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Mom Funny Poems | Funny Poems About Mom

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

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Details | Rhyme |

THE TARANTULA BUILT A WEB

The tarantula built  
a web in the upper-left corner of my patio;
she weaved it perfectly as Antonio
rose on his wobbling feet to reach it.


That boy didn't know that 
spiders get vicious and suddenly bite 
when someone tries to grab them for spite,
and Antonio tried to pull it down with a tiny twig...
no, it didn't work, so he tried again with a long stick;
oh, once a garden spider got stuck into his mom's wig! 


" Antonio, put it down,
before it crawls onto your skin! "
The spider will bite you on the cheek
and you'll be doing the Tarantula Dance! "
I yelled by taking the stick away from him with extreme force.
" No, I like that spider...that's the one I want to keep! "
He rebelled with a grin, transforming himself into a beast.
" OK, you can keep it, but remember spiders creep! "
I warned him and told him to wear a mask and just peak.  


The tarantula built a web where rain or storms
never soaked it, and scorching sun rays
never melted it...how laborious she was in summer's long days!
We watched it going to and fro searching for food for her little one
as we took daily videos and had fun watching them!
After all, I realized that a spider is not dangerous...if left alone;
and Antonio kept his distance by warning other boys
that trying to catch a tarantula is a very dangerous game!


Details | Sonnet |

Happy Birthday Jenny (Kyrielle Sonnet)

Happy birthday to you Jenny
Hope your big day brings you plenty
Keep a bright smile all the way
Your mom sings your praises today

Soon you will be driving to school
Don’t forget to follow the rules
Enjoy your day with a buffet
Your mom sings your praises today

Happy birthday to you Jenny
Don’t forget to save your pennies
Wish on a star on your great day
Your mom sings your praises today

Happy birthday to you Jenny
Your mom sings your praises today

© Joseph, 8/20/2007
© All Rights Reserved

This is for the the daughter of our own poetess, Kathy.

The Kyrielle Sonnet is a French form from the Middle Ages. It has 14 lines (three 
rhyming quatrains and a non-rhyming couplet). It has a repeating line or phrase 
as a refrain in the last line of each stanza.  Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet 
has eight syllables.  There are times when a French poem links back to the 
poem’s beginning; therefore, a common practice is to combine the first line of 
the first quatrain and the refrain in each quatrain as the ending couplet for the 
poem.


Details | Italian Sonnet |

Sisterly Examples

When I was young, I had a great disdain
for Campell's nasty soup named Alphabet.
One Saturday it was our mother's threat
we had to eat it up or home remain
and miss the matinee. How inhumane!
Mom left the room; I never will forget
the thing which I'd repeat without regret -
I took that slop and tossed it down the drain!

When Mom returned, I'd "downed" all of my soup.
Again she left; Mel went to dump HER meal
and at the sink got caught. Poor nincompoop!
She missed "Red Riding Hood" while I, the heel,
went out. Our mom was left "out of the loop."
My little sister did not even squeal!

(Some slang words here for my non-native friends:
a "nincompoop" is a foolish person,
"out of the loop" means to never be aware of something
and the last verb "squeal" means to "tell on someone"
I always tried to get away with murder when I was young
and I can't believe my sister missed the movie by not telling
on me! On the other hand, I really enjoyed "Red Riding Hood" heehee)

For Frank H's 
A Childhood MEMORY Poetry Contest


Details | Light Poetry |

Mom's Purse

When you’re the mom you carry the purse,
That’s the natural rule of the universe.

To a mom a purse is more than a bag,
It’s a safety net when the world starts to sag.

The pockets hold things that her family might need,
Like a granola bar with sunflower seed.

There’s a half eaten cookie and a clean pair of socks,
And a tool her grandfather gave her to set cuckoo clocks.

There’s a broken dolly in need of repair,
And a bright orange scrunchie to pull back her hair.

There are aspirins and band-aids and a coupon book,
Redeemable for vacations that never got took.

And way at the bottom is a memory of a girl,
Who would dress so young and gaily twirl.

In those days she carried a purse so small,
A dainty little bag hardly anything at all.

