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Devotion Funny Poems | Funny Poems About Devotion

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

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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 | Alliteration |

Stink Thinking

Poem by: Mr. Ronald Watson
Sep. 13, 2012
My Poetry on PoetrySoup

Stinking Thinking

Stinking thinking/ it leads to drinking./
What moisten the soul without an inkling?/
Unto making a wild left turn /while the right signal light were blinking./
Within a mild mix of rice, hops, and barley,
Since/ it is too much laugher at a karaoke party./
How Elvis sounds like,/ a broken Bob Marley?/
Now it’s as if,/ inhibitions are lowed/
Frozen in time/ and slipping far out of control./
As intuitions of minds does loathe,/ as such weariness echoes for tomorrow./
Yet,/ a stinking breath that smells just as death/ and it's where all funky asses dwells./
Though/ all hung over /and unjustified to flinging heavy heads into that porcelain king,/ 
Even this is a sight for red sore eyed Kings!/ 
It is an aftermath of ravishing through them royal purple cloth bags./
So/ afraid to admit that shallowness slowly drags!/
When,a sense of clarity which will just admit it.
That stinking thinking is difficult to kick, but
One day at a time, it is the only way to shine, or get fixed.  

Thank youMy Poetry on PoetrySoup
God Bless.


Details | Verse |

Enigma's Calling

Extraordinary, I am 
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding  the gift I shouldn't fought
 
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
 
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
 
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
 
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When  my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
 
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart


Details | Sonnet |

Eternity

I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.

Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit. 
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.

Upside down,
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.

Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.

® Registered: Ann Rich   2009


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.


Details | Rhyme |

Sheep's Lament

It's nature's way that in the spring 
Emotions make a lamb's soul sing 
And so it was my young heart found 
That love is not by species bound 

Well cruelly spent, did cupid's dart 
Pierce deep my foolish woolly heart 
A wiser sheep would fain desert 
Such love unwise and bound to hurt. 

Nor was it then that common sense 
Came forth to give me sound defence 
No matter how well meant and groomed 
My ardent love was clearly doomed. 

For fate is fickle, fate unkind 
Fate unhinged my young sheep's mind 
Though strong inside my true love burns 
It never wins my love's returns 

So ardent burn my ovine fires 
Kindling noble deep desires 
But I know what e'er I do 
That four legs never yet won two 

She lives a life I cannot know 
And goes to places sheep don't go 
I patient wait and hope she'll pass 
But know she'll never share my grass. 

I know it's doomed, I know I've lost 
My passion most unkindly crossed 
For even if she knew my heart 
I know our lives must stay apart. 

But maybe she might scratch my nose 
My love troth's a half-eaten rose 
With that held in her lovely hand, 
To think on, she might understand.


Details | Heroic Couplets |

An Old "Happy" Couple

Cherish me as I grow old, and am surely liable to forget things. 
 I know how interesting life is and the contentment it brings.
I know you'll make excuses to try and be miserable and even try not to go.
 Now just have a good trip, even though I know your stress will just grow.

White, sandy beaches and salt tasted air, with an ocean so cold.
 Aggravation sets in as we try to put our lawn chairs down to unfold.
Breathe, my love, its as simple as remembering the latch on the side.
 Surely, all you had to do is ask, I'm tired of your old, stubborn pride.

Finally, we get our chairs situated and I'm ready to bask in the sun.
 You ask for sun block and as I search, you assume I brought none.
Its just at the bottom of the beach bag, you stubborn old ass!
 And don't think I don't see you sneaking a sip out of that flask!

I turn bronze as I used SPF 40, you chose SPF 15, and look at you.
 Red as a lobster, mean as crab, and I'm enjoying the view.
I tried to tell you, but so stubborn, do you ever plan to listen?
 Probably not now, nor never, so your skin will always be red and glisten.

How are you supposed to relax now that you can't move not even a limb?
 Our stress free vacation, is as always, starting to look grim.
Oh well, aloe you up, and off to dinner we shall go and have some fun.
 Take some Soma, Lortab, and Xanax and you'll be good and numb.

An hour later and you're stress free, and mostly out of that pain.
 Good thing, because its in the forecast for Florida rain!
We'll hobble around the block and get soaking wet from head to toe.
 Knowing tomorrow you'll be back in pain and stressed so we'll have to go.

But its like this every year, we plan to stay, but I know how you are.
 One or two days of driving makes you stiff from sitting in the car.
It'll take the rest of our vacation for you to blister and finally peel.
 You're the entertainment in my life, and that's why I'm with you still!


Details | Free verse |

Excuses Excuses

If Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers, would you care? Would the peck be put in a glass jar? What if he dropped a hair in there? And, if Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet digging and found the jar that Piper had hidden in the muck, along side the skull of Cro-Magnon man? “Ahhh, NO we’ve found the hip girdle and he’s a she!” Well, ole Pipper’s pecker would have gone to the pie in the sky and Miss Muffet’s tuffet would have gone to compost; So, how would the archeologist know for sure? " Why the HIP, you hafta have hips, miles and miles and mile of hips… Baby you can be a hero of course just put that ‘orse behind the cart!” Heart, well it’s left the building too. “Geeezzz it was just a pump whatcha want from a pump?” Thump, thump, from the bump, bump, then ya hump, hump, and my goodness, we’re back to Peter Piper and his pecker? “NO, no, his peck of pickles and Muffet’s missin’ tuffet? Well, I say the stars, yes the stars, show the way, the celestial meaning of the id, the I, the you, the ego too, and love “Ahhhhhh love the excuse for it all!” The pickles, the muffins, the tuffet, the bumping the humpin’ The free for all of we!


Details | Free verse |

Self PORTRAIT

I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide

I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight

My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign  
I twirl my hair and make it bend 
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends

As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin

The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions

I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane

Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed

The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair 
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose

I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key

It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore




Details | Bio |

Solitude: To Yoda, An Ode

Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.

Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.

Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.

Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.

My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.

Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.


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