When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed
So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave an instruction
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function
No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent
When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’
And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”
Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel
Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon
All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”
There are people who seem to take life way too seriously
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy
Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day
That he planned his funeral is factual
And being a prankster quite actual
He prerecorded his voice
So when we kneeled on the joist
He said, "Hi there! Don't I look natural."
While a man was golfing in Fife
a funeral cortege was arife,
his head bowed in prayer
at this somber affair
to pay last respects to his wife!
"Each experience is locked within my heart and only I hold the key..."
Please do not edit the quote , or add anything to it, use as given.
It can be the first line of your poem if that is what you want
FAMILIARITY GROWN STRANGE, COMFORTS NAUSEATED.
CARRESSING HANDS CAUSING SHUDDERS WITH
THEIR CLAMMY COLD TOUCH.
PASSION PAUSES IN YOUR AVERTED EYES,
WHILE YOUR LIPS PRETEND TO SAY OTHERWISE.
THIS EMOTIONAL HAULOCOST
CAUSING MY ARMEGEDDON.
IF ONLY MY HISTORY,
IS TO REMAIN, RATHER
THAN REMAIN THE MOMENTS,
OF MY PRESENT REPEATING THE,
SAME SONGS OF SORROW.
METHOIC MEMORIES HYPNOTIZING EXISTENCE,
OBSERVING OTHERS ALLOWING DISTANCE.
BETWEEN SELF AND SENSE,
SEARCHING, THRU CROWDS OF CONFLICTS,
WITH THE OCEANS OF EYES IN THE HORIZON DROWNING,
IN THE SEA OF LIFE.
They tried to make you go to Rehab...
Shoulda' packed your bags ta' Rehab...
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Here lies a man who had no name.
There was a funeral; Nobody came.
No one cried, and None was blamed
Only three men attended; what a shame.
He was a great doctor,
A pretty swell friend,
An intelligent person...
Except at the end.
The Contest for my Heart
Ah yes, a one time event
Black widows, black roses, red blood flows
Capture my heart
With your affections or the carving knife
Cut and bleed me as you wish
Shower me with your passions
I shall drink to the butchers dream
Of dinner severed for two
Or me served on a plate to you
The table clothe is romantically red
Our love affair left me ending up dead
On my tomb the flowers bloom
The epitaph cryptic under the moon
Here lies a man without a heart
I had the candle
I had the wine
She had the bitchers knife
She committed the crime
I may be buried in the cemetery of the forgotten
However my heart remains ice cold
It’s still in her fridge
There was an old lady from Ireland
Who was frightened to death by a brass band
We watched with dismay
As without delay
They buried her corpse in the band stand
Contest : Slapstick Limerick Contest
A crowded table, all suspended in shock
The sound of the shot dimming to a ‘knock’
Only silence, except for the marching clock
The weapon still smoking; an anonymous glock
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
Loud cries arise from the elongated table,
Jack Frost is shocked, the Tooth Fairy unable
To speak whilst Santa is checking the stable
For clues on the erstwhile maidservant Mable
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
They searched for hours, called in C.S.I,
Panic set in, would the children all cry?
Sandman confirmed the bunny had died
Batman suspected somebody had lied
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
Guests were quizzed, interrogations began
The mystery unfolded when Santa Claus ran,
Grabbing the pies, he tried escaping in a van
But was stopped in his tracks by superman
SANTA KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY!
Here lies the Rock Climber,
Who climbed up ol' Mt. Everest
And then let go.
I asked for strength for the journey
But its in the journey I find the strength
I hear lost souls cry out
These are more than just words that I think
Yeah I'm on the brink of disaster
Lady Luck I'll come by and see you later
But at this time I'm ending the game I only got like ten minutes
But actually I'm running five minutes late
Yeah! its kinda like my life story
Yep, the red foe is crushed now
Sure, I'm just like lightning that is struck down
Like the beginning of wisdom, is to distinguish the differences
I face my fears, I continue in the face of resistance
Because the path of least resistance is what makes both men and rivers crooked
If I have another hearing the judge will throw the book at me
And last night, Oh my GOD why did you forsake me
I got on my knees and prayed for guidance through this darkness
I went back to where it started: and I walked away, took away the threat and became the target
Of course I'm more than just a product of my environment
I'm entirely> Aware that there are 2 kinds of conspiracy
The conspiracy of the government and the conspiracy of the devil
My soul is here just to show you, you must dig deeper inside yourself
I've reached way past the point where it seems hopeless
Every door in Sweetwater is closed to me
So I close the door to hell and open the door to heaven
It was God who said everything my hand touched would prosper
And my hand has touched this keyboard
And my voice is just screaming out to touch that microphone
"Get your microphone and make it pretty; Put a skull around it for this city"
I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…
“Coffins. Who’d of thought it? Catalogues for coffins. And the speed and efficient nature of funerals in general. I mean I know we’ve been doing them for years, but we’re very good at it aren’t we?”