As she takes out the memory and starts to go through it,
She breaks out in a grin because there’s a sucker stuck to it.

She remembers what that girl wanted most for her life,
Was to one day be a mom and a good man’s wife.

Each memory she touches she remembers with pleasure,
And each item she carries becomes a small treasure.

That’s why when you’re the mom you carry the purse,
It’s the natural rule of the universe.


Details | Verse |

Family Dinner

Everyone is dressed just right,

with our smiles slapped on tight,

we are having a family dinner.

The mood is tense,

yet we have to make sense,

and we can always talk about the weather.

 

We blow kisses and show our love,

everything is just right.

We shower praises over each other,

and pray that the night is over without a flight.

 

Ignore the bitter-in-law,

she needs some sugar.

She vowed to deny herself happiness,

since she lost her lover.

 

Pay attention to the chatty uncle.

He claims to be rich although he eats like a savage.

just nod your head and seem interested,

and hope the topic does not turn to marriage.

 

Sit away from the young brother,

once an answer to his question, he is on to another.

To the old man he asks,"So what do you do?"

and to the orphan child,"Where is your mother?"

 

The room is beautiful, the food is delicious,

a night with our near and dear.

This could well be the perfect family dinner,

but only the flowers in the room seem real.


Details | Free verse |

Grandma Was Dancing

She was a tappin' to the tunes...
of those Mississippi blues...
step-pin' out, in her white...
Pat-en-leather shoes,

We were a watchin' her a prancin',
all through the kitchen, dancin'...
for she was so...hot & sizzlin'...
hummin' to those Mississippi tunes...

Funny curlers too, upon...
her head...for a new... Hair dew,...
she was, a swirlin'-in that bakers apron,
when her head...star-ted a bobbin' to...
those Mississip-pi blues,

'Pots were a knockin'...
Grandma a sockin' down all she brews,
while that kettle there was whistlin',
in har-mo-ny, with them good ole...
good ole...mississip-pi moves,'

That floor there, was a bouncin'
holdin' hands we were a jumpin',
an-a hoppin' In the kitchen, to those...
                  sounds ...
Where Grandma's feet were a stompin',
In her new...New-white-sexy-pat-en-
leather-shoes...
(ya hoo)


Details | Narrative |

Granny And Your last glass of water

He starts singing songs of Ireland and we are home in a jiffy
"What's a jiffy," my mother wonders
"Guess  where we went Granny?"
"I don't know but I have a feeling you are gonna tell me," answers my grandmother
"And Don't call me Granny!"
"We went to church so Poppy could ask secret questions."
"The priest gave Poppy a shot and a beer and Poppy sent me next store and he gave me money for  taffy."
"He told me not to tell anyone especially you about the priest cause it's only for the priests ears."
"He said God would take away taffy and I'd never get another goodie and God would strike me dead if I told."
"So I can't tell anyone."
"He did," and she starts yelling and grabs a weapon,"what kind of idiot would be scaring a little child?"
Granny is standing on  Poppy's toes and and asking him questions of where he'd been and getting a sniff of his breath
"So what did you tell  the priest and him giving you consolation and a shot and beer."
"That little rat ," and thinks about the money for candy
Later, Granny is chasing Poppy with that big iron frying pan and poppy running and singing
"In Heaven they have no beer, that's why we drink it here."
"You damn fool I'm gonna bust you in the head, "and throws the pan at his head
And later
Cousin Francis has bill collectors come to the house looking for him
Granny was four foot seven  inches and she starts kicking him in the shin
My Mother grabs his Dick Tracy hat and she jumps on it and flattens it
I ask my mom where I was when this happened and she pauses
" You were in Heaven Patrick waiting with your brother!"
The truancy officers bang on the door and want to know where Uncle Charles is
Granny shrugs and says, "He is upstairs and the sound of the window going up sounds
They all run upstairs and see Uncle sliding down the tree and running as fast as his
seven year legs can move
He comes home later that evening holding a goose under his arm
And Poppy has a soft-boiled goose egg for breakfast every morning
I ask Uncle what happened to that goose and He said,"one day he came home  and
they had chicken for dinner."
And Poppy was gone to heaven to get me and my brother ready Mom says
And Granny sits my brother and me on her lap and says,"you two knuckleheads listen up."
"This is very important so don't forget it."
"Treat people the way you want to be treated, because you never know who is going to hand you your last glass of water"


