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Metaphor Funny Poems | Metaphor Poems About Funny

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

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Details | Free verse | |

Mythical pest

My parents complain of a mythical pest,

Infesting our house since the 7th of July,

Devouring the snacks, desserts,

delicacies and everything hot, spicy or sweet,

Determined to find the beast,

Fattened with food meant for me.

with a magic wand and on a broom to hunt

set out may it be a lachupakabra or a lepricorn,

Scary or naughty and anything the creature might wield

ready with a device from my dad given to me with a grin

the device, the compass, the guide to the beast

was a mirror reflecting its scaled skin scarlet red

staring at me with cat like blue eye

fierce and mighty.

Not a pest but is a mythical beast

Omega and almighty! It was me

Perplexed, gave up the hunt.

now feasting on poisonously, maliciously, dangerously

in sugary syrup gulab jamuns soaking.

Copyright © ravi kiran

Details | Lyric | |

A poem for YOU

In this world of Uncertainties I’m the man that you can trust And in my words of sincerity That my love would never last. And if you could only feel, what i feel for you You can ask me “why?” so you can see the truth Like our love that tightens the rope, Like a light that would give us hope. As you watch the dark skies Let me grab the moon for you, And as I catch the bright stars That’s the way you can see me through As this planet turns as it always will And things go wrong and you don’t know what to feel Hold my hand for it will make us strong Like a wind, we will carry on The wind blow that sings a hymn for you For they know what does love means for the two Love is blind, and not deaf So how’s success if you’re not ready to bet? In this poem with full of rhymes, A full of love, Babe can you be mine? I don’t expect too much from you Why should I? If you complete my whole. “Till death do us part” that’s what they have said But why do struggles crash them ahead? Don’t ask me when my love will last, To count all of our quarrels, is that a must? Now and Forever is all that I promise No day dreaming and without reminiscence As the matter of time, as the time passes by Together we stand, together you and I
A poem for my Girlfriend for our anniversary :) pls comment and rate... you are free to judge and criticize my work :) God Bless

Copyright © Emmanuel Fajutagana

Details | Free verse | |

The Elephant in the Room

3 polished oak fans,
Swirling in robotic unison

High maintenance socialites,
Sipping on Merlot fallacies

Lemon yellow coated walls,
Like their smiles

Comparisons of dangling Porsche & Bentley keys
A glorified day care center,
Pacifiers included

The muted virtuosos speak softly in hymn dialects.

Courtesy laughter in snob’s octave

Their heads twitching side to side,
Left to right to left

An equilibrium facing assault charges against self

They slow dance to cello dreams
And E minor dividends

Two-step monotone, sway
Against platinum lacquer foundations


But, it was then.

These same socialites,
Made of recycled candle wax
And rubberized, hedge-fund confidence,
Began to stare longingly at the party host’s 70 inch plasma TV

Proudly imported from China

“Attention uptight snobs of Mecca!
The city zoo has imploded!
The monkeys revolted!
The zebras were tired of being racially profiled!
Run for your LIV…!”

And before the reporter’s frightened inner child could finish’s his clause,
An elephant crashes into the decadent room
Filled with Crisp linen scents of Febreze & judgmental fear

It stares at the socialites,
Laughing heartedly as it playfully stomps away into constellation’s onyx night

As tears waterfall from the snobs’ sobbing eye sockets
As if they just listened to another Celine Dion song

The real newsflash

Metaphors played hooky today

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes

Details | Quatrain | |

Beyond Salvage

An old herbal gard’ner turned bard
dedicated and well-versed
now works his pen from his backyard
in plants and poems immersed.

His choice nouns engender meaning
cleverly minted with scents.
Rare verbs gingerly gleaning
from time’s savory essence.

Somewhat focused on composing
but nettled by a drizzle;
unexpected down-hosing
causes his brain to fizzle.

Lo! His inspiration now gone
like the ink upon his page.
Mrs. Bard calls from the lawn
“I just watered the sage.”

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet

Details | Sonnet | |

To You, Crocodile

The river dragon of crimson streams
Swiftly swimming to bring my end
As I’m standing alone at the silent shore
The beast from this murk suddenly ascends.
Gripping my face in her flawless jaws
The teeth latched efficiently into flesh
Pulling me quickly into the depths
Dragging me into the shallow grave.
Surrounded in filth, drowning in the banks
The apex predator’s grip never relenting
All I can do is break, bleed and decompose
Hoping for some relief in the pending death.
I find some comfort in this prolonged pain,
Because I haven’t felt a thing in ages.    

