These Humorous Bird poems are examples of Bird poems about Humorous. These are the best examples of Humorous Bird poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
-honestly...I have no clue why...-
As I began to rest in my fickle dream
Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep
I was greeted by many a whisker
And petulant snores from my sister
The cat mewed ferociously and purred
For there on the other side of the window—was a bird!
It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass!
And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass
Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm
I swear my bosom was gone!
The cat then motioned at the feathered brat
For her bright breasts seemed extra fat
Of course it wouldn’t have been that
But I couldn’t just blame the cat!
I opened the window only a crack
And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?”
Such pride she attained from my bosom
Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!?
The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye
But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly!
She plopped to the ground and squawked
I would have laughed, but I was shocked!
The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes
Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!”
Before I could think I had fallen to the ground
To a booming, most terrible sound!
My eyes then opened to a cat on my head
As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed
To 'ride on somebody's coat tails'
Is the most dangerous thing you can do
'Keep a stiff upper lip' is another cliché
Mine's not stiff, how about you?
'One good turn deserves another'
Turns my stomach if you must ask
'There's no fool like an old fool'
I'm quite offended by the last
'Sticks and stones will break my bones'
Can break someone's heart as well
So if somebody up and says this to you
Tell them to go straight to hell
'A penny for your thoughts' is yet another
That's pretty damn cheap I'd say
A dollar would certainly be more in line
With the times we live in today
'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'
Who made up this silly old verse
A bird in the hand is quite messy I'd say
Poop on your fingers or worse
So I've come to the obvious conclusion
Concerning the debunking of clichés
Refuse to use 'em coz people abuse 'em
You'll wind up much happier I say
© Jack Ellison 2013
His chicken vanished from the face of Earth
unhappy and distressed connected so
with sites of poetry where lost pets' dearth
transformed to versicle expression's flow.
Logorrhea of namby pamby lines
and balderdash of verbose gardyloo
bombarded him with rounds of porcupines
stampeded unctuous like rabid gnoo.
But on the other hand he met some birds
composers of refined and sightly verse,
with glinting souls and clever words,
their intellect's expressions wise and terse.
And when he searched of whom to value most
received his chicken's metrical riposte.
© G.V. 09-14-2013 All rights reserved
When I’m in my garden
I’m a King, I have a throne
I sit here very solitary
I am happy on my own
All my subjects gather round
The birds, the flowers, the trees
And all those noisy Sand gropers
The frogs, and all the bees.
Canaries have a special place
They play music for my court
Often wild birds join along
As I sit wrapped in thought.
My courtyards are not tidy
All the bushes cling together
But hey, they give me so much shade
In our hot sticky weather.
So I sit and write my memoirs down
Like a good King really should
As I sit here in my kingdom
And I really feel so good.
28 August 2013 @ 1419hrs.
Once in a land full of life
At least that's what I was told so
There lived a happy man and his wife
Who smiled and watched the birds go
One day as they were watching the birds
The old man had flipped his hat
For he had said only a few words
And it was that he could fly like that
The wife then began to frown
For the man had simply gone mad
So she got ready to leave the town
Which made the cheery guy sad
He swore to her that he would fly
So the wife had grabbed her things
She opened the door and said bye
And when she left, the man sprouted wings
A few years had come and gone
The wife grew old and watched time pass
One day when sitting, she heard a song
That sounded from her fifth floor window glass
'my love,' it said, 'I now have wings.
my love,' it went on, 'I wish you would see me fly.
my dear, come look at me, drop your things.
I wait by your window, perched in the sky.'
The wife got up and looked out the pane
She froze at the sight she had saw
Her husband flying, or was she insane?
He smiled at her dropped jaw.
'My love, come with me. Fly in the sky.'
'I can't,' she shook her head
'oh come on. climb out. I promise you won't die.'
So she climbed out, and was never seen again.
(this is fictional)
There once was a gal named Lucy,
Who had a beloved pet goosey.
The goose learned to fly,
Which made Lucy cry,
Now there's no more Lucy's goosey.
For Blackeyed Susan's limerick contest
‘Do you like Pigeons Dad’
“They’re scummy things
They’re Rats with wings
They’re vermin of the sky”
‘That can’t be right Dad’
“They pilfer seed
They breed at speed
And harbour disease you know”
‘Are you sure dad’
“Since the Rock Pigeon flew
And ended up in a stew
Since their domestication by men”
‘But I like Pigeons Dad’
‘I like how they sing
I like the shape of their wing
So you should like them too’
“But I don’t like Pigeons Son.
Their walk is bizarre,
They crap on my car
And they’re really not that clever”
...they wake me in the morning,
With their delightful coo,
Their plumage is wonderful - an iridescent blue.
They look good in the garden Dad
They don’t make such a mess
Do you like Pigeons Dad?’
[This poem was the result of being asked this question many, many, many times by my son. My son is on the autistic spectrum - he has Asperger's Syndrome to give the official diagnosis. He is a lovely human being & I love him dearly. But one of his most irritating traits, is the fact that he asks the same questions continuously all day every day. No matter how you respond, the same question will be posed minutes later. Currently and for at least the last 2 to 3 years: 'Do you like pigeons daddy?' is his favourite/most frequently asked question. Now that you know that, perhaps you can really feel the exasperation in that final ..."Yes"]
I know a bird who sways and swings
He jumps and kicks and flaps his wings
He cannot fly in stormy weather
He cannot strut his fluffy feathers
So instead he sits and sings.
Snake hunting bird in silent trance
Iconic outline on the branch
As daybreak dies, with laughter, quiet
You quell your deadly appetite
Your searching eye from tilted head
Has spied a rocky sun-warmed bed
A silent slither from the grass
A wary reptile dares to pass
And you bark brown, have flown away
For gumtops high to eat your prey
You laugh - as if you laugh at fate
It's true - considering what you ate.
The jackdaw is a curious bird
He hops and runs along,
His genial “tchak, tchak” can be heard –
Alas, he has no song.
Why look these corvine birds so old ?
Jet black and hooded grey,
With beady eye and black beak, bold,
They chase small birds away.
Corvus Monedula is his name,
It’s from the Latin took,
With habits very much the same
Some take him for a rook.
Poor old Jack, has no collective
For meeting with his friends,
He shouts “Tchak ! Tchak!” and this invective
‘Gainst all mankind he sends.
Most creatures have collective nouns,
It really is an oddity –
No way to name this gang of clowns ?
I’ll christen them JOCUNDITY !