Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

Funny Home Poems | Funny Poems About Home

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Alliteration | |

Lucky at Home

You’d think a dog named Lucky,
Would lead a decent life.
But Lucky had his troubles,
And they followed day and night.

One day Lucky ran away
In search of greener pastures.
Just to find a field ablaze,
Thus the start of his disasters.

Although Lucky didn’t die that day
And no limbs or parts were broken,
Lucky smelled of smoldered hair
And you’d swear he kept on smokin!

And Lucky liked to chase the cars,
Till the day he lost his nerve
When Lucky met a big ‘ol bus
That couldn’t stop or swerve.

I’m not sure just how it hit him
Or how he’s here today.
But he’s never walked straight since,
And one eye veers away.

My Lucky always clashed with cats
And was leery of their paws.
Until a “Tom” of forty pounds
Let Lucky feel his jaws.

Hair and fur balls filled the air
Like Cottonwoods a bloomin.
Poor ‘ol Lucky lost an ear,
And now looks twice as stupid.

I confess, I named him wrong
And why he stays, I’ll never know.
I guess that I’m the lucky one,
To have Lucky here at home.

Copyright © Tom Valles

Details | Clerihew | |

He'd Rather Be Home Alone

Little Macaulay Culkin
Left at home, but not sulkin'
Sued his real parents for divorce
Now he's "Home Alone" with no remorse

*Clerihew for Catie's Contest

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Free verse | |

A homeless bride-w

I shall daily visit the beauty parlor
And make myself beautiful for you.
I shall never clean the house
So that my skin is not tarred.
I shall ever watch my figure,
Eating calorie less foods and drinks.

I shall stay home all day
And will never be stay at home mom
But will go for Disco at night.
I shall not take drugs
But a drink or two in limits.
I shall awake late in the morning
So that you are not disturbed.

I shall adorn the house to earn
Adjectives from the neighbours.
I shall buy the furniture to invent
Nouns to be told to the visitors.
Our house will be all pronouns
But will never admit verbs as
They shake the very foundation.

*** I wrote this poem much earlier noticing a young married woman of a modest family adopting the modern living going astray from the household chores *** Based on a real

The poem was posted on 1/16/2007

Dr. Ram Mehta

Tenth place win in:
Contest: Any Twisted Poem sponsored by Destroyer A Poet

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta

Details | Light Poetry | |

Singing in the Shower

I know of a lass by the name of Kelly McGower 
Who would sing like an angel when she took a shower. 
But when she finished and came out of the rain, 
It seems that her talents would wash down the drain. 
And if she attempted to sing one more note, 
Her voice would sound like a rude Billy Goat. 
Poor Kelly, to her singing was close to pure joy, 
But she’d never share it with Shamus McCoy. 
Shamus it seems was the man of her dreams, 
But to sing for him would be far too extreme. 
To invite him to hear her would set off alarms, 
And how could she do it without revealing her charms? 
So the poor girl wondered what else she could do, 
To gain his attention and to be loved by him too? 
Next door to Kelly there lived one Shamus McCoy, 
Nothing special about him, just an average boy. 
He’d stroll through his garden each night at the same hour, 
And wait for dear Kelly to start taking her shower. 
When her singing would start on the fence post he’d lean, 
Until sweet Kelly and his soul were both clean. 
For the sound of her voice would make him content, 
But for listening to her shower he felt the need to repent. 
So he got on the phone to speak with the Vicar, 
In hopes that absolution could come that much quicker. 
The Vicar grabbed his Bible to help save the boy, 
Then he went to visit the home of young Shamus McCoy. 
And while Shamus made confession to his lyrical love, 
The Vicar heard the sweet sounds from the window above. 
So transfixed was he by the sound of her voice, 
That he called out to Shamus to be glad and rejoice. 
He provoked Shamus into action to ask for her hand, 
So young Shamus made a purchase of a perfect gold band. 
Now Shamus is granted a concert each night, 
And the songs that she sings bring him delight. 
His love for his wife has made him complete, 
And she now permits him a front row seat. 
Still her modesty requires that he turn his face, 
Because the shower curtain is made of fine Irish lace. 
And there is not enough of it there to obstruct his view, 
So to honor her wishes it's the least he can do. 
He’ll protect her modesty when he comes to hear her, 
By turning from the shower and looking into the mirror. 
But the steam from the shower clouded up the glass, 
And obscured his view of this beautiful lass. 
So Shamus took action there was nothing more to it, 
And that’s how Kelly’s solo got changed into a duet. 
Let this poem stand as an explanation to the city as to why, 
The water bill at the home of the McCoy’s is so high.