Copyright © Samuel Lee

Details | I do not know? | |

Nuclear-Free Zone

You should know that I've
reinforced the bunker
I built around my heart
until it can withstand a
     direct hit
     ground zero
     head-on collision
from a YOU-bomb.

I've shielded it to withstand
the worst EMP (emotional mutilation potential)
you can generate
and to protect me from
the flash burns of passion, 
Not to mention that I've lined it with lead
to save me from the fallout
of your so-called love.

hit me with your worst.
My bunker--and I-- are ready.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman

Details | Light Poetry | |

My Pet Donkey Kim

As children are
They all want a pet
I wanted a horse
My little sister wanted a pony
Our parents compromised
They got us a goldfish
Of course we had to name our new pet
We compromised yet again and called him

Now turtle would spend hours and hours
Running and jumping around an around in his watery fields
A very fast Turtle he was
We decided to film our little turtle and so we did
The show off would make jokes and acrobats
Turns out he was a real comedian 
(also an expert at cards, especially Go Fish)
To out surprise, an evil man didn’t like our wee turtle
Why he called him a darn little monkey
He said he would shatter our fish bowl
Well he called it a Monkey bowel

Then one day we saw something miraculous
A second gold fish
Turns out he was a she
Happily now my sister and I both had pets
She a wee little pony and me
A great big beautiful black stallion
She name her Pony Grasshopper
So worried she was, that the evil man from far away
Would do great harm to us, Grasshopper and Turtle
She said we should get on our pony and horse
And ride away on the ocean, far away and safe

Then all of a sudden, our neighbors Korean Siamese cat jumped
Right through the window, and right smack into the fish bowl
Poor Turtle and Grasshopper, all over the floor
My sister cried her little heart out that day
From that moment forward, I just could never get myself
To drink Orange crush again

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Rhyme | |

Oodles of Joy

"Oodles of Joy"
In the morning of everyday i 
I make a food that's really 
Crunch'em, rip'em, and pour'em out 
As saliva pools form in my 
Put it in the mic for just about 
Impatiently  watching those 
beautiful noodles waiting for 
When the time Is up
I Pop it open and take them out 
And start shoving "Oodle's of 
Noodles" into my mouth. 
Khalil Wali

Copyright © Khalil Franklin

Details | Free verse | |

Three Inch Cliches

The Soul is the Beautiful Light of Love
Shining like the sun through the 
As the reader, I’m going to have to cut you off there.
Here’s a metaphor for you…
Reading is ****ing.
And your words hit our auditory canals
Like a hotdog down a hallway.
As an experienced reader, I’m after 
The virgin vernacular 
The aphrodisiac aphorism
You know- the big… black words
You feel me?
Because a line is a flashlight, exposing the world’s nudity-
And we’ll never get anywhere shining it in the same spot.
So kiss me with classy couplets
Smack my assonance!
Bring me to the climax-
And we’ll share a smoke together,
Warm beside the fire of your Three Inch Clichés.

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt

Details | Lay | |


In world of mannequins, I step to the cause. I see this woman fussing at her child about wanting to go to the park. How formed is this. Hello Lady and such a beautiful boy he is. He wants to play in the park. However, you do not have time for that. Let me see if I can solve your problem. I am Intelligence. Intelligence is a superhero that forms very delightful scenes. I am humorous as well. With superhuman powers, I provide a child with a dream. I give this one the dream of playing in the park. The child stops crying and obeys his mother. In another episode, I am sent, telepathically, an abusive scene. I transform arriving there instantly. Through superhuman powers, I find a nurse and instruct him via mind to be compassionate. Intelligence watched for several days. The facility conformed their healthcare tactics to better ways. A little girl has broken her leg. Her mother neglects and flagellates her more when she does not feel well. Intelligence has watched for a short while. The scene was sent via the mother verbally abusing her child. Then she would stop for quite some time. However, the child broke her leg while riding her bike. The mother sees the chance to abuse outright. Intelligence deploys to her mind and the mother begins to praise the child. Intelligence is a moralistic superhero. No age or race barriers does this superhero has. In the time of hostilities, I am there. I was given my superhuman abilities to achieve peace unconditionally. ----------------------------------------------------------------------| PENNED ON AUGUST 30, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Free verse | |

