These Humorous Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Humorous. These are the best examples of Humorous Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Wrinkle, wrinkle on my face…
Couldn't you have found some other place ?
What made you furrow between my eyes ?
And all those creams, they are nothing but lies….
When I look in the mirror, all I can see…
Is a silver haired person staring back at me….
Then there are the lines , which run down the sides of my nose…
Running in circles, round my lips, down my neck and into my clothes….
Speaking of clothes , isn’t that where the wrinkles should be ?
Is nature playing a trick on me ?
Or is this a sign “ old “ is sneaking up on me ?
It seems only yesterday I was a young girl .. and had my whole life ahead of me…
So simple..so free……
Which don’t take me wrong I have enjoyed my life’s ride…
And there isn’t much in my life, I haven’t tried….
But it should would be nice if I could just see…
Myself with one less wrinkle…when I looked back at me…..
There was no one better
At handling disputes
Late at night
In the dark
You could hear him
Practicing for his next debate
We all knew
That the title they gave him
Was so richly deserved
-Honey go to the Dr
-April I don't know Am I still alive?
-Do it for Us, ours strive
-And the watcher what I should say?
-Tell him the all system was hacked
-The all system was hacked William (Blush)
-we going to do some tests now
"this guy is one in a million"
1000 Doc critiques
Deliberation: -Not going.
April goes to the office, -so Easy going how is he?
Good so far The CPU is Ok, Keyboard and Screen Alright
The power A-L-W-A-Y-S in save E mode
See this <| ...
He will never again hit the road with full load
Capital letter …
Right now, please note: it is time to dust, not write.
Dust was eating away this besieged body;
Amassing with all the misery that delights in ambush.
It crept into secret crevices,
Quietly dulling senses, as it blended in;
Softly choking, mimicking flu,
Before weaving a blanket so thick
It embraced and insulated;
Gently burying body under the weight of
An elephantine duvet with speaking tongues.
Write now, right now that house pride has succumbed to ash
As caked and empty cans and bottles decorate.
The dustman hurried by the empty drum
For rubbish barricaded the front door.
The inconvenience: to eat, drink, shop, to pay bills
Without leaving one’s desk these days.
Friends and adversaries seep out of pens,
Alphabetically springing to colourful life.
Who dares miss a thought so precious, so elusive –
Might never occur again.
So grasp it, rack it; right, left lobe battle dire emotions and reason.
Let dust prevent thoughts from leaving from whence it came.
Incarcerate all grey matters.
Now one can write how it feels to have dust as qwerty companion.
Then fling open the door,
Let light and the world in.
Shout: “I write because I can.”
Full stop … Exclamation mark!
(PS: begin again.)
How Santa Claus broke the reindeer back
I am just disappointed he is such a play ball; he refuses to joined the community gym, he have no consideration for a hard working reindeer like me. Please do us all a favor and stop telling everyone that you’re tall and slim Mr. Claus
Santa put this in your pipe and smokes it. I am forming a union; you can contact my Lawyer Mr. Tin Tin
I need some Fringe benefits else I am going to quit; year after year after year I chauffeur you around
This is not a smooth ride on green grass, it’s cold, cold snow “please looked around.
Breaking into people houses late at night, dropping off toys, we are plaster on every walls and poles
Santa this reindeer is off radar; you get off your fat ass or hire Casper the friendly ghost.
its not starking
its the lords calling
it can be a pain
Walking through the woods early in the day...
Haven’t seen a single soul passing my way...
All set to hunt as, I bought the latest gear....
On this the first hunting day of the year.....
It isn’t too cold but there’s a bit of snow...
So footprints will tell me where to go...
I can track by smell....
And I’ve been told pray tell....
That Man is getting smarter every single year..
Which means a lot... to my friends in here...
But now here’s the twist of this little ditty...
I’ve never lived or been to the city....
But trust me.. cause when I’m done..
And this is all in fun...by the end of Fall....
I’ll have a gorgeous blonde six footer ... a hanging on MY wall....
*** Just a thought...NRA = Natural Roaming Animal....
or Nasty Reindeer Association.......hmmmm
The must awaited poetry book by a national awardee Nikhil Chandwani has finally been released. With high expectations and very high potential buyers due to his massive fan support, Nikhil finally released his poetry book titled Ink'd With Love.
There have been books on teenagers and there have been books on their emotions but somehow, these images are not of only one individual. Hence a new poetry book that is titled Ink'd With Love. It involves many romantic poems written by a national award winner, Nikhil Chandwani.. At every stage of the teenager’s life he or she faces deception, is cheated and the hurt refuses to go away. It is an interesting portrayal of the neo-adult life- where aspirations are on the high, the zeal to make a difference for oneself is acute- and still the mind is overlapped with childlike innocence ready to take the deadly plunge into the real mayhem of chaotic existence. What seems rosy attracts but the taste of reality is later bittersweet leaving a long lasting impact in the reader’s mind- giving him the chance to identity with the protagonist.
Much of the work comes across as poetic images, disjointed sentences… the stream of consciousness that pervades the young… they do so many things at the same time. They live their own lives and also lives of others around them. It affects them and yet they are unable to perceive the feelings as one whole. Some can take the hurt along with the accolades but some are unable to take the hurt. They suffer broken, disjointed lives and some are even forced to give up the struggle. This is the life of a teenager portrayed by one of the fastest rising author from India, Nikhil Chandwani.
This is his second book. First one of an international best seller
Nineteen year old Nikhil Chandwani is a prolific writer. He writes fictional stories for various magazines, newspapers and websites. He is a gifted lyricist, best selling author (I wrote your name in the sky) and a national award winning poet rolled into one. He is, at present, pursuing his engineering degree from VIT Vellore.
It is those things such as these-yes... .
Like remaining on mute because your staying in tune with the close
captioning of the news set up in the picture in picture TV on the big screen. Of the
football game from the Bengles', loss, yes again, and yes again ""don't you know it "! As
your two fraternal twins sit there crying pulling at their heart
while one of the years before Super Bowl champs' from the Cowboy's knocks the ball out
from good old boy Chris Collinsworth's hands. As he's running with all that he's got not
but about twenty three yards out from the goal line. While soft tired whimpers can be
heard, pounding their legs and stomachs rocking away in all seriousness saying why, why,
why? And struggling yourself as a Father you teach them to take it all in stride and how
to watch the humorous spiels from the night before, and to never bet truly on anything
Sometimes sadly... !
Credences' Rolling on the River playing.
And so the many amenities yes the certain perks of benignity are as well I feel spending
the time with close family and the wondrous sounds yes tasty smells of "BAM" rosemary
wilted-spinach, fresh chopped mushrooms
shallots and garlic a splash of white and red wine vinegar a pinch of salt and pepper lots
of bacon and a thousand basil eggs hordes of cinnamon French toast and what every happy
family needs, a bunch of good old sage'd up getta and congealed grit pies sizzling and
popping away furiously in the butter on the stove in the iron skillets.
And though an extra the grits they are placed in purely-and-only as an honor for my family
and Father, of my past who now has passed. A personal favorite I too shared with him after
church on Sundays.