Funny Poems

I need to lose weight, just a pound or twenty.
If I could lose fifty, well that would be plenty.
I could join a gym, but I don’t have the gumption.
My legging clad legs aren’t for public consumption.My exercise bike is succumbing to rust
And only gets touched when I really must dust.
And much like a pet in need of attention,
It made me feel guilty (and slack not to mention).The solution, of course, was such a no brainer.
I bought it a mate…an elliptical trainer!
This is quite easy! Or so I reckoned
When I tried it in store for a whole fifteen seconds.But once it was home and I tried it for longer,
The pain in my side was all that got stronger.
I puffed and I gasped, till I couldn’t breathe.
Kicked off at nine, it was now nine oh three.Of course! The resistance must be way too high
But no, it read zero; I thought I might cry.
The six on the dial sat silently mocking,
My level of fitness was really quite shocking.Motivation was all I that I saw myself losing,
And my self-esteem was taking a bruising.
I tried it to music but all that achieved
It drowned out the sound of my poor creaking knees.This instrument of torture could go take a hike.
I glanced now with longing at my trusty bike.
I couldn’t recall why we had parted ways.
Climbed up on the seat and thought, Happy days!I pedalled with gusto, but soon I remembered
It felt like my buttocks were being dismembered.
The padding on my derrière is quite thick,
So why does it feel like I’m perched on a brick?It was just all too hard; I gave up in disgust.
My plan to lose weight was clearly a bust.
Oh well…at least I can say that I tried it.
I mean, really, I can’t be expected to diet!

Consider the hammer –
It keeps its head.
It doesn’t fly off the handle.
It keeps pounding away.
It finds the point, then drives it home.It looks at the other side, too,
and thus often clinches the matter.
It makes mistakes, but when it does, it starts all over.
It is the only knocker in the world
That does any good.

Laughter is a gift
It doesn’t mean your fit
But it will soften any tension
It could be consider stress prevention.Find a reason to laugh
Just look at funny giraffes
Watch a funny show
A transformation you will go.Read a silly book
And laugh so others will look
Or watch some children play
They always find a yea!The most wasted of all days
Is one where laughter is delayed.
When life gets you down
Please don’t frown.So take this wonderful gift
And don’t ever be miffed
Laughter makes living
For us to be giving

Once there was an elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant—
No! No! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone—
(Dear me! I am not certain quite
That even now I’ve got it right.)
Howe’er it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee—
(I fear I’d better drop the song
Of elephop and telephong!)

My eyes are fine; they are just printing words small.
I just use a walking stick to seem stately and tall.Nothing is wrong with my sense of smell.
My ears are fine if you don’t whisper but yell.The wrinkles are just laugh lines; they will go away.
It is fashion that has turned my hair from black to grey.It’s the cold, not age that is stiffening my knees.
I like to hum as I walk; it’s not a wheeze.What extra kilos? My scale is broken down.
If I try, I can still fit into my wedding gown.My bones don’t creak; my shoes are new.
My memory is sharp. Oh, do I know you?

Restful sleep has proved elusive.
Lack of it is not conducive
To my overall wellbeing,
As I stare up at the ceiling.Niggling aches and pains compound
To stop my sleep from being sound.
I toss and turn from side to side,
But all positions have been tried.I am by all accounts quite round,
But when it comes to sleep, I’ve found
I wish I were more octagon –
A full eight sides to rotate on.To lie flat on my back does tempt,
Though soon I find I must pre-empt
The snores I’m told will wake the dead
By rolling on my side instead.And finally, I find my groove,
Then curse because I have to move.
The electric blanket’s getting hot
And on this side the switch is not.If comfyness arrives too late,
I’ll feel the urge to urinate.
And once that tickle is perceived,
It soon demands to be relieved.I do my utmost to ignore,
But know I’ll have to go before
This little twinge of urgency
Becomes full blown emergency.I hit the loo and park it there
With just a nanosec to spare.
Sit a while and contemplate
How so much could accumulate!Back in bed, it starts again,
The quest to find my inner zen.
Must stop my thoughts from swirling round,
The ideal pozzy must be found.At last my eyelids start to droop.
Don’t need to pee, don’t need to poop.
But then with dread I feel the heat
Rising upwards from my feet.A damned hot flush is taking hold
And now I’m longing for the cold!
Sheet and quilt are tossed aside,
Must suffer through till it subsides.Once again, I know I’ve failed.
Won’t wake bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
I’ll have no pep, I’ll have no zing.
Rise and shine is not my thing.I can’t believe it’s come to this.
I’ve tried my hardest to resist.
In order to not feel like crap,
I must embrace the nanna nap!

