Bobblehead poems on Hello Poetry

Don Brenner Oct 2010

next to prime rib
is a miniature fir
or bush
lumberjacked at
the trunk
you press like a bobblehead
plugging nostrils with green
steam and shake and
nobody wants to spitspoil red meat
and everyone agrees
so you collect veggie trees
arrange them in a forest
and reenact little red riding hood
with a cherry tomato
you bite -

you ******* werewolf
vampire where were you
when the fetus
crowned like a tulip pistil
harnesses by an umbilical noose
and the nurse paused and said
she's dead
and cried
and she cried too
while I waited with her father
her mother
and mine
and three friends
and nine months of this
for that
you ******* ******

not even john hancock
can sign a birth certificate
and a death certificate
in a nightmare
let alone in one night

2009

Thomas P Owens Sr May 2016

Joker

I bought a Joker bobblehead at an antique store
it bobbled it's head as I went out the door
it bobbled and turned
and with a laugh it said
get me out of this box *****
or I'll slice off your head
I turned right around
went back in the store
and asked for a refund
of $11.54 - including tax
I'm sorry she said
no refunds given here
now you're stuck with that *****
may God help you my dear
he's carved and beheaded
every Woody in my collection
he set fire to Buzz Lightyear
and gave Barbie a c-section
he's the devil himself
inside that bobbin' head
you'd better unload him
or soon you'll be dead
before she could put the closed sign on the door
I heard the feet of the Joker as they hit the floor
now you've done it she moaned
we've lost his *** now
I'm taking lunch
so find him somehow
before I could think of what my game plan would be
a voice, and a bob, bob, bob from behind laughed at me
'10.99 for the Joker plus tax!?'
and I turned just in time to catch Daniel Boone's ax
between the eyes!

re-post

broken poet May 2018

bobble head

i’ve turned into a bobblehead
i nod
up and down
i shake my head
side to side
a smile on my face
never faltering

you ask me
‘are you okay?’
i respond ‘of course.’ i shake my head and smile

‘should i be worried about you?’
i ignore the question
i can’t lie but i can’t tell you the truth

‘how was your day?’
i smile and nod my head ‘my day was fine, uneventful.’
i don’t lie i just don’t tell you everything
i don’t tell you how i sit in the shower and cry
how i was doing so well then i took that blade to my wrist
how when i think about the future there is nothing there

my problem have disappeared
i smile
i nod
because i must be okay
if i’m not okay then you would blame yourself
and it’s not you it’s me

matthew scott harris Jun 2019

First Amendment In Jeopardy

Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago

hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint ****** "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief

he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)

invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,

deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions

commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,

butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal

impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"

recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb

firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding

immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.

Jester Aug 2018

Spray Paint Manifesto: Verse 2

Broken promises and broken homes make for happy typical teenage rebellion.

When the revolution starts you'll probably snitch to the closet cop trying to save yourself from any kind of risky change.

While some create wildfires in the mind, while they create art or inspire the culture, you feed off the hype and try to play along like you're not a victim of fashion.

When the **** hits the fan you'll be the first to blog about the wave of crazies making life hard for everyone else while wearing a *** Pistols shirt and a bobblehead of Che Guevara waves in your stylized room.

You speak of Kafka while coughin on the name brand cigarettes you call depression.

You're a bi-polar baby using the newest app to transmit the **** you force us all to swallow and yet you wonder why everyone grows tired of you.

Chalk outline in the inner city and a candlelit vigil makes for a nice twitter post but it takes a twit like that to stand on the graves of the dead and talk about politics because a few hundred die but what matters is your opinion in the public eye.

You're the reason why Ziggy broke the band up. A freak of culture with a connection to the internet. When the revolution starts you'll be late to the party and you'll miss the bus but lie about how you were there in the front line- but tell me cupcake how can you support civil unrest when you sleep 8 hours a night and take a nap during the day?

sandra wyllie Jun 2021

He is the Cloud

hung over her. And every rain
she weathered the pain. A
bobblehead, nodding yes,
a saggy mess, hung as

a wet, wrinkled dress on
the wire. The pigeons drop
their bombs on her. She ***** as
a loose shutter outside his

window in the breeze. He hid
the sun under his pillow, catching
the rays from the skylight
in his bedroom. Shining as a flashlight

inside her womb. The two married
in June. She, the outsider pressed
as cider from the apples
in his eyes. She cries in amber because

he shakes her as a tambourine.

sandra wyllie Mar 2023

I Go Through

the day
the same way
coaxing myself
to climb out of
this mountain of bed
with all the covers
spread out like a thick blanket of snow
weighing down the branches
as this head dances
like a bobblehead doll
sealed in a box
you can purchase at the mall

I go through
the door
and out into the world
like a furled umbrella
that when dry is stellar

I go through
the motions
like a shackled prisoner
wearing heavy chains around the ankles
handing out samples of weathered burn lines
behind a thin screen
of rust colored dust in the basement
where the windows have no curtains
so, all can look in
at the experiment

Graff1980 Jul 2021

Untitled

The bobblehead blackbird
that I heard chirp chirp
was preparing to pick away
at the rot and decay
of my soon-to-be decrepit form.

sandra wyllie Sep 3

My Head

is strung by a grey thread
rolling off my four-post bed
at night till the light of a
screaming morn when I sew it

back on with a line from a
song. I'm a bobblehead doll nodding
to the crowds. Floating high like
a balloon, getting lost in the clouds

in a marmalade sky. My head is loose
you can spoon it up like chocolate
mousse. I lost it so many times shopping
for bargains at the five and dime. It fell

between the wooden slats, and was
scratched by a feral cat. I'm like a headless
chicken, running around. Like roux for
the gravy one can say I’ve been thickened.

— The End —