Conspiracy: Who Killed The Easter Bunny

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Couplet | |



People were given a gift called speech
Most of the time they have nothing to teach

Dogs on the other hand can roll their eyes
They say more with wags and cries

Often people's unending words don't  matter
It might be better if people would bark and dogs chatter

Copyright © Elizabeth Smith

Details | Couplet | |

Words and Barks


People were given a gift called speech
Most of the time they have nothing to teach

Dogs on the other hand can roll their eyes
They say more with wags and cries

Often people's unending words don't  matter
It might be better if people would bark and dogs chatter

Copyright © Elizabeth Smith

Details | Couplet | |

Her Nibs

Day in, and day out, from the ripe old age of five
I’ve take to sharp objects and whittled at their sides.

Plotting the precise angle with penetrating gaze,
the slant of slice, just so nice, as memory replays.

With curt tongue and tireless ire, I shred the sages
Burroughs, and Asimov, the Shakespeare past ages.

Butchering with rare delight, the language on the page
lancing every metaphor and simile upstaged.

and so I've arrived her in rhythm and in rhyme  
killing the English language as other people dine.

*Nibbs are the pointed ends of fountain pens
as well as being an important or self-important person

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Free verse | |

A Winter's Metaphor

Old man winter brings cabin fever gloomy,
  in word’s wisdom of foolishness becoming quite a game.
   O say thou blacken pot to the darken kettle,
   “Smut gives to each of the fire it fame!”
      Nero's fiddle spoke to Rome as she burned, 
        though smut and ashes beheld the gloom!
         Darken career and ashes a city,
          finesse of fiddle, no better than spittle!
           A fiddle of madness brings back no fame, 
             for speaks the fiddle in mad Nero spittle,
               it’s blends of vanity’s pity to a ashen city,
                 far be it from silence a violin’s finesse,
                   when winter’s gloom doeth life caress!!
Hey, the cat did fiddle, but in his own spittle,
he fiddle in madness all the days of his reign, 
with smut on his tea kettle, and a blacken fame!

For Contest: Free Verse for Winter
For Chris Aechtner

Copyright © john freeman

Details | Clerihew | |

Not, yet

I dreamt myself as poet-frog
And good Fancy` Fairy
Would stoop to pick my verse…
But she didn`t come.

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa

Details | Free verse | |

Bad Friday

Friday morning 
I hopped out of the shower, 
popped over to the lavatory counter, 
flopped my most profound sexual characteristic 
down and onto a misplaced curling iron, 
burning the tender center of my-very-being. 
Ms. Careless had left a glass of iced coke, 
by her torturing implement. 
I quickly and fully submerged my pain, 
into the cooled, amber liquid. 

Friday evening 
I attended my first and last meeting 
of the Brazoria County Poetry league. 
I arrived at the BCPL president’s home 
by invitation, to hear their guest speaker, 
a young, professor of literature, 
from Rice University. 
He spoke at great length about metaphors. 
What a metaphor was. 
How poets used metaphors 
to improve imagery in poetry. 
He gave examples of metaphors, 
and more examples, 
explaining each one in detail. 
It was raining damn metaphors. 

I would have lapsed into a metaphoric coma, 
if I had not discovered my bourbon glass 
to be much too small, requiring me to rise, 
and refill it several times. 

When Dr. Metaphor finely finished I 
strolled over to where he was smiling, 
and announced that he was 
full of rhetorical trope, 
and didn’t know anything about real poetry, 
and he had stepped on a metonymy 
and it stank the room up. 
And we poets from the sticks 
didn’t need a hot-shot from Houston 
telling us how to write poetry. 
and the president of the BCPL 
grabbed my arm, 
and snatched my glass from my hand, 
and it still had boozes in it. 
And he promenaded me to the door, 
and assured me that I was talent-less, 
and that drinking myself to death 
would be my one and only contribution to poetry. 
He pushed me out of his home, 
onto his front steps, 
slammed the door in my face, 
after suggesting 
I never attend another meeting of the BCPL. 
For a moment, I was stunned, 
then bowing to his authority 
I hurled on his “Welcome” mat. 

And Friday morning 
as I stood in the bathroom 
cradling my tormented body element 
with both hands, 
the Queen of the Bastille entered, 
demanded to know -What my problem was? 
I informed her I had no problem, 
and suggested she drink her damn coke… 
before the ice melted. 