Details | Light Poetry |

My Lay Away Plan

I’d save up all of my extra pennies in a shoebox beneath my bed, And each night before I went to sleep I’d spend them in my head. Sometimes I’d spend the whole darned stash on something just for me, But sometimes I’d imagine myself on a less selfish shopping spree. When Christmas came I’d take out the box and count whatever I had, And try to decide how much I could spend on my brothers, mom and dad. Way back then you’d be surprised what you could get for just a buck, Coloring books, marbles and puzzles or maybe a toy pick up truck. My dad would get a tie that could brighten up any room, And for mom there was always a bottle of Walgreen’s best perfume. I could buy a gift for each member of my family for just five ninety-eight, And have enough left over for a Payday bar and go home feeling great. Then I’d wrap the gifts and label them and put them beneath the tree, I’d set them all towards the front so they’d see they came from me. And after they’d opened their gifts and Christmas wishes had all been said, I’d go upstairs and drop a couple of pennies into the shoebox beneath my bed.


Details | Rhyme |

Mom's Old Iron Skillet

The skillet hung near the old wood-burning kitchen stove.
Aside from her family, Mom considered it a special trove.
With that blackened old pan she prepared delicious repasts,
That in my judicious opinion will ne'er be surpassed!

Ah, just to recall the tasty grub stewed up in that old skillet!
How it tingled my taste buds just sliding down my gullet!
The chicken, steaks and chops in that old pan she did fry,
Evoked oohs and aahs and many a contented sigh!

She liberally dolloped lard in the pan 'til she had it just right,
Then concocted stews, soups and fried taters for our delight!
Mom was never concerned about such things as saturated fat,
Or life-threatening cholesterol and such things as that!

I suppose medicos today would have a conniption fit,
If they knew of the dietary sins my Mom did commit.
She must've done something right - her spouse lived past ninety-four.
Her kids outlived the odds, each reaching four score years or more!

Self-anointed wizards deem cast iron skillets detrimental to our health,
But I think they're just peddling new fads to add to their wealth!
My dear spouse uses her old iron skillet most every day.
I feel fit as a banjo regardless of what so-called experts may say!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Details | Rhyme |

Mum's Christmas Dinner

She stays awake for hours, cutting Xs in the sprouts,
Then peels all the tatties, a ton or thereabouts,
Slicing and dicing parsnips is next up in the plan,
Chops up carrots and a swede, and put them in a pan,
Mixes up her sage and onion and stuffs it in the bird,
Along with some pork sausage meat that’s been pre-prepared,
She takes apart the oven, to fit the turkey in,
Hangs it up with bits of string, there’s no room in the tin,
Wraps sausages in bacon, in case they catch a chill,
But makes sure they‘re all cooked thoroughly, so the family won’t get ill,
Cooks the bird for hours, while the table’s being laid,
With all the finest crockery (and some of lower grade),
Makes space around the table, brings in extra chairs,
Adorns the place with candles and other Christmas wares,
Lays out a Christmas cracker in everybody’s place,
Complete with rather tacky joke, no doubt of a straight face,
And brings out all the condiments, the pickles and the sauce,
The salt and pepper, the mustard and radish known as “horse”,
Next she makes the starter, the simplest course by far,
A cocktail made up of prawns and a sauce out of a jar.
The family then all piles in, and argues over seats,
The children are already full of chocolates and treats,
Grandmother is mumbling, “Kids should be seen not heard”,
Meanwhile back in the kitchen Mum’s wrestling with the bird,
She tries to carve up slices, but ends up with turkey chunks,
While Dad and Gramps have become a pair of Christmas drunks,
They start an argument about which wine goes with the meat,
And restless children run around, not staying in their seat,
Mother tries to keep her calm and bravely soldiers on,
But the roasties are all blackened and the sprouts are over done,
Mum enters the dining room looking very puffed,
She throws the turkey down and shouts ,“There you go! Get stuffed!”


18th November 2012


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