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Lost Funny Poems | Funny Poems About Lost

These Lost Funny poems are examples of Funny poems about Lost. These are the best examples of Lost Funny poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Personification |

A Magic Adventure Of Peter The Pan--part II

Inside the Dishwasher everyone rushed!
Clinks, clanks, rattles, 'Ouches' and ' Ohs'!
"Would you pa--lease, settle down!" said Deb--They hushed.
"Now we can hear...let's just see how this goes."

Curious, Peter, looked out through a chinc,
And watched Vie and Chris-- approaching by twos.
They opened the door--and who do you think--
Standing there wearing her fine Jimmy Choos,
Ms Lost Sonnet!--spoke not a word--but winked.

Wilma Wine-Corkscrew, dressed in purple hues
Gave the 'all clear', and Peter spread the news.

"We're having a party Ms Sonnet, please,
Won't you join us? It's a magic party
For Peter", said Ruben Rotisserie.
Bob Blender poured her a drink--quite hardy.

Connie Candellabra was flaming bright
As Ms Sonnet swept past to the soft couch.
Carolyn Cookie Jar screamed with such fright,
"Quick! She's on fire!" Then Lost cried, "Ouch!"

"I'll save her", said Catie Collander. "Here!"
But the water leaked through her like a sieve.
Susan Spatula yelled, "Have no fear, dear!"
Yet, the fire held on and would not give--

Others tried, but could not stop the fire.
Then Peter said, "I wuw twy! I can do it!
With 'Awwy, I can fwy! Way up highya!
Togethwa, we can save Ms Wost Sonnet!

Awwy is my fwend. He tawks funny, too!
He's aw the way fwom Engwand and he is
My Supwa Cape! So I can fwy! It's twue!
No H's wive theaw--his name is wike this:
'Awwy--not Hawwy." So now, they all knew.

"Did I 'ear some bloke colling my name?"
"Yes! 'Awwy, me! We've Ms Sonnet to save!"
Harry Handtowel--AKA, Super Cape--fame
Was now on the neck of Peter the Brave!

With no hesitation quickly they flew,
Smothered the fire and saved just one shoe.
Brittle and weak, Lost needed more than glue...
"She needs magic! Oh! Paweeze! What can we do?"

"Peter...we only made enough for you".
Said Carol Crock-pot. They all cried, "Boo Hoo..."
"Then give huw my magic! That's what you do!"
So quickly they sprinkled the magic brew.
Ms Sonnet was greatful--then said, "Adieu".

"Peter, you've done well," said Anne Assam Tea,
"Let's all have a cup'a tea and you'll see...
"'Magic's believing in yourself, --frankly,
Do that--and you can do--anything!"

~©deborah burch
5/23/2012

*Special appearance by "Lost Sonnet", courtesey of David Williams...with much gratitude, thank you all for appearing ;)...Peter has many adventures to come...big hugs, love you all, cap'n deb


Details | Rhyme |

THE VANISHING ORGAN

Sam Ebenezer
a sad ol' geezer
was lamenting his shrinkage of late:
my worthless ding-a-ling
is a bell without ring
my manhood in diminishing state
 
From whence I salute
is thin as a flute
and soft to the touch as cashmere
I search with persistence
it offers resistance
on nature's call to appear
 
On heeding that call
no waterfall
a few errant droplets at best
where once from the middle
I gushed, now I piddle
and half of my load veers west
 
Both feet on the urn
pushing forth from astern
I chant 'emerge hocus-pocus'
with my punctured esteem
watch the pitiful stream
dwindle to drops as Limp loses focus
 
Our wee-membered friend
wished his size to amend
the stiffness rerouted from his joints
have it rise to occasion
and stand to attention
consulted ol' Doc for his viewpoint:

My snake is dead
no flesh;  just head
lies comatose and useless 
my garden hose
once warmed my toes
now wrinkled, dry and juiceless 

The senile old doctor
by name Alfred Proctor
had most of his wit in absentia
his breath smelt cheesy
Ebenezer felt queasy
Doc clearly suffered from senile dementia
 
Doc's hand took a dip
to just 'neath his ribs 
as Ebenezer voiced his concern
Doc smiled all the while
said:  your hopes are futile
there's no cure for your vanishing organ
 
I lost my virility
before my senility
long mourned my lost pride-and-joy
put my plight to rest
on realizing I'm blessed
to have in hand my own built-in toy

**************************************



Details | Rhyme |

The Last Word

I just got home
barely opened the door,
Took three steps
maybe two more.
I heard a voice
a voice of dread,
" When the log rolls over,
we'll all be dead."
Somewhat spooked
i looked all around,
not a person in sight
no where to be found.
Then i heard it again
that voice of dread.
" When the log rolls over,
we'll all be dead."
My senses all heightened
I picked up the tune,
it was off to my left
in my restroom.
I heard it again
but this time a cry,
"When the log rolls over,
we're all gonna die!"
I looked at the toilet
I was about to freak,
but I lifted the lid
I just had to peak.
I was lost for thought
even lost for word,
there in my toilet 
three flies on a turd.
One screamed so loud
I could hear him squeak,
"Close the lid
you stuppid geek!"
I laughed for a second
while scratching my head,
then I flushed the log
now they're all dead.
The Last Word......


Details | Narrative |

And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 
money.

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.


Details | Free verse |

I have lost my P

                      I`m not ha_ _y  today.
                      No I`m quite sad and u_set

                     Sitting here with my cold sou_ and an old s_oon.
                     I have s_ent too much money,and feel  _oor.
                     I have not _earls or diamonds,that`s not why I`m sad and u_set.
                     As I sit here with my su_ _ er and my cold sou_,
                     thinking about what I do without my  _?
             
