Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Humorous Ode Poems | Ode Poems About Humorous

These Humorous Ode poems are examples of Ode poems about Humorous. These are the best examples of Humorous Ode poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

123
Details | Ode |

BODY TALK - REMOTELY

A man decides to go up to bed;
His wife is already there.
She had gone up early to read,
Of late, this was not rare.

Very quietly he gets into bed,
She is only half asleep.
This is quite unusual for her,
She’s usually sleeping deep.

He gently reaches over to her
Brushing shoulders and hair,
Feeling lower, round her waist
She had now become aware.

Groping low around her thighs,
Then returning to her waist,
Fumbling up and down her back
In ever increasing haste

He then so very suddenly stops,
Rolling over on to his back,
She’s unaware what is going on,
If he has lost the knack

“Why have you stopped?” she asked,
Her mood blacker than coal,
He said: “It’s OK, go back to sleep,
I found the remote control!”

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode |

If I was Leonard Nimoy

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place, 
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.

If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.


Details | Ode |

6 Second Trailer

6 Second Trailer

OMG
Did you see it?
OMG
Its...
I'm...
Oh
My
God

It's a fantastic flick
This is...
OMG

The full trailer?

It's coming
It's coming
OMG
So am I

Did you see her...
His...
Its...
Oh
So sweet
Gotta tweet
Gotta sleep

Don't ya love it
OMG

Who wrote it?

The screenplay?
Who cares?

Opening?

Premiering 2015

Bit early, eh?

What, the trailer?
Ya think?

Yeah, but
WTF
YOLO


Details | Ode |

Ode to Emily

In the 1800‘s
Looking out from a window down through an old oak tree
At flowers and skies, cloudy grey or sparkling blue,
Walking through the waving green grasses of the yard.  
Mistress of words with an interior so deep,
Two thousand poems in the old leather trunk 
Until her death,  gently packed away.  
Only 7 were published while she lived, 
All anonymously.
Never wife nor mother, rare for those times
Yet, nature, love and death, their images and understanding
She placed in a few perfect lines.
Hearing  the larks’ songs, science and religion 
Modern thoughts in poems sent and rejected.
The Atlantic Monthly was  backward;
Their editors so wrong.

Now I can’t pretend I fully comprehend
Her interior expressed sometimes
Too weighty for me.  But the depth of those
I comprehend adds to 
My hope that a life constrained
 Whether by health or times 
Is still filled with possibilities. 
 And so she said
“ If I can stop one heart from breaking; 
I shall not live in vain.” 
Though a mystic and transcendent,
With her practical humorous side this ends
“Faith is a fine invention
    For gentlemen who see;
But microscopes are prudent
In an emergency!"
This little Emily is my ode to thee. 


Jared Pickett's The Ode Contest


Details | Ode |

THE PLUMBER

THE PLUMBER

It was one day last summer
I needed a plumber,
Something was wrong with 
my water,
It dripped and it spurted
And sometimes it squirted,
But just didn’t flow out like
 it oughta.

I found Yellow Pages
And searched through
for ages,
I wanted a plumber quite
near,
No cowboy for me,
With an exorbitant fee,
For I was hoping he wouldn’t
be dear.

He turned up at three
And I made him some tea,
And he proceeded to check
all my system.
He consulted his book,
The advice which he took,
On faults in case that he
missed ‘em.

He prodded and poked
And we both got soaked,
As he checked out the taps
in the sink.
Said, “There’s a blockage
My friend in your drainage,
And your waste pipe has
gone on the blink.” 

I didn’t need to be told
That my system was old,
That was something I 
already knew,
But my elbows were worn
And my lagging was torn,
And my ballcock – that was
stuck too.

He checked all my heating
While he was eating,
Right down to my flow and
return,
Said, “I’m known in the 
borough
For being so thorough,
And you’re giving me cause
for concern. 

You’re pilot’s not firing,
It must be the wiring,
And your pump’s got an
airlock there too,
Your safety valve’s stuck,
‘Cos it’s all full of muck,
And I must check in case
it’s the flue.

Your boiler’s corroded
And pipework eroded,
And your tank, well, that’s
all gone rusty.
Your joints are all leaking
And water is seeping,
And that’s why it smells
rather musty.

Your thermostat knob
Is not doing its job,
And that’s why your
temperature’s rising.
With a system as old
And, may I be bold?
Well, really, it’s hardly
surprising.”

I’d now got the gist
From my ever long list,
‘Cos I feel as though I
am dead,
I said that I’d call him
The very next morning,
But I’ll call the doctor
instead!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON  


Details | Ode |

THE SCHOOL REPORT

Ha ha ha ha. Here's a poem for all the UK and USA school teachers who are writing any school reports - and they want to tell the real truth about their pupils!!!!!!


THE SCHOOL REPORT


I’m writing here a useful
guide
For those who’ve never
taught,
To help you understand
the terms
Used in a school report.

Teachers are most careful
when
They write the term’s 
events;
They’re honest but they’re
careful
So as not to give offence.