Copyright © Tony Lane

Details | Couplet | |

Wanted: New Home for Rooster

A plucky fellow wakes us up each day at dawn
To the tune of cock-a-doodle-do we yawn

How grateful we've been that we need no alarm
His sunrise serenade has far more charm

EXCEPT on weekends when we are free to sleep in
Want to stuff a sock in his beak 'ere he begins

So we decided to put this loud one on loan
The stud-master rooster had a new weekend home

In a neighbor's yard where chickens needed a mate
He strutted his feathered tail, made many a date

So many, in fact, that the eggs did abound
Tributes to his manhood littered the ground

Our sweet neighbor lady has cried out, "No more!"
And we want to avoid a neighborhood war

Can you take him in, not just weekends of course
Our chicks and our neighbor's demand a divorce

This unfaithful fowl needs a new chicken coop
One that is filled with an "open-minded" group

I hope there's a taker, 'cause this much is true
He could be the entree for our next barbecue

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Rhyme | |

At the End of the Day

There's nothing like it after a hard day's work
To ge stuck in traffic behind some jerk
He smiles in his mirror like he's having fun
So I show him my finger because he's number one

Now rush hour moves at such a horrible pace
By the time I get home there's a beard on my face
If this isn't enough to make you hot
I arrive at home and can't find a parking spot

So I park up the street and pick up a nail
If swearing was a crime, I'd be in jail
Then I walk down the street which was freshly tarred
Our neighbor's dog did his duty in our back yard

I finish my dinner and sit down for the night
To watch TV and listen to the kids fight
I look at the ceiling and softly say
A prayer of thanksgiving at the end of the day.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.

Details | Couplet | |

something beautiful and strange

   'neath my family tree I found
something green and blue and brown
hatching out beneath my touch
that I love so very much
can you take it home tonight?
feed it soup and hold it tight?
I can't have it ,Heaven knows,
it wants to wear my sister's clothes
and dance around in town all day
and make confections out of clay
put it in a sachel bag
make it march and wave a flag
until it learns it must conform
it's just too different from the norm
and when you make it tow the line,
I'll take it home and make it mine.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren

Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

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
Thatcher’s dead.

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Elephant Tha Ant and The Butterfly

The elephant was walking through the jungle one day
Swinging his trunk, this and that way.
He dragged it along not caring where still
And then he dragged it through, a very large Ant hill.

His trunk started to itch and annoy him a bit
He wandered around to look for somewhere to scratch it.
He found a tree and wrapped his trunk around 
The leaves and the fruits all dropped down to the ground
The itch it then moved, it was now up at his nose
He needed to rub it on anything that goes.
He found a rock and rubbed with all his might
It was covered in insects and they all took flight.

Apart from a butterfly that dropped on his tusk
She lay there broken smelling faintly of musk
The itch it had moved up onto his head right close to his eyes
Then he heard a voice which was quite a surprise.

Hey you be more careful you great big beast
You’ve ruined my home and knocked off the giraffes feast.
You’ve forced insects to flee from the rock where they lay
And you have a broken butterfly on you tusk, now what do you say?

The elephant stopped in his tracks and looked around
He couldn’t see, from where came the sound.
Elephant shook his head as the itch went to his ear
Then the voice said it’s me stupid, I am in your ear.

The elephant stopped and begged, please keep still
You are making me itch and it’s making me ill
Please show yourself and let me apologise
I meant no harm especially to you or the butterflies.

The ant crawled out of the elephant’s ear
He said, I need you to go back to my anthill I fear
I need to check up and the wounded and dead
If you do this for me I’ll stop itching on your head.

Ok said the elephant I’ll do that for you 
But what about this butterfly, what can we do?
I’m not sure said the ant, to the elephants ear
We’ll sort it in a bit when we get near.

They set of and found the squashed ants and hill
The elephant cried it made him feel ill.
The ant said we need new home and quick
And for the butterfly she is quite sick.

The elephant was sad and offered what help he could .
You can move in my trunk and I promise I’ll be good
Thank you we will said the ant, just for a while
And we can help the butterfly said the ant with a smile.
So together they set of all content and happy
The elephant the  butterfly and the little Anty.

