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Sad Funny Poems | Sad Poems About Funny

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

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Details | Sonnet | |

Old And Holding Aces

Old And Holding Aces

I am old, youth lost does so deeply hurt
no more whiskey drinking brawls,
now slow and tired, feeling older than dirt
I no longer chase the pretty gals at all.

I am old, bad knees and snow on my head
no more , wild nights out dancing,
watch late news, now fall asleep instead
gone forever are my days out prancing.

I am old, can see the doorway awaiting
slow stepping my way over there,
Love-life over, no more sweet mating
I now can only sadly look and stare.

I am old, just damn glad to have now made it!
Do I now, hold onto last two aces or do I trade it?

Robert J. Lindley. 08-21-2015 

Note- Sonnet mixture of truth , humor and 
a sad realty!
Poetic leeway employed in the line about -
"Love-life over, no more sweet mating"
As trust me, thankfully that is not  problem at all. 

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Free verse | |

- I Have Lost My P -

                     I`m not ha_ _y  today
                     No I`m quite sad and u_set

                     Sitting here with my cold sou_ and an old s_oon
                     I have s_ent too much money,and feel  _oor
                     I have not _earls or diamonds,that`s not why I`m sad and u_set
                     As I sit here with my su_ _ er and my cold sou_
                     thinking about what I do without my  _?
                     Dreams returns to ha_ _y days, when I  _layed  _iano
                     and had  _eace in my mind
                     What shall I do without my  _ ?
                     _  is  im_ortant in my life
                     I`ve lost my  _ 
                     I can no longer wish to you:
                     Ha_ _y  birthday
                     Have a ha_ _y  weekend
                     Ha_ _ y  for you.
                     Ha_ _ y  to see you
                     Ha _ _y   new year ..........

            I do not want _iano,_earl or diamonds.... I want my  _  back.

      A-L Andresen :)
      Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Clerihew | |

Double U Bush

What the Quack!
I dont want my poems in Poem Zoo!


Copyright © Ruben O.

Details | Light Poetry | |


This's the world of dreams  and 
Where I think ev'ry that reels,
After a thousands times,
would as same beliefs things 
besought me,
Is it a mere dream? 

Copyright © kelechi Emeaba

Details | Rhyme | |

The anomaly of irony.

Rolling through a bloody mess,
my master died alone no less.
His mercy was indeed a lie,
he said I lived but now will die.

His hand was swift with a mighty stroke,
within a thought my life was broke.
Oh how I lived, and he knew not,
but now I life to rot.

No foot, nor hand could move a limb,
Three days old and no sign of him.
And then he came at my wits end,
With strength alone I cant defend.

He lift me up and broke my jaw,
Just to laugh as I hit the floor.
He took a blade and made a fist,
stabbed his flesh, his vein, his wrist.

Now you're dead and now you're mine,
drink from me and you'll be fine.
I could not stand my masters site,
I killed him quick with my own bite.

Copyright © Bellantony De Mertens

Details | Free verse | |

A Winter Walk

I needed some time, some space to think
And it was either take a walk or drink
And since I knew drinking would solve nothing
I put on my shoes and I started walking

The wind blew the chilly air
Through my unkempt locks of hair,
But I hardly felt the biting cold,
Walking with memories warm in my soul

The street was dark, cold and silent
It was funny the places where my mind went
While I slowly walked across the blacktop road
No destination in mind where I would go

It's funny the things you will remember
I recall a day in mid-December
And how suddenly, nothing seemed the same
After that man at the door called my name

I followed him into a secluded office
Where he would tell me his diagnosis
And suddenly I felt my beating heart
But the rest of the world had just stopped

I felt a hand in mine get tighter
I don't think the room could have been quieter
I shook my head in total disbelief
Too numb to feel anything, even grief

The question asked, "What does this mean?"
But the answer didn't mean anything
My head too fuzzy, my thoughts too jumbled
I turned to my love to speak, but mumbled

I don't remember what else he said
Because of the swirling thoughts in my head
It took three days before I could even think
Which led me to tonight: walk or drink

So I walked and I thought and I truly remembered
Dreams of the past, love treasured forever
Friendship and laughter, sorrow and pain
As though I was reliving my life over again

Little things that I'd sorely taken for granted
Things that didn't happen the way that I planned it
Promises made and ones that were broken
Love that was shared, love still unspoken

The frosty air filled me with a sense of renewal
Inside my soul was fighting a duel
The angel, the devil, both battling demons
Inside of myself I fought to redeem them

I don't know who won the ethereal battle
And I'm not sure right now it even matters
Where once I believed everything for a reason
I'm finding that harder and harder to believe in

Copyright © Michelle Devon

Details | Blank verse | |

Love Song

Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.