“No, but really the whole thing has just been one task after the other, call the funeral home, call the hospital, call the crematorium, call the family, call the papers, call the lawyers.” She paused, “I’d half-forgotten someone had died!”
“And the things that always seemed like jokes – he always said he thought he should hedge his bets with the man upstairs just in case the religious folks got it right, but was that serious?”
“And the funeral director, oh the funeral director trying to tactfully ask if he was a fat man, by asking if we needed one urn or two.”
“I mean the whole thing is just too funny.”
At the funeral everyone cried.
She chose a red scarf. The most red
of them all.
Of a dark red, a sweet and thick red color,
just as wine.
She carved from the red scarf
from the middle
to the size of a Martini glass.
Then she carved one more glass,
and she kept carving
till she fell asleep.
she saw her Beloved Moth
flirting with a Younger Moth,
carving together from a sweater
while she was getting busy,
carving in the shelves.
The Unhappy Moth drank lots of wine
She drank lots, too much
for a Moth.
The Unhappy Moth got drunk
and fell asleep
on the red scarf,
with a heart filled with peace.
She was not afraid no more.
Now she could be seen easily,
laying on the scarf
and easily crushed.
The Unhappy Moth was not
afraid of death no more,
at least, now she knew
how wonderful the red scarfs are
and that they taste
like red wine.
He flung his arms in amusing laugh,
At the passing funeral bier,
Beside the herd of lily blossoms--
This stout little man, in his full air:
''What say...'', he asks with a chortle,
''And thus of laughter this man dies!?''--
Gave another big guffaw--
Tears filling his beady eyes.
The birds chirped, and the dogs--
They followed-up rather slow;
The deceased was laid in his cask,
With mourning women, crying low..
He mused a moment at the sight he saw,
Then burst-up in a loud 'Hee-haw'!
''Forgive me, but it's hard to take''.
(His belly danced, as he spake)
Slightly flushed,''now'', said he,
''I choke of laughter, do you see??
Tell me will I be dead next.....''
Then stopped to take a deepest gasp
With some force, and a wasp
Was sucked into that mouth and he
Agonized with pain, stifled and red,
Next we know, lay there dead.....
Henrietta just a pet chicken
Loves attention and holding
torments the jealous dog by tapping on the door
Plays dead like a duck once tooo often
Doggie thinks KFC....yum
Henrietta taking a dirt nap under a pine tree.
tears and sorrow!!
People planters find it hard to tear
at the loss of your near and dear
At two hundred percent profits
Devastation gives them fat pockets
Diggers open up the ground
Where people sprouts can be found....
Sprouts or people dust....it is hard to know!?
1908-1934 Not taken soon enough! Not only the good die young.
For Epigram Contest
By: Richard Lamoureux
Lady bug lady bug it is fun to play and look at you,
you seem to increase in size whenever we live in some place new,
you hide in my toy, you hide in my closet
what am I am going to do with you?
Lady bug lady bug look at you, when I turn on the lights
you run with your friends and fly away too.
Lady bug Lady Bug
I am getting tired of you, you run and
alluding me in to my shoes, even when I am over you,
eating my food, you look and seem
you want me to bless you to.
Lady bug lady bug I am not having fun with you,
I am getting my mom and dad to get the
exterminator to get with you and your crew.
This poem is about a five years old kid who never saw North and
South American cockroach in his young life.
Poetry 11/26/10 by Keith K. Relf
At odds about the undertakers fees, Mark Twain jeered:
“There is a system of extortion going on here!”
What horrific prices to pay for just a box and hole
When it's not the body we care about, but the soul!
This clerihew is derrived from reading Mark Twains views on burying the dead. His only quotation is the second line. ( Mark Twain and the Carson City Undertaker) - February 1864
Sandra Hudson, 1/18/2012
She wolf of the poetic world who run
and struggle to maintain her dignity
Our words, our dreams are falling to pieces
By, the predators of this time period
We are the prey for the fearful ones
Who scrolls and display rude comments?