An envelope arrives unannounced from overseas
containing stark white sheets,perfect in their presentation of absence.
Only a bold logo on toprevealed its origin, but absolutely nothing else.
I examined the sheets,peered through their grains —
heavy cotton-laid striations —concealing text, in white ink, postmarked India.
Even the watermark’s translucencemade the script’s invisibility transparent.
Buried among the involute contours, lay sheetsof sophisticated pulp, paper containing
scattered metaphors — uncoded, unadorned,untouched — virgin lines that spill, populate
and circulate to keep alive its breathings.Corpuscles of a very different kind —
hieroglyphics, unsolved, but crystal-clear.

She

I’m waiting for the man I hope to wed.
I’ve never seen him – that’s the funny part.
I promised I would wear a rose of red,
Pinned on my coat above my fluttered heart,
So that he’d know me – a precaution wise,
Because I wrote him I was twenty-three,
And Oh such heaps and heaps of silly lies. . .
So when we meet what will he think of me?

It’s funny, but it has its sorry side;
I put an advert. in the evening Press:
“A lonely maiden fain would be a bride.”
Oh it was shameless of me, I confess.
But I am thirty-nine and in despair,
Wanting a home and children ere too late,
And I forget I’m no more young and fair –
I’ll hide my rose and run…No, no, I’ll wait.

An hour has passed and I am waiting still.
I ought to feel relieved, but I’m so sad.
I would have liked to see him, just to thrill,
And sigh and say: “There goes my lovely lad!
My one romance!” Ah, Life’s malign mishap!
“Garcon, a cafè creme.” I’ll stay till nine. . .
The cafè’s empty, just an oldish chap
Who’s sitting at the table next to mine. . .

He

I’m waiting for the girl I mean to wed.
She was to come at eight and now it’s nine.
She’d pin upon her coat a rose of red,
And I would wear a marguerite in mine.
No sign of her I see…It’s true my eyes
Need stronger glasses than the ones I wear,
But Oh I feel my heart would recognize
Her face without the rose – she is so fair.

Ah! what deceivers are we aging men!
What vanity keeps youthful hope aglow!
Poor girl! I sent a photo taken when
I was a student, twenty years ago.
(Hers is so Springlike, Oh so blossom sweet!)
How she will shudder when she sees me now!
I think I’d better hide that marguerite –
How can I age and ugliness avow?

She does not come. It’s after nine o’clock.
What fools we fogeys are! I’ll try to laugh;
(Garcon, you might bring me another bock)
Falling in love, just from a photograph.
Well, that’s the end. I’ll go home and forget,
Then realizing I am over ripe
I’ll throw away this silly cigarette
And philosophically light my pipe.

* * * * *

The waiter brought the coffee and the beer,
And there they sat, so woe-begone a pair,
And seemed to think: “Why do we linger here?”
When suddenly they turned, to start and stare.
She spied a marguerite, he glimpsed a rose;
Their eyes were joined and in a flash they knew. . .
The sleepy waiter saw, when time to close,
The sweet romance of those deceiving two,
Whose lips were joined, their hearts, their future too.

If I were in charge of the world
I’d cancel oatmeal,
Monday mornings,
Allergy shots, and also Sara Steinberg.If I were in charge of the world
There’d be brighter nights lights,
Healthier hamsters, and
Basketball baskets forty eight inches lower.If I were in charge of the world
You wouldn’t have lonely.
You wouldn’t have clean.
You wouldn’t have bedtimes.
Or “Don’t punch your sister.”
You wouldn’t even have sisters.If I were in charge of the world
A chocolate sundae with whipped cream and nuts would be a vegetable
All 007 movies would be G,
And a person who sometimes forgot to brush,
And sometimes forgot to flush,
Would still be allowed to be
In charge of the world.

I’ll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn’t, just wasn’t funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn’t, just wasn’t funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, “Go back to bed!”
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, “I’ll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown.”
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With “Hah-Hah-Hahs” and “Hee-Hee-Hees.”
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, ‘cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,”THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT –
I’M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT.”
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.

