiously recognized
While devil down deep there is disguised.

With devil many times I have been annoyed
God removed my sins and then devil destroyed
A tremendous thought from God did did occur
Instead of him what if Devil had been a her.

So ho, ho, ho and have a very merry time
Up tree of life you will start to timidly climb
When gray, old and top you tried and reached
Was due to great sermon to people you preached.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran

So blessed be our beloved Deacon Jeanne
Never short sighted but hard to see her bean.

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

PEZ DiSpenser

Being used.
Take everything out of me, 
& on the days i’m not wanted, 
I am left emptied 
all of the way out.

A pleasant ‘medicine’ to show others just how good I make you feel, & how good I taste.
I’d be lying to say that hearing those words doesn’t make me spring right back up even in a setting as disintegrating as this. 
I’m still here, ready to break off a piece of plastic from my narrow body for you.
It is you after all. I’d do it if I had too.

But, you confuse me.

You keep my head lifted & it keeps you entertained. 
I like it, kind of. It’s like we’re getting to know each other’s touch, and see similar smiles to those of when we first met. 
This makes it easier not to think too much about how I’m handled.
You’ve never treated me this way. 
I’ve gotten my big head stuck before by trying to fill myself up with much more than you needed, 
but this feeling of loneliness by you is unfamiliar. 
I love you, I say. I love you, I show.
You love me, you say. You love me, I believe.

I hate the feeling of feeling cheap. You told me that I was especially manufactured for someone of your taste, & I believe every word of that.

Stop pressing my head down into my stomach, please.
I’m starting to get sick of not seeing everything that kept me full of your every desire to see me smile.
I could never be naive enough to say that I can fulfill who you are, 
because I have a purpose that involves much more than 
going up and down, emptying my insides with temporary dissolving gestures.
But I know I can share with you 
the essence of being the someone who treats you as good as the planets you can’t see. 
So align me inside the atmosphere of your care, & I’ll pick you up before you can say, “deSpenser”

Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sucka Filled Love

*Edited for general audience*

Why do I still blush
when this man 
that’s no good for me,
says something I’m sure 
he says to five other females,
maybe more.

Why do I find myself
hoping that he’ll carry on with me,
knowing that after I’m done 
being made to feel special,
I’m just a fleeting thought
until we find each other… 

Why do I smile so big 
at a message with no feelings,
just overused words strung together, 
sent by a man 
who probably just got finished 
sliding in someone’s DMs.

Why do I find myself hoping 
that he’ll make a declaration,
when we’ve told each other 
we’re not trying to be serious.
One of us fronting,
rare that it’s both.

Why do I always want
the ones who can’t give me
the things I act like I don’t need.

The ones who flirt with you 
and have sex with someone else 
because they can’t get it from you.

The ones you do love,
and sex good,
yet when he leaves your presence,
you know he’s into other things
that ain’t you.

The ones that don’t flirt,
don’t love you,
and stress to you
how much they hate 
these girls stressing them.
How they wish y'all weren’t friends,
because you're so lowkey 
and would be the perfect girl
because you get him.


Just why.

Do I take the time
to write out
how much thought I put
into this man,
these men,
those guys.
That only take time out
when it’s “been a minute”,
“Hey big head”,
“What’s up stranger”,
“You cut me off”,
“I just wanted to check on you”,

Why do I roll my eyes
and smile at these messages,
let the calls go to voicemail 
then send a text hours later.

Why do I hit him with the 
"Stop frontin”,
“Lol. Nothing."s

Why do I let my feelings 
drag me into these circles,
knowing that they change.

That the same thing 
that makes me smile today,
is the thing that makes me cringe tomorrow.

The man I thought I loved 
to see pop up in my phone, 
I start to wonder why 
I ever got on this ride.


Just why,

Do I do this to myself?

Copyright © Joy Nicole | Year Posted 2016

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Body and My Soul

my sinned hands
wash out in the 
blood of wounds;
my big head
bow down at your 
altar of pure love;
my two eyes,
looks with a guilt
at  the feet
of your  kindness;
my ruined body
feels by the holy touch
of the cross;
My body; My soul is all yours
My land; My heart is all yours !


NOTE: This poem is written on this day, THE GOOD FRIDAY, 29th March, 2013.