Deep within as you lament over our poems
we rise up stronger than ever
Composing rhyme, lyric and prose
Unlike your hatred about likes and dislikes
Narrative poems portrays the truth
We shine, we meddled, and somehow, we win
We are stronger; death with dignity is a poet emblems
Pieces of our past anthology anguish you
Your Savage behavior bites you each time;
We compose; you pursue
We are the death of your souls
Mr. Sleepless White Nights
Your predators, you editors
Are you addicted to your inner critic
We have our rights
You confounded wretch night stalkers.
the crowds taking the subways
enter the underground
below upon waking
to rise up
in the clouds above
only to go back in the evening
down through the underground
low upon leaving
to final rest
in the underground
or in the clouds above
The Grace To Grow
Through peril in its intact
We have every reason by which to over react
The Grace to grow;
Many a shoulder to cry inflate the ego
Through our hard stance with fate
We lock our doors & protect out faith
In long lines at the store lest I emplore
Shades of trim left for me to begin
In oscillating ivory towers a man from Mars
The Grace to grow
From a little seed next the full grain blown to harvest once again
We can plant a seed deep enough through troubled waters come among
Shades of gems crimsome with rubbies
The cedar as a way of illumination
Perhaps I'm in need of a break on some long awaited vacation?
The Grace to grow
A funny little clown, a bright red nose.
Lots of make-up, and bright blue bows.
Children laughing, some fat and some thin.
Either dressed in new clothes or rags that are faded and dim.
Pretty white ponies with beautiful glittery saddles.
And again, those funny clowns are hitting eachother with paddles.
One clown keeps fallimg and pretending to cry.
The other is daydreaming and lets out a big sigh.
There are beautiful ladies whose costumes are rare.
And a man who scares the children by dressing up as a bear.
Fantasizing is a convienient thing, it keeps the shock low.
So the surprise about the real world won't be such a big blow.
"Surprised about what"? is what you ask next.
Its something you can't learn in a text.
You'll learn about life by the things you go through.
You'll learn about whats fake and about what is true.
You'll see that the clowns are still funny and have a red nose.
But then you'll see realize only money buys the ladies rare clothes.
That's also when you realize your clothes are faded and dim.
And you recognize how many times you've been beaten by him.
Yes, those clowns with paddles are at it again.
Funny. They are married and they're children number ten.
Thier children are scared and crying in bed.
Because thier big mean daddy made thier sweet mommy dead.
Here lies Bea At a hundred and three
In the place she vowed She’d never be
She always swore She’d never die
Till all who bugged her
In the grave would lie
She hung on tight To the very end
No foe was left For flowers to send
Let’s raise a glass And shed a tear
She sure raised hell while she was here!
Copyright©2004 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved
Front and Center!
Those Gates adorned with pearls in Heaven.
White angels soaring.
If by chance,
Ordered to enter;
Through St. Peter's Permission;
I demand from you chancellor;
A swift insanity plea, submission.
For this troubled soul is plagued,
By vast displays of wicked ways.
Courtesy of meticulous examination.
Diligence pending Investigation.
Key Evidence, perpetually documented
In Sin's ominous catalog.
Rebuke my Judge!
For multitudes of shortcomings,
He failed to ascertain.
Moreover, present was He,
When Satan drafted me.
His Fantasy League...
"The Eternal Infernos of Pain"
I do not know?
I RUN from FEAR.
I HUNT for FEAR.
I HIDE in FEAR.
I FIGHT cause of FEAR.
I'm FAR from you.
I'm SCARED cause of you.
You're the FEAR that I HUNT.
You're the FEAR that I FIGHT.
You're the FEAR that SCARED me for LIFE.
*Comment if you have any thought and if you like it. oh and some of the poems i write arn't
always my feelings. their some times just to get through other people so they can have
something to read that just fit's them.*
THE INVISIBLE BAN
I’ve known so many men who’ve left and I prayed they’d never come back
And then there is this one dude who left the North and traveled down south
He carried his meager belongs in a bag akin to Santa’s Xmas sack
He’s a dude who has never learned to shut his foolish mouth
He thinks himself wise yet he’s nothing but a fool
So he stands on a corner begging people’s ear
He uses his mouth as a rusted and useless tool
For he has nothing to say which people want to hear
They’ve heard the same things in a thousand different ways
Like Chicken Little and his assertion that the sky will fall
He begs the people to look up for he is a pious man who devoutly prays
Yet all of these people are wise enough to ignore his call
He’s got big ideas, a big mouth and won’t keep quiet on a bet
No one likes him as they try to avoid what they hear and see
He thinks himself so smart yet he has trouble with the alphabet
And I know he’s ignorant because that man is me
© 2011.…..Phreepoetree ~free cee!~