Copyright © Nick Hertzog

Details | Lyric | |

A Piece Of Lace

I watched you walk by yesterday, and yes again you turned and looked away
You never give me the time of day, and you're always looking sad and grey
A small piece of lace from your pink dress, is all that's left of you and me
Wish I could take back yesterday, when I went astray and set you free
I wish I could find the words to say, instead of making you look away
Oh! It's funny how a little piece of lace, makes me yearn for your embrace

I know that I still need your love, because my heart is always feeling blue
And I guess I'll never be the same, for playing around and being untrue
You gotta know this isn't what I wanted, cause now I'm always on my knees
But I can see how you like your freedom, of being with him and not with me
But baby a twist of fate's what tore us apart, and placed this look upon my face
Oh! it's still funny how a little piece of lace, makes me yearn for your embrace

A piece of lace from your pink dress, keeps putting me down won't let me rest
And these cloudy skies are back today, holding my heart and soul at bay
I pray you come and take this lace, and wipe these tears from my face
Oh! It's funny how a little piece of lace, makes me yearn for your embrace

All those things that you used to do, is what made me fall in love with you
You gave me your all once upon a time, but like a fool I up and flew
And the things I went and said that day, made you fade and drift away
I never shoulda treated you that way, cause baby I need you here today
The sun keeps hiding behind the clouds, and all I do is sit and cry
And this piece of lace holds my heart at bay, I don't know...maybe it's a sign

A piece of lace from your pink dress, keeps putting me down won't let me rest
And these cloudy skies are back today, holding my heart and soul at bay
I pray you come and take this lace, and wipe these tears from my face
Oh! It's funny how a little piece of lace, makes me yearn for your embrace

Oh! It's funny how a little piece of lace, makes me yearn for your embrace

Copyright © George Martin

Details | I do not know? | |


Way down yonder, beyond the barn,
In that soggy, muddy old bog,
In a small and crowded, murky pool,
Lived gloomy Tad, the pollywog.  
One of the things that made young Tad
Resentful and unhappy,
Was the very simple fact that he
Looked nothing like his pappy.
And, you know, he also didn't look
A great deal like his mamma.
What this pollywog resembled most
Was a chubby, little comma.
And the safest place--to say the least--
Was not that shrinking pool,
Where one well might be ingested
By some poor misguided fool.
Then one day Tad got so fed up
With his principal place of abode,
That he grew some legs, left the pond,
And became a happy toad.

Copyright © William Robinson

Details | I do not know? | |

The break up- Footle contest

Cold stares
heart tares

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Couplet | |

The Sad Little Pumpkin

Little pumpkin very sad
for in white he'd been clad
To be a lantern was his dream
but woeful he was white as cream
So I said, to his delight,
that I liked his coat of white
Now, because I liked him most,
my Jack O' Lantern is a ghost

Inspired by Raul Morenos' White Pumpkin contest

Copyright © Robin L. Gass

Details | Free verse | |

- TANGO - All Alone -

    Melancholy sets in
    and twist easily
    around the joy that is stuck
    in the glue
    It's hard to dance tango - without a partner

  A-L Andresen :)

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Narrative | |

The Sad Truth About Life

Oh the horror! For people, it's just fun!

Copyright © Theresa a.k.a. Reecie

Details | Rhyme | |

The Doctor Is A Dead Man Walking

Bob had a special talent
That only worked in his men’s store.
He had ‘clothing ESP’.
He knew what his customers wanted…and more.

When customer would come into his store
Bob would invariably say, 
“Hello. I'm Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

And he was always right,
Never missed a color, fabric, style or size.
He even knew the necessary alterations.
Customers couldn’t believe their ears and eyes.

Meanwhile, in another part of town,
Joe had a pounding, relentless migraine
For every minute for more than five years,
It had driven him near insane.