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl

Details | Free verse | |

My Boredom Disease

Like sick allergies, 
Boredom can be passed around

Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!

Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination ! 

Copyright © J. W. M. Earnings

Details | Haiku | |

Haiku - X 17 - A home -


                                             Drenched by the rain
                               Golden key fits perfectly in the door lock
                                       Home with lots of wet dog kisses

A-L  Andresen :)                      
                                              * contest: Leonora <3

(4th place in the contest)

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Monoku | |


One more alien... an extra terrestrial. Bloody foreigners.

Copyright © Dan Keir

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"

Copyright © Patrick Cornwall

Details | ABC | |

The Vent

im livin in a world, where all eyes on me.
trying to curve my own route.
but route 66 keeps finding its way to me.
ive been plenty sick, in all the events layed before me.
even when i reflect to my lowest points
i dont regret any of the choices
That I’ve deployed in my era
A lot of it by error, but hey
We live in hell conditions and there ain’t no air condition 
Or any guidelines when life throws you in the sidelines
But when hindsight twenty twenty hits
You’ll begin to understand life’s a bunch of equations and you in the mix of it
An you’ll have to think twice, before running into a situation and becoming the best of it
it’s what got me here, it’s what got us here
Ran with my thoughts blazing up to her place and
Guess what happened next
She opened up heaven’s gate
And just before late I slipped out
Simply put 
I’m a Grown ass man
Doin his thing, waitin to blow up like an old land mine
In doin what he drools over
But time after time 
Something decides to creep up and cover the light
Lost my way
Then I revoked to ever know, I ever thought that way
But in the in between time, that in the mean time 
Spent a lot of time
Gettin pissed off just to medicate and lift off
Don’t need Don Perion to sip off
Already had my way with the bottle
Even thought to get back with the trouble and rejoin the hustle
That’s just what happens to a man who really knows his old ways
Whos tired of making ends meet and ponders getting back to the streets.
Memory sets in and he remembers an O.G. saying
No matter how tall your pockets stand when you ball
Eventually times gonna make you fall
And I as I pull myself together 
I don’t wanna end up like the twin towers rubble
I mean no offence to nine eleven but at that time I probably could have used a reverend
But all that’s irrelevant now
because i live with a different perspective now

there you go you made it to the end :-) comment if you like, constructive criticism wanted as well.

Copyright © pat roswell

Details | Light Poetry | |

Granny Tipping

My son is getting older, and he just went back to College, the other day.
But he had enjoyed the summer, by adding a new game to his daily play.
He called it Troll Tipping as daily he targeted another, and wore him out.
By dinner, the Troll would fall asleep, as my son claimed his dessert, so devout.

But wearing out a Troll, is not such an easy thing, so many a night, a Troll got his.
What a shame! But as a resourceful college man, at devising plans he was a whiz.
He offered them a Fun Filled Tip, yes, a way to get others, to do their daily chores.
The cost to each individual Troll, was their sweet dessert, that night, nothing more.

He was doing great, as he ran thru many a Troll, but then our suspicions did unfold.
You see, this bred unrest, as a number of fights started, amongst our beloved Trolls.
Scheming isn’t sharing, so Grandpa Troll had a TALK, life changing, or so it’s told.
But Boys are boys, and desserts were to be had, so he made a new plan, quite bold.

You might say he invented Granny Tipping, yes, now it was MY dessert, on the line.
Now this would be quite simple, for at my age, I can easily, become tiredly inclined.
But the one thing he’d forgot: is how crafty age had made this old one, in her efforts. 
As dinner wound down, I cued Grandpa Troll, to help deliver, those delicious desserts.

I told my son, that they were made to be his favorite, simply in honor, of his behalf.
Then I pretended to fall asleep, and he quickly took my dessert, with a joyous laugh.
Then suddenly his eyes grew big! And I awoke, looking him quite clearly, in the eye.
I lied that, I added laxatives and terrible cod liver oil, to my dessert nightly, yes, so sly. 

Making them easier to swallow, but if he wanted more dessert, he only had to ASK.
He quickly sped away, to wash that terrible taste, out of his mouth, a daunting task!
And we all had our chance to laugh at him… as the joke was finally on him, at last.
I call this, Bad Behavior Tipping, and from that day to this, he asks for more, at last!

The game seemed to lose its luster that day, yes, manners did a BIG, comeback.
The moral is to politely ask… Playing clever little games… is NEVER for the best!

