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Humorous Mother Poems | Mother Poems About Humorous

These Humorous Mother poems are examples of Mother poems about Humorous. These are the best examples of Humorous Mother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme |

THE AGING PROCESS

Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.

Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.

Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.

Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.

Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?

Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.

The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.

The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.

Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.

Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.

Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.


Details | Rhyme |

The Happy Dress

It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative 
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.

So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened.  “Ta Da!  Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked?  Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.

You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.

It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”

“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.

So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.

She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open.  “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”

ALTERNATE LAST VERSE

“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.


Details | Rhyme |

Sister, Sister

Mother Superior faced a daunting task,
Like no other in her forty years.
She had prayed it simply wasn’t so,
That Godly intervention might belie her fears.

But sadly, there was no such intervention,
No relief from the duty she did rue.
Despite her hopes and all her prayers,
It had been confirmed.  What she feared was true.

So, she gathered all the Sisters after Vespers.
The impromptu meeting caused quite a stir.
There was murmuring as they filed into the chapel.
She hesitated for a moment... but no, she was sure.

“Sisters, I asked you all here to share some news.
It’s something I never thought I’d have to say.
We have a case of gonorrhea in the convent.”
Mary Catherine, a Sister for sixty years, said, 
“Oh, thank God.  I’m so tired of Chardonnay.” 


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 |

The Misery of Poem Writing

I sat there staring at the screen
Thinking about lunch
Feeling very lean

I sat there still
Letters taunting me
Staring out the window sill

All I got was Nature staring back
Mocking me completely
I grew so slack

Haiku’s flashed through my head
So short and sweet
Frustrated, I went out to my shed

But narrative poetry that I must
 Haiku’s so less sticky
My heads about to bust

Haiku’s I pressed on
The boss said otherwise
So much I think I might go eat a flan

Who’s this boss?
Master of school and more
Salad she did toss

She who is the bomb
Yet stern as a stone
She is known as my wonderful mom

What shall I ever do
Going through such misery
I shall go watch Winnie the pooh

Going to the big screen
I watched away
But I must return to my previous scene

Back at the small screen I ate a skittle 
Procrastinating much
Thinking little


Finally arriving at the last
I think about Haiku’s
But I actually had a blast

In the yard I see our gnome
Standing there alone
Telling me to end my narrative poem


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


Details | Quatrain |

Who Murdered the Easter Bunny

Sam, the box turtle, sauntered down deserted gravel road;
when he bumped into Elli, a gorgeous, slender, green toad.
Together they stopped to admire the rustic scenery;
noting, Bunny would like hiding eggs in all that greenery.

Easter will be in a few weeks, kids will have fun hunting eggs;
Bunny would be quite busy hopping on two spindly legs.
Sadie, a monarch butterfly fluttered into their path;
she was perched on a tree branch taking her daily sun bath.

“Hi!” she said to Sam and Sadie. “Have you heard hottest news?
The Easter Bunny was murdered, on the headline reviews.”
Sam and Sadie were speechless, much too shocked to say the least;
who murdered the Easter Bunny, who was the wicked beast?

No one could think of anyone who wanted Bunny killed,
the whole town was suspected, everyone thoroughly grilled.
It couldn’t be Sam or Sadie; they were not at the scene;
whoever it was, they were desperate, extremely mean.

Small town sheriff investigated the deadly crime site;
there lay Bunny sprawled along the roadside, eggs colored bright.
Struck down by angry mother hawk, thought he robbed her love nest;
sheriff pulled out the handcuffs, placed mother under arrest.

Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey


Details | Rhyme |

Fluff and Stuff

Silly kittens made of fluff
Pouncing, sliding, snagging stuff
Butterflies that float on by
Out of reach but still they try

Rolling wrestling cotton balls
Soon so tired from their falls
Lying down with mommy purring
Not a kitten soon is stirring


Details | Rhyme |

The Mum

The first to wake
Another day
Another show
Boom boom, shake shake
Sleepy yawns
Wakey wake

Supermarket run
I used to find them so much fun
Until she decided to scream and shout
Bring it on girl
Loud and all out
I’ll just go and hide on my cloud

Ready steady bake
Last to eat the cake
“Have you had some Mum?”
No darling, you take

Mechanical moves
Automated mind
Generally
I don’t mind
I’d like for you to shed me
Some kind
Spend some time
To simply find
It’s healthy at times to be blind

I push, I pull
Kids to school
I wish I were just 
Horizontal in a pool

I could just walk out
“No mum that’s not cool”
Would I be such a fool?
But I’m the queen you know
I make the rules

The irritating whining song
A bell at the door
Ding-dong
I really need a manicure; it’s been so long
Door again
Ting tong
“What took you so long?”
I’m sorry 
I was busy window-shopping in Hong Kong

“Where’s my glove mum?”
Deep breathes, play dumb
“Where’s my recorder mum?”
One, two, three
Numb numb
“Sweetheart bring me the remote”
Here darling, stick it up your bum

The first to wake
The first to leave home
I want to be first in bed some days
To sit around and just laze
I need a haircut, some highlights
“Are you listening mum?”
Always! 


Details | Blank verse |

music lesson

Music Lesson 

My uncle died, was on holiday in Piraeus, 
a pig fell off a balcony. 
He left a piano and since his wife didn’t 
want it in her house, mother took it, 
only because it would lend an impression 
of high culture, 
no one else in our neighbourhood had one.
I played on it day and night, 
picked up tunes on radio and played 
them on the piano; 
people where impressed, mother too, 
but she needed her rest worked long hours 
at a fish canning factory. 
One day, coming home from school, 
a big empty space, 
I cried mother gave me Danish pastry, 
they were a day old but still tasty. 
I’m glad she sold the piano, though I might 
have ended up a restaurant pianist 
driving from town to town playing evergreens 
as background music for bored diners;
a bitter pianist who dreams of 
becoming a car mechanic.   


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