Copyright © WILLIAMSJI MAVELI | Year Posted 2013

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Stranger Than Fiction

*warning* disturbing lines have been detected - you have been warned, readers. Okay, enjoy this somewhat deep and astounding poem from me that took days to write...>:)

I bet you anything that I'm the laziest guy in the world
Bored all the time and it's hard to concentrate when time passes me by
I wish I didn't exist because I have held on to these ugly conditions for so long...
Bipolar with a whole lot of addictions to put up with - don't feel sorry for me, for all along, 
Maybe He is telling me I'm strong...
And I do belong though I'm stranger than fiction
I need to figure out how to stand my ground when I face my addiction
It's reducing to affliction
Having a blank mind when I'm watching my life fade away 

We were on each other's team 
Until you ruined my self-esteem
We were all going to let out our merry scream,
But we ruined each other's self esteem

Drenched in silent wars the moment you had a halo about your devil horns 
My silent slumber spent on were a delightful dream until my heart forlorns 
I see a gleam of lies 
In your universe eyes
I saw a reflection of hate...
A love that has arrived late

We are sheltering each other from the rainstorm
Silently still on my bed, awake with sudden dread
Admiring the moon as it shines so vibrant against an ebony sky
Show me how to live life without any worries in mind 
You're my miracle in disguise
You're my pocketful of illuminating light, attracting many flies

Quit ignoring my messages and I'm growing tired of your thoughtless goodbyes 
I'm trying to bite the bullet for you...the shadows of you gives me those temporary highs 
But what comes up must come down...
I'm so mind-blown cuz I was all alone 
Good news - you make me wear an upside down frown when you drive me 'round in town 
Once upon a time, I was a broken bone when I was left on my own, no one is picking up the phone 

Pornographic images flood my mind...I've lost my mind along the way
I'm going way down with a lonely frown 
My mind is numb and dumb and I'm blind with corruption's cum, intoxicated with a daydreamer's rum
Under a Crooked spell, screwed up in the head
Flipping out and drowning in dread 

Darling, I'm sorry that I isolate myself in my room of doom
There's hope to rely on when I associate with are my spring bloom,
Reminding me that there's still beauty in my heart
But I thought I tore it all apart from the start
I adore you...darling who set me free from my torture chamber
I wept because I was blue from an attitude of solitude...I don't mean to act immature 

The unbearable insomnia 
Takes over me night after night
My eyes stare at the screen in awe
I'm trying to drown out the darkness with all remaining might
Exposed to the artificial light man has made for our pleasure alone
Suppose there's a reason I can't close my eyes...the reason is just left unknown 
The pain and suffering I see is out of sight
Spare the poor the riches that life has in store for them...they aren't the ones that deserve to be condemned 
Remove their lives from sorrows that doesn't serve them right
Why must I give in to my perverse ways? I still have a chance to treasure my innocence like a rare gem
The brawls of blasphemed boredom 
Has allowed me to put my guard down...and I regret losing time over my pleasures that I wish would fade away from me... God's Kingdom come!

I want to seek His holy rest, but I keep avoiding it as if I'm the east and His word is the west...
I'm trying my best not to be a pest...I don't want to watch my life pass away before my very eyes...I want to pass life's tough test 
If only God's spirit can wrap me up with divine bliss...
If only I had the energy to dispose of my hopelessness...
Believe it or not, God is still around 
I may be a lost and frightened child, but I'll prevent my faith from failing me now - I will not be left behind, but sooner or later, I'll be found...above the ground

The butterflies fly away as I sing on stage with rageless melody 
Musing about yesterday's tomorrow and my plans are set free
I'm gonna be okay, I just got to captivate my creativity 
Nothing lasts forever sadly, but I'm not gonna worry, for that will waste my time with me
But, let's be honest, I'm wanting more than just acceptance
Sure, I'm a shy guy that is used to such neglectance...this rejectance 

When I am around others,
I don't know what to say
I need you to know that I need something more than this this night...this godly day could give me...but hey
But what is life if you don't get my way?
Things won't just get better if I do nothing today
I'm awkward and random
Waiting for God's lovely kingdom
We all walk about in circles and waste time on our hands
I'll just say what I have in mind from now on...clap hands, for I've crashed with a hundred lands

Grinding on the gravel of my existence 
Now, it's getting stranger than fiction 
Rapt in rue out of the blue...fenced in by your ignorance 
Destined to dream the dream of reality, reigning over friction and jurisdiction, a rather jaded depiction 

You are the valley
I am the mountain
We go together frankly
So be not a sad, sad fountain