Copyright © Carol Eastman

Details | Haiku | |

A good winter's cleaning

What are Cabinites                                                                                                          all things you find when cleaning                                                                                      cabinet dwellers

Copyright © John Beam

Details | Free verse | |

Last Bell.....

Man, I remember the thrumming of that last bell of the school year.....
Like a prisoner being furloughed into the warm sun, buzzing of grasshoppers.
Field stickers burrowing into your ankles, joyfully, while you take the wrong way/long way 
The sound of whispering gold as your armplane wings dislodge future assaulters of ankles.
I always liked sighs in the summer.....those sweet drones were the tones of freedom.
In the distance you hear Shirley scream as Brad tells EVERYBODY she likes Ralph...
You knew you should be gettin' home, but, confound it, this one brief moment was yours. 
There was a sound, like a shell to the ear, of all you had learned, escaping as if under 
To thwart it was to stop a tsunami with an umbrella.....ineffectual....unnoticed.
But, also vacant, was common sense; probably why I went Jake's way that day....
Oh, he was there, lurking...lying in wait for my almost clock-work arrival.
Many a day I had screamed a million insults at him as he chased me like Satan,
Hoping "today" wasn't the day he caught up with me.
His exhalations never sounded labored, as if he was letting me get ahead.....
But not today!!!!!.....I JUMP......He LUNGES......and his teeth gain purchase on my seat!!!!
However, I escape....My bottom, that much cooler than it was before and will probably be 
Home.......... you see mom in the kitchen, drinking sun tea and waiting for you to arrive....
"So, How was school?"..."Uh, fine, I guess."     "What did you learn today?"......."Uh, to never 
underestimate the value of Gym Class!!"......"Well," she says, "if you took home economics, 
you'd be able to fix up your pants before Dad gets home and sees your underwear!!"......

Parents NEVER respect an Adventurer's near-fatal exploits!!!

Copyright © Jim David

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Bowing Tree

We were so pathetic our first year of marriage. They say that being poor builds character, maybe that explains it. 

We were married way too young to ever have much money, The thought of spending for a Christmas tree seemed to be too funny. We decided that we would do without to save cash on which to live, Because the cost of even a meager tree was more than we could give. One night on my way home from work I followed a tree barring truck, A pothole hit and a tree flew off it seemed I’d had some luck. I took it home to my new bride and the sight lit up her eyes, She decided to make decorations for this Christmas tree surprise. So while I went to find a stand, she started to pop some corn, She took a needle and threaded them and soon the tree adorned. She cut out cardboard stars and bells in foil they then got covered, I set the tree up in its stand and that’s when a problem was discovered. There was something wrong with the trunk of our little Christmas tree, It curved so badly that when it stood up it made the letter “C”. Without some help it couldn’t stand so to the top we tied a rope. To the closet rod it got fastened to hold it upright was our hope. When the door to the closet slid shut tight the tree stood proud and tall, With its aluminum decorations and popcorn strands it really had it all. When we opened the door to get our coats the rope would always slack, And the little tree would bow to us and we would bow right back. Many years have passed since then and now our house is full of trees, But none of them are as polite as our first that was so eager to please.

Copyright © Tony Lane

Details | Rhyme | |

Seemed Like A Routine Day

Being a nurse I had a good understanding of medications for pain, Explained to my Obstetrician I wanted everything, I was not insane, This was my first baby and being in healthcare had very few perks, I’d be given an epidural when the time came, but not by any jerks. Worked full-time then started maternity leave 2 weeks before my due date, Of course I sat at home for another 5 weeks, oh my first baby was really late. I read every book in the library and cleaned my house more than one time, Everyday the neighbours would drop by, I was tired of the door bell chime. Walked into the hospital to have a non-stress test, done every other day, My doctor laid his hand on me and asked “how long have you been this way” I replied “ for about 11 months, you should know you’ve seen me every week” He firmly instructed the nurse to call my home, for my husband they must seek. My husband knowing my test was routine, had driven to town to go to the Gym, What is that you say dear doctor, “I’m fully dilated, I’m soon going to be slim” Well first I’ll I just zip home to grab my luggage and I promise I just zoooom, What’s that- “I’m bypassing the labour and going straight to the delivery room” So I hopped onto the table, took deep breaths and put my feet in the snare When finally my dear husband arrived ~ with more than five minutes to spare “It’s a beautiful girl with dark hair, 8 lbs 7 oz ” I heard the delivery room nurse say, My love has never been stronger, my greatest moment, our most memorable day. Written by Lee Ramage October 6, 2011 For Frank Herrera’s contest “One Stand Out Day” Won 4th place

Copyright © Lee Ramage

Details | Narrative | |

Lunchtime at the Nursing Home

Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom, 
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously. 
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!

Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole, 
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated 
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose! 

It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!

Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks? 
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth, 
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing 
Onlookers, were outraged, stage of amazement
but  laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!

Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!

His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle,    a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"


Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Indonesian Drum

My wife found an Indonesian drum that she couldn’t live without,
It was a ceremonial one used to play for all who remain devout.

It had brightly colored beads and paint to decorate its side,
And it grabbed her by the imagination and would not be denied.

“Are you sure that we can do this, are you sure that it won’t unravel?
This thing isn’t exactly portable and it isn’t built for extensive travel.”

“We’ll make it work,” is all she said and then she handed it to me,
It was clear that from that moment on it was my responsibility.

This drum and I traveled together throughout the great Northwest,
And the both of us stayed together wherever I became a guest.

I carried it through the airport one day and then back again the next,
This is exactly why air travel always leaves me feeling so perplexed.

I transported it through the concourse then down to baggage claim,
Making sure to keep the crowds at bay, drum safety was my aim.

Carefully I loaded the Indonesian drum into the backseat of my truck,
Only one more hour on the road and then we’d be home with any luck.

When we pulled into our drive it was the first thing that I took inside,
Bringing it from Washington State and then delivering it with pride.

I set it on the kitchen counter then I went out for the rest of our bags,
Our Bloodhound was so happy to see us both and to sniff at all the tags.

The time change had effected us so we thought that before we took a seat,
We had better go out and find ourselves something good to eat.

So we patted the dog on his head and said that we’d be right back,
But as soon as we’d left again he decided it was time for a little snack.

We thought that Chinese sounded good so we went and got us some,
But Sherlock was left at home alone with a taste for Indonesian drum.

When we got back home the drum lay there with one side chewed away,
And the expression on Sherlock’s face said that he was ready to play.

So now we have an Indonesian drum with one side turned out of sight,
It has the teeth marks turned to the wall so you can’t see the Sherlock bite.

If you should ask my wife about her drum I can grantee a fluster,
I can also tell you that for at least one day Sherlock lost his luster.

But what is the meaning of a souvenir, is it only for decoration?
Or is meant for something else? Is it more of a declaration?

Because if it is meant to bring out conversation and try to evoke a story,
Then this is exactly what our drum does now that it’s in our inventory.

Copyright © Tony Lane

Details | Light Poetry | |

Home Sweat Home

A triangle top
A square foundation
A picketed white fence guarded 
two spotted dalmatians sitting on the
shaggiest rug that reads
"Home Sweat Home"

Copyright © Kira Price

Details | Rhyme | |


On television movie "Dirty Dancing" again
To tell honest truth I felt warm after glow
This looked like a fun thing to do from where I stood
I thought and on my "Bucket List" it will go

But when I moved from my sitting stance_no_no way
Even though this "Dirty Dancing" fanned my flame
At my age just don't have youthful energy left
I will just have to pen a "Bucket List" by name

A very long list of fun things before life's end
Seek map and then go down a never travelled road
Go on a surrey ride to hear the horses' hoofs
Would that my love and I for horse not be heavy

In a hot air balloon basket flow on warm air
Only so many years_go to states not been in
No longer sit at home breath very deeply sigh
I'll be able to tell generations where been

No longer sit home and watch each and every leaf
My life wil move now as if it was set on fire
Skateboarding looks like so much fun_might fall and break arm
Join circus learn to perform by walking high wire

When I look at my "Bucket List" I get so sad
Like New Year Resolutions that I never kept
Need a new list of very achievable things
When I seriously thought about this I just wept..

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

Details | Limerick | |

Future Prediction for Home Buyers

Forget about mortgage or rent.
These days with our paychecks fast spent,
In the future I see 
The hot question will be. . . 
How much for one BIG sturdy tent?

For Carolyn Devonshire's Contest: Economic Woes Limerick

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Limerick | |


©2012 C. Brent Cloyd

I bought a new scale at the Wal-Mart store.
Made it secure and level on the floor.
I took a breath, then stepped on.
The digits I saw made me moan.
Surely, I do not weigh two-fifty-four!