He’d lost his job to the pain.
Then, he lost his wife.
He had lost a lot of weight and rarely slept.
Yes, his was a miserable life.

And, of course,  sex was out of the question…
Even a little self-abuse.
There was nothing left for Joe but pain.
He felt his life was of no use.

So, Joe went to his doctor.
“Doc, please help me end this pain.
Give me something to make me sleep
And never wake up again.”

“You know I can’t assist your suicide.”,
Then he looked sad, perhaps ashamed.
“I never dreamed it would last five years,
But I know how to end the pain.”

“You can make it go away?!
Tell me, Doc!  What’s the word?”
“I’ll have to remove your testicles.”
Was the last thing that Joe heard.

But…when he came to, it struck him.
Sex was out of the question anyway;
But he might enjoy his meals again,
And he could sleep for days.

“Please check me in, Doc.
This opportunity I cannot shirk.”
So, the doctor removed his testicles.
He did his very best work.

A few days later, Joe waddled along,
Headache free and feeling pretty nice;
But every attractive woman he saw 
Reminded him of his sacrifice.

He decided it was appropriate
To do something nice for himself for a change.
So, he went into a travel agency;
And a six month cruise he arranged.

As he left the travel agency,
He was excited, feeling ready to go;
But for such a glorious adventure,
He would need new clothes.

As he walked along, he saw Bob’s Men's Store.
He walked in, only to hear Bob say,
“Hello.  I’m Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

“How could you know?” asked Joe.
“It’s a gift.  I don’t know how, but I do.
You’ve suffered five years with an ailment,
Found relief, so now you’re taking a cruise.” 

Joe could not believe his ears.
How could this stranger possibly know?
"You're right! That's amazing!
And I'm going to need new clothes." 

Bob then laid out a fabulous wardrobe
All the right colors, fabrics, styles…and each size.
Joe was incredibly impressed.
He could hardly believe his ears and eyes.

“How do you like the wardrobe?”
“It’s wonderful!”  Bob could see that Joe was pleased.
“Now,” said Bob, “What about undergarments;
You know…shorts and tees?

Let’s see…medium crew neck tees, all cotton.
I believe that you prefer white….
And jockey shorts, all cotton…. 34s.
Yes, I'm sure that’s right.”

Joe beamed, “You’re an amazing talent
And I just this second realized,
You've laid out this entire wardrobe
And only missed one size.”

Bob, surprised by his mistake, asked, “Really?
What did I miss?  I did my best for you.”
“Well…you’re right.” said Joe, “I do wear Jockeys,
But…well…I wear 32s.

“Oh, no!” said Bob with an ugly grimace.
“That would be a serious mistake.
Thirty-twos will cramp your balls, 
You’ll get migraine headaches.”

Copyright © Robert Candler

Details | Rhyme | |


Flailin’,  flailin’, flailin’;
There goes my ball sailin’
Into a trap, the water or the woods.

Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
You can hear me wailin’,
“Why won’t that damn ball go where it should?

Drives go right.  Putts go wrong.
I shank my wedges or ‘skull’em’ long.
My golf game’s just no damn good.

I’m swingin’ too hard & lookin’ up;
As if I’ll actually see it go in the cup….
As if it ever really would.

My alignment’s too far left or right.
My ball can find the only tree or trap in sight,
Even if the shot starts out lookin’ good.

These days, I carry some special tools:
A handheld weed eater with extra spools
And a pruning saw, in case I’m in the woods.  

I’ve even tried to ‘buy’ a better game.
No matter.  My scores were just as lame.
Those new clubs didn’t do what they should.

Bogies & doubles...even triples... are common scores.
I very rarely get pars any more.
Believe me, I’d change it if I could.

My buddies said it must be me,
A teaching pro I should go see.
They said he’d fix my game…..if anybody could.

The pro said, “Hit some balls while I watch you.
Just set up and hit’em like you normally do.
We’ll see if I can do your game any good.”

After the first bucket of balls I hit,
He calmly said, “Take two weeks off…then quit.
Take my advice.  You really should.”

Now, what really has me vexed,
I’m wondering what I’ll try next.
That pro’s advice was no damn good.

So, I struggle along with my flailin’ game;
But, strangely enough, have fun just the same,
Finding hope in rare shots that are actually good.