A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I’m as clever as clever,
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you’d be forced to smell your feet.Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place–
be glad your nose is on your face!

Last night I held a lovely hand,
It was so small and neat,
I thought my heart with joy would burst
So wild was every beat.No other hand unto my heart
Could greater pleasure bring
Than the one so dear I held last night.
Four Aces and a King

Tomato sauce I’m at a loss
I simply don’t know why
Hardly ever, really never
Spots a worn out tieBut wear a new one, a costly blue one
A fancy silken job
If you’re like me; I guarantee
With gravy, you’re a slobSpicy mustard, chocolate custard
Everybody knows
Never spill and never will
When you’re wearing your old clothesBut brand new pants don’t have a chance
Hanging on your hips
Melted cheese, with shocking ease
Drips right off your lipsSo let’s suppose food really knows
When you’re dressed up fancy
I’d still conclude that eating nude
Would be very chancy.

If you have to dry the dishes

(Such an awful, boring chore)

If you have to dry the dishes

(‘Stead of going to the store)

If you have to dry the dishes

And you drop one on the floor—

Maybe they won’t let you

Dry the dishes anymore.

How doth the little crocodile…

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!

Oft in the silence of the night,
When the lonely moon rides high,
When wintry winds are whistling,
And we hear the owl’s shrill cry,
In the quiet, dusky chamber,
By the flickering firelight,
Rising up between two sleepers,
Comes a spirit all in white.A winsome little ghost it is,
Rosy-cheeked, and bright of eye;
With yellow curls all breaking loose
From the small cap pushed awry.
Up it climbs among the pillows,
For the “big dark” brings no dread,
And a baby’s boundless fancy
Makes a kingdom of a bed.A fearless little ghost it is;
Safe the night seems as the day;
The moon is but a gentle face,
And the sighing winds are gay.
The solitude is full of friends,
And the hour brings no regrets;
For, in this happy little soul,
Shines a sun that never sets.A merry little ghost it is,
Dancing gayly by itself,
On the flowery counterpane,
Like a tricksy household elf;
Nodding to the fitful shadows,
As they flicker on the wall;
Talking to familiar pictures,
Mimicking the owl’s shrill call.A thoughtful little ghost if is;
And, when lonely gambols tire,
With chubby hands on chubby knees,
It sits winking at the fire.
Fancies innocent and lovely
Shine before those baby-eyes,
Endless fields of dandelions,
Brooks, and birds, and butterflies.A loving little ghost it is:
When crept into its nest,
Its hand on father’s shoulder laid,
Its head on mother’s breast,
It watches each familiar face,
With a tranquil, trusting eye;
And, like a sleepy little bird,
Sings its own soft lullaby.Then those who feigned to sleep before,
Lest baby play till dawn,
Wake and watch their folded flower
Little rose without a thorn.
And, in the silence of the night,
The hearts that love it most
Pray tenderly above its sleep,
“God bless our little ghost!”

All my life I’ve been extra large, plus
I’m known as a very large fellow.
I would easily pass as a school district bus
If somebody painted me yellow.”No secret to losing weight,” I’ve been told.
“Just cut the fat from your diet.”
“Get up and about even if it’s cold.”
Once again, I decided to try it.But jogging was something senseless to me,
And riding a bike seemed insane.
Joining a gym involved a large fee,
And lifting weights was a pain.So for exercise I choose horseback riding.
It’s fun and easier than it sounds.
It’s a very effective form of dieting
‘Cause my horse lost forty pounds.

I’ve hunted near, I’ve hunted far
I even looked inside my car.
I’ve lost my glasses, I’m in need,
To have them now so I can read.
I loudly swear and I curse
Did I leave them in my purse?
Are they behind the sofa, under the bed?
Oh there they are – on my head!

In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn’t read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn’t puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, ‘By gum, I’ve got the answer! ‘
‘They want my bacon slice by slice
‘To sell at a tremendous price!
‘They want my tender juicy chops
‘To put in all the butcher’s shops!
‘They want my pork to make a roast
‘And that’s the part’ll cost the most!
‘They want my sausages in strings!
‘They even want my chitterlings!
‘The butcher’s shop! The carving knife!
‘That is the reason for my life! ‘
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great peace of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grisly bit
So let’s not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
‘I had a fairly powerful hunch
‘That he might have me for his lunch.
‘And so, because I feared the worst,
‘I thought I’d better eat him first.’