A “lively child” is often one
You peel off a wall.
To call him bad or even 
mad
Just wouldn’t do at all.

“Lacking motivation” is a
Coded way of saying:
‘He doesn’t lift a finger but
Likes gossiping and playing.’

A child that’s “lacking social
skills” 
In terms both straight and
crude,
Is one who snatches what he
wants –
In fact, he’s bloody rude!

“Lacking presentation skills”
Is nothing more or less
Than saying his work’s 
unreadable;
‘It’s all a scruffy mess.’ 

So when you open his 
report
Please stay that generous
hand,
Top of his class, or sat on
his a**e?
Make sure you understand.

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode |

THAT TASTY PESKY RABBIT

THAT TASTY PESKY RABBIT


I’m going to eat a rabbit,
that is tasty for me,
I caught it in my garden – 
and I want it for my tea!
The pesky little rabbit – 
ran and ran so fast – 
But I caught the floppy
ear’d beast – and ate it;
‘just like that!’

My name is Jeanette
Winterson, I live in Great
Harwood, 
I am a little eccentric – 
that’s what makes me 
good!
I grow a bunch of herbs,
and I hope to grow more
veg,
Before those pesky rabbits – 
come leaping over my 
hedge!

The people have gone mad – 
on my Twitter page – 
It is so very evident – they 
are all in a rage!
I only culled a rabbit – it 
tasted very good,
Just the way I like it – and
how I knew it would! 

So hear me pesky rabbit – 
I’ll call for Elmer Fudd – 
He shall be my dinner guest – 
and you’ll taste really good! 
So keep your paws to yourself – 
or you’ll end up in a stew –
I kid you not, Mr Rabbit – 
my dish is calling you!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON   


Details | Ode |

A COMMUNICATION PROBLEM

A rubbish/garbage collector is driving along a street picking up wheelie bins and emptying them into his compactor.

He goes to one house where the bin hasn’t been left out, and in the spirit of kindness, and after having a quick look about the bin, he gets out of his truck goes to the front door and knocks. There’s no answer.

Being a kind and conscientious bloke, he knocks again – much harder. Eventually a Japanese man comes to the door. “Harro!” says the Japanese man.

“Gidday, mate!

Where’s ya bin?” asks the collector.

“I bin on toiret,” explains the Japanese bloke, a bit perplexed.

Realising the fellow had misunderstood him, the bin man smiles and tries again.

“No! No! Mate, Where’s your dust bin?”

“I dust been to toiret, I toll you!” says the Japanese man, still perplexed.

“Listen,” says the collector, “You’re misunderstanding me. I mean, where’s your wheelie bin?”

“OK, OK.” Replies the Japanese man with a sheepish grin, and whispers in the collector’s ear.” I wheelie bin having sex wiffa wife’s sista!”

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode |

GRANNY'S LITTLE LAPTOP

GRANNY'S LITTLE LAPTOP


Granny has a laptop,
its sleek and shiny new;
She gazes at it fondly,
and wonders... what to 
do?

She keeps it gently on 
her lap,
she really thinks its nice,
She doesn't like the mouse 
at all,
she's very scared of mice!

But soon she'll start blogging
and take the world by storm,
With precise posts on ecology,
and why our globe is warm!

She'll be in touch on email,
with family friends on the net;
And keep us all enthralled,
with her global tete-a-tete!

She'll engage in quirky forums,
and have a million fans,
Asking for her recipes,
of fish curries and flans!

She'll keep the world begging,
for her poetry and prose,
For her masterpiece in Egyptology,
for the stories that she knows!

So, get set darling Granny,
we're so happy you're online,
You're a Granny in a million,
I'm so glad you're mine!!!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode |

BECKS TO THE FUTURE

‘Father dear,’ said Romeo in 2022,
‘What team shall I play for,
Now I’m grown like you?
Should I play for Real Madrid
Or should it be Manyou?’

‘No, my son, that’s no fun,
Why not play for Crew?’
Mrs Becks walked in and said:
‘Why not play for who?’

‘Oh my gosh,’ said Becks to Posh,
‘I thought you were in Venice.’
‘I was, but now I’m back in Britain
For a game of tennis’

‘Mother dear,’ said Romeo,
‘Sit down with us here.
The three of us can now discuss
My footballing career

‘Now tell me, my dear parents,
If I play in attack
‘What number should be printed:
On the Beckham back?’

‘Well my little angel,
If you want to play in Heaven
‘Where your Father’s dreams 
were made,
Why not number seven?’

‘But mother dear,’ said Romeo,
‘When father off to Spain did flee
‘In Madrid, what Daddy did
Was wear a twenty – three.’

Mrs Becks and Romeo
Both looked round at Daddy.
It was Mrs B who spoke 
And uttered to her hubby

‘David let us know, the number,
That you recommend for our dear 
Romeo.’
David Beckham cleared his throat
And croaked those words we’ve 
grown to know:

‘Wear four out there, Romeo?


BY
DARRYL ASHTON




















123