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Death Funny Poems | Funny Poems About Death

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

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Details | Couplet |

On The Moon

Thea, grandfather Alferd's dog died, she was so old and sick
Now is Thea on the moon, says Adrian who is six

Michael Jackson died so unexpectedly and abruptly
He is on the moon and plays with Thea, says Adrian who is a big fan

Betzy, grandfather Arild's dog died, she was also old and sick
Now Betzy is also on the moon with Thea and Michael Jackson and play all day

Great Grandmother died so unexpectedly and abruptly
Adrian who is six had difficulty understanding

Adrian who is six cried many tears for Great Grandmother
but comforted himself with the fact that she is sitting on the moon and
makes waffles to Thea, Michael Jackson and Betzy.




04.11.2012
A-L Andresen :)  - A true story -


Details | Rhyme |

Heavenly bliss

Heavenly bliss

Shawn and Shauna fell deeply in love
And were on their way to be wed
When a car, on that day, took their lives straight away
As both of their bodies, lie dead

But their spirits were both drawn to heaven
As they stood, in front of the gates
Saint Peter was there, at the top of the stairs
When Shawn hollered loudly  “Just Wait"

Now Peter looked puzzled, at Shawn
And said "This is no time to tarry "
Shawn spoke again, and refused to go in
Without being properly married

Saint Peter replied very softly 
"We don't do that kind of thing here
But if you're willing to wait, 
“I’ll see if I can, get it cleared”

Three months went by, while they waited
Saint Peter, show up with a Priest
"I know it was slow, But I want you to know
You’ll be married Forever at least"

As the wedding was getting started
Shawn asked a question, with doubt
What happens here in heaven  
“If this marriage just doesn’t work out”

A silent filled up the heavens
Saint Peter, was shaking his head
And once he regained his composure
This is what Saint Peter said
 
“It took Three Months to find a Priest
In this Heavenly Foyer
How long do you think, I’ll take for me
Up here, to find you a Lawyer ?”






Details | Epitaph |

A Police Man's Grave

No Loitering, Skating, Skateboarding or Cycling.


Details | Narrative |

Bubbly Cheerful And Happy

                            In a small town there lived a little lady
                                  The lady`s name was Lucinda
                     Lucinda was always bubbling, cheerful and happy
                           When she laughed here rolling laughter,
                              both her cheeks and bosom shaked
                          She was a beautiful woman with wide hips,
                              and a butt as big as a dinner table
                           Lucinda was old and walking was difficult
                                and life was not so easy for her
                              She had not so much in this world,
                               but she always brought a bicycle
                         Everyone in the small town would help her
                                        as best they could
                 Whatever you did for her, she thanked  with these words:
                             "You shall have my old bike when I die"
                Following the bubbling laughter, shaking cheeks and bosom
                           Everyone in the small town knew Lucinda,
                                 loved her and wanted to help her
                                     Same thanks every time:
                            "You shall have my old bike when I die"
                                        Now Lucinda is dead
                    Her bike the city has received as a gift from Lucinda
                   If you see a bike in the flower park in the small town
                  Is it to remind the beloved sweet, rolling round Lucinda 
                                 that was always cheerful and happy







  

                             * Just written for joy..... not for a contest

27.04.2012
A-L Andresen


Details | Rhyme |

Death by Chocolate

Sandy was a chocoholic,
The worst I've ever seen!
If she didn't eat some daily,
She'd become crazy mean!

It didn't matter what kind it was,
Ice cream, cake, pie or candy,
As long as it was chocolate,
Sandy was  fine and dandy!

Then one day the unthinkable happened,
To the chocolate loving miss,
While eating her favorite candy,
She choked on a chocolate kiss!

"Death by chocolate," the coroner concluded,
As to the cause of Sandy's death.
At least she died doing what she loved,
Eating chocolate til her last breath.



11/21/11  for Natalie the Rogue Rhymer's 
"Die a fun Death" contest


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 | Light Poetry |

AMY WINEHOUSE-Should have went to rehab


They tried to make you go to Rehab...
you said...
                NO!
                    NO!!
                       NO!!!
Shoulda' packed your bags ta' Rehab...
you wouldn't 
                 GO!
                     GO!!
                        GO!!!
  
 boo-hoo hot-mess
        Wine-HORSE


Details | Rhyme |

Where Has Dad Gone, Mama Dear

Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear 
And mad old Abraham

That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire

And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity

So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in

For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar

But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?

Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me 
Do not visit places where you know you should not be

The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods


Details | Epitaph |

Floating.....

Wish I could have taken better 
Care of my body... 
Wish they could have stopped 
the cancer sooner... 

I'm just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 

If I had my way, I'd pick another church. 
At least one that spelled my name right 
On the obituary. 

I wonder if they knew, 
That I truly loved Sonya, 
but married Adele out of convenience. 

Wish I could have told my brother, Kenny 
I forgive him, maybe he wouldnt cry so hard. 
Wish I could tell Aunt May that hat is too big. 
I wonder if Tara knows the deacons 
Are looking up her dress. 

Im just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 

I wonder if the choir knows 
How much I really hate that song... 
Hope they know the Pastor's lying. 
I was not that good of a man.. 

That suit is not the one I would have picked. 
My body looks so much smaller, 
and that make-up makes me look too light. 

Im just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 
Free from pain, free from it all. 

Wonder if they know, 
In spite of my short time on this earth...
i truly enjoyed it.
I truly loved it all.


Details | Blank verse |

Love Song

Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.


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