Let’s balance the scale, then I’ll try once more.
Adjusted proper, they’ll give the right score.
This time the scales will behave.
I stepped on, tried to be brave.
But with a grin they said “two-fifty-four”.

I would like to throw these scales out the door.
Wish they were lying, but I can’t ignore. 
I’ve gobbled many things sweet
And chewed on too much red meat.
My expanding poundage is “two-fifty-four”.

My belly is huge, my chin is galore.
Need to lose it, but process is a chore.
Need diet low in fat and starch.
So my stomach will not arch.
Hope to be smaller than “two-fifty-four”.

Would a brisk walk cause my health to restore?
Would losing blubber help me not to snore?
Let’s get started. Soon I say!
Well - after the holiday!
Cause my clothes don’t fit at “two-fifty-four”.

Copyright © Brent Cloyd

Details | Free verse | |


I gave you the tale of my computer
Last month 
All is working....... 
Well sort of.

And again it came down to me to put in a network card.
It put up a stubborn  fight 
But two days later I MADE IT WORK! 
It really wasn't that hard

But there were other things 
Like licenses for the vehicles and me
Mine was the problem
My birth certificate name was different you see.

I had had it changed
But who knows in what state
The lawyer said "shoot
The one on your birth certificate will do.".

The Kansas license was personalized
And a beautiful thing
I decided I'd  keep it 
And one day put it out for all to see.

When I removed it 
I brought it inside
Washed and dried it 
And set it aside.

One evening Shirlee and Fred came by
On their way home from work
I wasn't here but they left some no, no's
For my dessert.

The next day they came by to give me a ride
It was off to garage sales we would go
Shirlee looked at me and said
"Mom is that your idea of a joke?"

I didn't pick up on what she meant
And she pointed toward the stove.
" I mean ," she said "Do you intend to leave your 
License plate up there?"

I told you it was special,
I didn't want it to get hurt
So I placed it on the vent
Above the cook stove to make sure.

It was tan 
And a buffalo stood with pride
The letters C I L E
Were printed on it's side.

I still didn't get the drift
Until she pointed to the four little words
And Read 

I had to sit down 
I was laughing so hard 
And when I think back
I still get a charge.

I haven't yet found my home on the range 
But I'll tell you this my friends
Following the next four lines 
You can add the word, AMEN

No more cooking 
I am through
If you can't use the micro wave

                              Cile Beer

Copyright © Marycile Beer

Details | Verse | |

My Dog

With the stride of a goofball
My dog moves not so quick;
But with his wet sloppy tongue
He’ll give you a lick.

The guy’s always alert
He sings his loud Boxer bark,
At the girl across the street
Who loves his dog lark. 

Copyright © Louis Nathaniel

Details | Burlesque | |


Home is where
you hang your hat,
and also where
your ass is sat.

Copyright © Charles McDauel

Details | Free verse | |

*Purse on top but nobodys home!

I was ready to leave for the store
gathering up everything needed for
the day doing my usual mommy duties,
feeding, cleaning litter boxes, making
sure all have water getting myself together
which seems to take longer and longer.
I finally finish and ready to go do my errands.
Open the garage door, back the car out I am
on my way jamming to my favorite tunes when
all of a sudden I start getting beeps from cars
passing by me some are pointing and I point
right back mumbling what is wrong with you 
peoples I arrive at my store I get out and march
myself in to the store filling my chart with all the
necessary things needed to the register I go and
realize when the amount is given I had forgotten 
my purse, Oh my! I became so consumed with
fright of where it could be, so of course I had to
have  the lady 'void' out all the items how awful
I felt so I hurry out the door talking loudly to
myself well others looked on at me as though I
might need to be put in a 'straight jacket' and
I reach my car and there on top was sitting my
'Purse' it had not moved an inch going around all
the corners in town, it does explain why people 
were pointing, beeping because they were trying
to let me know my Purse was on top of my car and 
if that was not bad enough I look at my Blouse I had
came out with it wrong side out, one white sock on
one ivory sock on so I decided I needed to go back
home and regroup and pray for a better tomorrow.

Copyright © Author Rhonda Kay Hero - Wilson

Details | Blank verse | |

the crowds

the crowds taking the subways 
enter the underground 
below upon waking 
to rise up 
to work 
in the clouds above

only to go back in the evening 
down through the underground 
low upon leaving
to home 
to family
to final rest

in the underground 
or in the clouds above