The people upstairs all practise ballet
Their living room is a bowling alley
Their bedroom is full of conducted tours.
Their radio is louder than yours,
They celebrate week-ends all the week.
When they take a shower, your ceilings leak.
They try to get their parties to mix
By supplying their guests with Pogo sticks,
And when their fun at last abates,
They go to the bathroom on roller skates.
I might love the people upstairs more
If only they lived on another floor.

When I’m old and mankey,
I’ll never use a hanky.
I’ll wee on plants
and soil my pants
and sometimes get quite cranky.

I’ve fallen in love- I don’t know why
I’ve fallen in love with a girl with one eye.I knew from the start. It was plain to see
That this wonderful girl had an eye out for meShe’s charming and witty and jolly and jocular
Not what you’d expect from a girl who’s monocular.Of eyes – at the moment – she hasn’t full quota
But that doesn’t change things for me one iota.It must be quite difficult if you’re bereft.
If your left eye is gone and your right eye is left.

But she’s made up her mind. She’s made her decision.
She can see it quite clearly in 10/20 vision.

She’ll not leave me waiting, not left in the lurch
If she looks slightly sideways she’ll see me in church.

I’ll marry my true love who’s gentle and kind.
And thus prove to everyone that loves not quite blind.

I came from Alabama
wid my banjo on my knee,
I’m g’wan to Louisiana,
My true love for to see,
It raind all night the day I left
The weather it was dry,
The sun so hot I frose to death
Susana dont you cry.
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me
I’ve come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.
[Solo] I jumped aboard de telegraph,
And trabbelled down de riber,
De Lectric fluid magnified,
And Killed five Hundred Nigger
De bullgine buste, de horse run off,
I realy thought I’d die;
I shut my eyes to hold my breath,
Susana, dont you cry.
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me
I’ve come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.
[Solo] I had a dream de odder night,
When ebery ting was still;
I thought I saw Susana,
A coming down de hill.
The buckwheat cake war in her mouth,
The tear was in her eye,
Says I, im coming from de South,
Susana, dont you cry.
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me
I’ve come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.
[Solo] I soon will be in New Orleans,
And den I’ll look all round,
And when I find Susana,
I’ll fall upon the ground.
But if I do not find her,
Dis darkie ‘l surely die,
And when I’m dead and buried,
Susana, dont you cry.
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me
I’ve come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.

There was a very cautious man
Who never laughed or played
He never risked, he never tried,
He never sang or prayed.
And when he on day passed away,
His insurance was denied,
For since he never really lived,
They claimed he never really died.

I’m Nobody! Who are you?

Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

At the hospital on the day of my birth
I’m told I looked strange for what it’s worth
Doc didn’t whack my rump like he did to others
Nope, I looked so funny he slapped my motherSo yeah, I wasn’t a handsome guy
Mom said my face could make onions cry
Dad took me to the zoo, and a girl made a crack
“How nice of that man to bring the monkey back”Once I got sick with the Asian flu
I needed some medicine like other kids do
The doctor was hardly a humanitarian
When he suggested I visit a veterinarianBeing quite truthful; indeed brutally frank
They turn off the camera when I go to a bank
The first time I visited a psychiatrist—Ouch!
She insisted I lie face down on the couchBut, I made it to college and earned a bachelor’s degree
Then completed a Master’s and Ph.D
I’m the owner and president of a large company
Where lots of good looking people work for meSo if you don’t like the image you see in your mirror
Here’s a message that couldn’t be any clearer
Don’t worry young people; just hit the books
‘Cause what you know gets you further than how you look.

The library is dangerous—
Don’t go in. If you doYou know what will happen.
It’s like a pet store or a bakery—Every single time you’ll come out of there
Holding something in your arms.Those novels with their big eyes.
And those no-nonsense, all muscleGreyhounds and Dobermans,
All non-fiction and business,Cuddly when they’re young,
But then the first page is turned.The doughnut scent of it all, knowledge,
The aroma of coffee being madeIn all those books, something for everyone,
The deli offerings of civilization itself.The library is the book of books,
Its concrete and wood and glass coversKeeping within them the very big,
Very long story of everything.The library is dangerous, full
Of answers. If you go inside,You may not come out
The same person who went in

Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Then
Daddy fell into the pond!And everyone’s face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
“Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He’s crawling out of the duckweed!” Click!Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn’t a thing that didn’t respond
When
Daddy Fell into the pond!