Copyright © Mike Samford

Details | Haiku | |

All About the Music: The Infinite Magic of Lyricism

Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.

(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Verse | |

Inevitable Bear

Oh lonely Inevitable Bear,
Padding claws, death in white
Sorrow in recurring nightmare
Instinct’s test; fight or flight?

Camouflage against the fence,
A challenge; my subconscious fear
Ominous slowly moving silence,
“Let me in, there’s a bear out here!”

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Limerick | |

Life is Like: Collection 1

Life is like a rollercoaster
Made up of many trains:
It has its ups
It has its downs,
And drives some folks insane.
(It also has a tendency
To liquefy the brains)

Life is like a rosebush
With many budding blossoms:
But please be warned,
This bush has thorns
That make the prize less awesome
(and if your buds get mangled
You've got to burn or toss 'em)

Life is like a hurricane
It brings rain but destroys:
Buildings boats and skyscrapers
And other human toys
(Along with human businesses
And greater human joys)

Life is like an apple
A treat down to the core:
But working for that shiny red
Is certainly a chore
(Especially for those folks
Who've never worked before)

Life is like a bowl of milk
When freshly poured, is sweet:
As it ages, it turns hard
To change to cheese to eat
(Though I wonder why some folks
Eat cheese that smell like feet)

Copyright © Tara Andre

Details | Grook | |

The ambiguous red herring

Fished all day not a red herring on the line                                                                     but I got a basketful of kipper                                                                                    Hunted all day not a fox one                                                                                             with a red herring on the line  										  a shark ate my sandwich today                                                                                       He got away with the halibut                                                                                          a shark ate him today for the halibut                                                                                He did not get away

Copyright © John Beam

Details | Sonnet | |

The Broken Girl-not me

Is my life not tortured enough for you to see? 
I am broken as can be. 
My heart is torn. 
My tears stain these perfect floors.  
Why are singing with glee? 
Why do you not care about my every plea? 
I am trapped in your arms. 
I am the hopeless moth. 
How did you pick me? 
What is it that you see? 
A girl untouched by life? 
A flower blooming in the desert? 
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.  
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily

Details | Prose | |

The Globe

Sometimes I can literally feel the burn of silence. 
It’s somewhere within my bones, 
a blank slate made of heavy metal poisoning.
 Perhaps if I cut deep enough, I can retrieve it
 and find the inspiration needed to purpose
 the lonely canvas I’ve sheltered for so long.
 And with a marrow’d ink I’ll scribe the secrets
 I’ve forgotten over years of mirrored eye
 rolling and self propelled pity #$%*s.
 Finally, I’ll be free to pool the ashes,
 and build my castle of upside down day dreams, 
and brightly lit nightmares.
 I’ll call it “The Globe”, 
and dress like Shakespeare would if he grew up in the 90’s, 
and all my friends can help perform my drunkenly scrawled 
screenplays that lead, inevitably to the death of “The System”
 that we all helped create, 
just so we could have something to destroy.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Copyright © James Kelley

Details | Ballad | |

The Crack of Dawn

I get up early at the crack of dawn
Gotta see my babe ‘fore she’s dressed and gone
Daylight peekin thru the window blind
Me and that gal get to feeling fine

The crack of dawn, nothin’s wrong
My baby starts shakin when I sing her that song

The crack of dawn is my favorite thing
I get inspire-ation and it makes me sing
Makes me want to sing my favorite song
About stuffin that muffin at the crack of dawn

The crack of dawn is the finest way
For shakin, up wakin, up every day
Pushin that cushion at the crack of dawn
Wake it up, shake it up, all day long

It’s Mabel on the table in the afternoon
Chiquita finds pita by the early moon
Shagin in the wagon don’t turn me on
We got to get up early at the crack of dawn

Two legs over, three eggs up
Mix it up, fix it, in a coffee cup
Shake that bacon up, shake that pan
Shake my belly up, man oh man

Baby said daddy you’re a big old jerk
She’s still shakin and late for work
Keep it to the right and hold on tight
I wanta see my shake-it-up home tonight

Gotta get outa town ‘fore the days is done
Gotta get more chicken, oughta to get it done
Gonna see my bade at the crack of dawn
Gonna get more shakin, gonna get it done 