Wriggling my way out of the snare I'm in
Frolicking in the wilderness of weeds
Sprinkling salt and pepper upon my distasteful flavor from deep within
Licking the flames of ice fire...doing dirty deeds

Tired of trying to be someone I'm not
I'm tired of you, leaving me in the dead center to rot 

I'm tired of me, getting tired and giving in to giving up...scars left to mend 
I'm tired of everyone and everything, so leave me alone 
I'll be stranger than fiction in your disgraceful face...a broken bone 
I'm tired of it all...I had enough of this dilemma I've been encountering for years on end 

Come on and spell out my rage on paper
Pluck out the thorns of thundering thatred from the roses of painstaking proses and watching endless, you-snooze-you-lose shows 
I was a hater, now I will catch you later
Out of myself credit, not getting a big head over it...anything goes wherever the wicked wind blows

Copyright © J.W. Earnings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

An Old Abandoned Cabin

Nestled in a valley in a clearing of large oak,
while sunlight touched but treetops where the baby robins woke,
stood an old abandoned cabin that had seen some better days,
had once seen better fam'lies and had once seen better ways.
A little stream meandered by with water clean and pure
that seemed to say, "Come drink from me.  Your problems, I will cure."
And sparkled bright, the diamonds that had glistened in the sky,
as did the dew on God's green earth that blessed the patient eye.

Hither, yon the squirrels worked and did what squirrels do.
They shared their ample spacious trees where little finches flew -
where trees wore brilliant yellow, red and golden colored suits
where leaves had wiggled in the breeze among leftover fruits.
But when the sun had cleared the hill and peeked above the trees
exposing all the guilt of man and sin that Heaven sees -
it brought to light the darkness deep inside those timbered wall,
where dust and cobwebs fought a war and won man's mighty fall.

Now just a second, let's step back and tell me how they can -
how tiny little spiders beat the big and mighty man?
Just maybe, man with ego big, was thought too big to fail -
and now the dust and spiderwebs own every board and nail.
That cabin once was filled with 'men', with love and life and health,
but now sits there abandoned and long gone his pride and wealth.
I once knew well the fam'ly who had lived inside those walls
of that abandoned cabin where our Savior's voice still calls.

If mighty man's big head was pulled along with his conceit
from clouds so he'd descend back down and settle on his feet -
then maybe he could still enjoy the cabin in the trees
and persevere through patience with the autumn colored leaves -
that dance above the cabin roof, that seem to taunt en mass -
to each and every one of us until possessions pass -
that man was beaten down by bugs who haven't any clue
that God is still in full control over me and you...

©2012 louis gander -

Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.


I have travelled miles and miles, from cities to cities. In each town I try to find something like you, for a while I did, however it lacked your smile, that annoying laugh you make when you are happy, the look you give me  when I get mad at you . I definitely found something; I found myself, I learnt to love myself , don't get me wrong, I always had myself, and you loved me to the moon and back and everyday you showed me that through your actions, I just needed to see myself from my own eyes, rather than through yours, I just needed to know I could make it on my own and that you was there by choice. For a while It felt good, I felt content and I didn't think I needed you. I found my thoughts, my heart didn't skip beats as often as it did and my mind was clear, I could think and I didn't think I needed you. I wasn't that little school girl who would run to you or stand behind the door just to scare you with a BOO then hug you when you got scared or pass out laughing on the floor, which ever one came first. I wasn't that girl that looked to you to lead the way, that girl that always throw shade at your big head. I wasn't that girl you taught countless hours how to drive and ways to trick myself into studying to get them good marks. I travel through countries looking for something to restore my strength to build myself but I forgot that I left you behind.

Copyright © Mafata Dunbar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Big Head Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A cup of mint before bed

medical treatment is my foe
and besides,i hate doctors too
big bro spent thirty years in hospital
not a patient,though he was hysterical

he's almost a Doc highly gifted
better than medical staff gathered
yet,he bears an epileptic danger
risking death more than brain cancer

and suffering stomach ache for years
due to a trauma from God no cures
now he looks like a spiders'web
Having his life haung to airy thread

i told him not to use medecines
but big bro,big head thus it seems
his lack of a natural medical skill
is what made all his pains not heal

i insisted to make him rhyme with nature
use herbal treatment from mountain pasture
stubborn and laking tact,as he still persisted
that today every part of him is infected

Copyright © Poetic Flame | Year Posted 2015