                     Dreams returns to ha_ _y days, when I  _layed  _iano
                     and had  _eace in my mind.
                     What shall I do without my  _ ?
                     _  is  im_ortant in my life.
                     I`ve lost my  _,I can no longer wish to you:Ha_ _y  birthday
                                                                                Have a ha_ _y  weekend
                                                                                Ha_ _ y  for you.
                                                                                Ha_ _ y  to see you
                                                                                Ha _ _y   new year ..........


                      I do not want _iano,_earl or diamonds.... I want my  _  back.




      05.01.2012
      A-L Andresen :)


Details | Narrative |

Reporting Live across the World

Reporting live on the soup, with Americas MOST. WANTED. POETS.
 Standing here with our host John, 
With an exclusive update on criminal poets, captured and on the run.
Switching over to you John,. "Thank you P.D., lets give thanks to all the 
P.M.W. tipsters, and our lovely F.B.I. agent Andrea Dietrich (Andy) & U.S. 
Marshal Shirley Harrison (S.H.)

Capturing 1 infamous fugitive Nikko Palmario, a comment crusader going contest crazy. 
Christopher Brantley, still at large U.S. Marshall (S.H.) says, "This brilliant fugitive leaves no 
trace." A dangerous poet posting comments longer than his poetry. Leaving a distinction of 
excellence in any short form.  P.M.W.tipsters Demand to be brought down to poetic justice.
P.M.W. Tip, led Marshall (S.H.) to the most notorious blond bombshell on the soup.
Captured on her vacation Linda Marie Bariana, lost control of her blond moment.
Paralyzing her laptop with sand. Covering to other crimes with to much poetry rhyme.
Her # 1 crime, entering a dark poet contest, to bad for this SWEET HEART who shines.         
Wanted in all nations Lynette Chachere a realistic poetic criminal against reality & dreams.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says"Our sweet Lynn, carries a weapons against all Enigma wonders."
A shameful crime to bring down a poets spirit with an intervene of her intense poetry.
F.B.I. Most wanted poetic lunatics, Billy the Kidster, with a Mental Poet Disorder.
A maniac on the rampage, a poet who lost it, with a crime slamming himself.
F.B.I. Most wanted viscous fugitive Christopher D. Aechtner, alias Vomiticus Grammaticus.
This former Canadian elusive bad boy, topping the hot list, a harmless poetic threat. 
Dakarai Cobbs, a 30 year old soups spot robbing thug. F.B.I.(Andy) Says "We offer 1 million
For the capture of this accused space invader aka the Sonnet man.
A poetic gang banger posting out of control, with a drive by of 130 hits in less than a month
Nathan Dilts, at large with the biggest search in poet history. 
A terrorizing poet implanting each poet with frightening thoughts and images so twisted.         
Making his followers absorb his evil poetic plots, while connecting center of dots.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says he is a mastermind with explosive & twisted thoughts.
Marshall (S.H.)Says "there is nothing we won't do to take his Poet License away.
  ((sorry no room for the Poet Destroyer))
Back to you P.D. "thank you John, there you have it soupers a few top criminal poets."
Reporting live on the soup P.D., all across the world enjoying our poetry security


Details | Rhyme |

Quaffed

Ole Kelly worked at the brewery
And was pretty good at that
But one day he lost his balance 
And fell into a vat

O’Reilly went to Kelly’s house
Someone had to tell his wife
He said Kelly fell into the beer
And there he lost his life

Kelly’s wife was beside herself
Said I know those vats are slick
Please tell me he didn’t suffer
That my Kelly went real quick

He said I don’t think he suffered ma’am  
As far as I could see
In fact while he was swimming in there
He climbed out twice to pee

Another old Irish joke that I just had to set to rhyme.



Details | Ballad |

Across the Way - The Sequel

Another day and the dishes have piled up yet again
So back I end up in front of the window 
I do not glance up, but concentrate
On the dull, dirtied objects before me
I do not hear the voices from yesterday
I still wallow in the grime of gray
I smile in malcontent
As I lather the dishes with soap
Against my will, I look up 
To see a lone, fat man opening a refrigerator
He is shirtless, bulgy, and he looks pregnant
My first supposition is to laugh
But I only look back down at the dishes
Not wanting to stare at the fat man
Not wanting to think he looks pregnant
For sure not wanting him to be my neighbor
Across the way

Against my will again, I look up
The fat, pregnant man is gone
I see ornaments on the refrigerator
Some pictures, some magnets
Family; not so different from my life
But yet, there is a transparent fancy of mystery
A flashy rage of difference in the silence
Oh, so quiet
The blazing sun sprays its light upon the hour
Not only are my hands wet from the soapy water
The deafening tone of quietude
Revels in me a mixture of loneliness and physical heat
A burning desire for something not seen
A desire for utter disgust of my newly found neighbors
But I find myself not disgusted at all
Until I look up again and see a fully naked man at the window
Across the way


Details | Rhyme |

I've Lost My Mind

Have you seen it
I must have set it somewhere
Maybe it seeped outta my ears
And it's drizzled all around

Don't use it
You'll torture yourself
It's all stressed out
Oh yea, it has some filth


Details | Couplet |

Lost Glove

It’s getting cold and I’ve lost my glove
One hand gets warmth and the other no love

I’ve looked in the closet and under the couch
I’ll keep searching this place for I’m not a slouch

I’m looking through the stuff in my garage
Is that it in the corner?.......oh no, that's a mirage

I grab my coat and head for the door
Have I lost my glove forever more

No glove in sight and it’s time to leave
Take one guess at what’s in my sleeve (smiles)

Now both hands will feel woolly love
For I’ve just found the other glove


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