Dawn-der-deen won’t you be my queen
I like it when you shake it like a wash machine
Be my queen, be my rose
Shake it like a chicken, when the rooster crows

Rooster crows at the crack of dawn
Got to see my babe ‘fore she’s up and gone
Up and gone, she’s up and gone
Choke that chicken, she’s up and gone
Copyright © Mike Martin 2015
Dedicated to Sheldon and his Girlfriend Dawn

Copyright © Mike Martin

Details | Free verse | |


I usually find the taste of coffee
Far too bitter for my taste
But this mocha is smooth 
And so sweet

Warm on my lips
And rushing hot on my tongue
Flooding my body with heat
And making me want more

I feel more awake with every sip
But can never get enough
Since mocha coffee is addictive
And if the taste is slightly bitter too

I want it all the more

Author's Note: Do I really like coffee? No. Like the smell, like the ice cream, but tastes icky.
No, this poem is talking about a person. This was written to tease him.
It's funny because he's mocha colored :)

Copyright © Cameron Hartley

Details | Light Poetry | |

Who Cares Anyway -- Read

I read him my poems and he said, Oh I feel so sorry for you. Had I read him a newspaper, would he still have felt sorry? To read him a novel of mine, would have been too long and would he have lost interest by now? But I read him some old love letters, now, he is really sorry for me.

Copyright © Marilyn Williams

Details | Light Poetry | |

Disenchanted Muse

My muse did her fealty recuse
My honor she did stealthily reconnoiter
My discourse was grounds for divorce
Finding my writing no longer enlightening
My blithe parlance no longer my mistress did entrance
With my prose she did forthrightly dispose
Each short she did subsequently abort
Each regaling verse did prudently disburse
Each perforated line truncated with lackluster shine
Each conjured sentence only increased my penance
Each glamorous byline she did smugly decline  
Each dilated phrase with a bridling border did encase  
Each gilded stanza a burnished extravaganza yielding no artful bonanza
Each tethered word coagulated into a stolid curd
Each bloated quote sunk my creative float deeper in the moat 
Each lofty rhyme labeled too smarmy and sublime
My metric time no longer struck a concordant chime
Each literary device neatly spliced would not even a novice entice 
Each repetitive, stagnant metaphor made my verse a bore
Each strained, tortured simile engendered no empathy
Each supplanted metonymy a shock wave lobotomy


Copyright © Stephen Parker

Details | Rhyme | |

Our politicians

Our Politicians
They speak like politicians
And hold a great ambition.
They think they are right
And same speech they recite.
They always gather for a bite
Deciding who should start the fight.
All have their own stations
To be the victims of cremation.
They gather their own crowd
Who cheer and clap to any sound.
They think they are right
Only here for a bite.
They speak like Aristo
And act like Montecristo!
They smoke big cigars
And all drive tinted cars.
They dress in glitter
And all have Twitter.
They act so polite
But hardly can write.
Always in action
Only during the election.
To make a collection
Or a connection.
O What a time you feel like 
Committing a crime.

For a brief background about this poem, pls, read the poem (Beirut).

Copyright © ali hammoud

Details | I do not know? | |

Illegitimi non Carborundum

Illegitimi non carborundum ;-)

...Staggering, my vision cloudy,

I fall to the hard ground.

when life’s sharp left-jab leaves my face bloody,

and all that surrounds me, is the desolation of loss I feel all around.

I see myself slipping,

down the abyss to where nothingness exists,

still, I cling on, groping for a foothold,

for my will to stay persists.

I clamber up, I stand my ground, though battered and bruised I may be,

my curtain is not falling yet, I have some fight still left in me.

It is then, in the pit of despair, when all seems bleak and painful and dull,

I summon the strength from deep within,

I rise, slowly, to face the day,

I refuse to sink,

to wallow, to surrender, to throw in the towel,

to drown,

for I am stronger now,

indeed I am, after all the years, and all the battles,

I stand, bruised and bloody,


I stand,

I refuse, to sink, to drown,

for they can try, to punish me some more,

but I shall not allow them to grind me down…


Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Monorhyme | |


I wear a beard of aging, upon a cliff-face chin
A year has passed and grown its hairs out from my mottled skin
Mistakes sit there unchallenged, to each fibre clings a sin
Yet despite my facial mask of age the clubs won’t let me in

Copyright © Dan Keir