Copyright © Robert Candler

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...

Copyright © Louis Borgo

Details | Verse | |

Randomlings 1-34

Randomling 1:  Matthew Macfadyen

I believe I'm in love with Matthew Macfadyen
He inspires in me a terribly bad yen
But as poetry goes
His name 'spires woes
Cause nothing rhymes with "Macfadyen”.

Randomling 2: Birthday Wishes
For my birthday, I would like a man.
I wonder---can you get one from a can?
Or maybe from a catalog?
Maybe I'll just get a dog.

Randomling 3: Yet Another Cat Poem

toddlers in fur
senior citizens with retractable claws
lions in their own minds
lunch in the minds of dogs.

Randomling 4:  Desert Woes

A sage river in a field of sand:
         so flows hope in a barren land;
                   the crippled heart in prosthetic steel,
                             hacked and scarred, a vulture’s meal.

Randomling 5:  Dark Poetry

Follow poetry to its source;
There find heartbreak and remorse.
Follow poetry to the bitter end,
And there find death, its bosom friend.

Randomling 6: Ode to Bananas

an underappreciated fruit
sentenced to banananality
because yellow is their long suit.

Randomling 7: Untitled  

this heart is closed to deposits.
There's no more room for pain.

Randomling 8: Untitled

My heart is sealed in a cold steel vault,
and I’ve lost the combination.

Randomling 9: Joyce Kilmer 2015

I think that I shall never see
A man as useful as a tree.
One has uses by the score;
The other one is apt to snore.

Randomling 10:  Bedtime Prayers

Now I lay me down to sleep,
A leaden heart is mine to keep.
If I should die before I wake--
Now there’s an offer I’d gladly take.   

Randomling 11:  The Devil Wind

Fury with a smoky tail
Eddies of destruction
Deceitful beauty, enchanting danger
Death sporting a makeover

Randomling 12:  A Boy's Best Friend

Your penis—it is not a toy
I told my little son.
O yes it is, he parried me
It's quite my favorite one.

Randomling 13:  Fault Lines

I have a bathroom mirror
that's grown faulty over time.
My reflection is no longer true;
it's developed little lines!

Randomling 14:  Shakespeare 101		

“To be or not to be. That is the question.”
--What question?
THE question!
--Whaddya mean, THE question?
Never mind.																		

Randomling 15: Christmas?

Peace on earth to men of good credit
Who give the gift of corporate profit
in the holy name of commercialism.

Randomling 16:  Musical Believer

Though my conscience sleeps,
wrapped in the Valium of
agnosticism, it awakens to 
the music of Mozart--
once more knowing God
by the sound of His voice.

Randomling 17: Vacuum

I didn't write a poem when you died.
The words would not come.
Perhaps I felt too deeply,
perhaps not enough;
maybe I died too.   10/06/01

Randomling 18: Insanity

Insanity is underrated
Its drawbacks,much overstated.
How else to do what you darn well please
And accomplish it with so much ease?

Randomling 19: Dog Day Afternoon

salt, waves, undertow
I don't know what's going
on here, but I'm HAPPY!

Randomling 20: Opposites Attract

i am matter---love, antimatter
never to meet save to explode
i am space, love is time
parallel dimensions never to meet

Randomling 21: Puppy Love

I ride a leaky newspaper raft
Adrift on the linoleum
Anxiously awaiting an
An attack of smelly
squirming happiness
covered in fuzz:
Puppy love.

Randomling 22: Newton's Poultice

Apple falls from tree
Newton (ouch!) takes notice
Comes up with law of gravity
while wearing a poultice
on the solstice

Randomling 23: Ticking

And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
while my life fell apart all around me.
Sweet memories faded to shadow
as my heart fell to pieces inside me.
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
Relentlessly ticking, ticking
While my life fell apart all around me.

Randomling 24: Untitled

a mosaic assembled from
shimmering, glimmering
tiles of delight and
black-glazed stones of despair
interlocking snowflakes
in seamless beauty

Randomling 25: Seasonal Lament
Daylight shrinks end at both end as summer falls into the arm of winter. arm
Randomling 26: Untitled
I didn't want to love you.
Randomling 27: Pills Depression is days and nights curled fetal-like in a dark room, no interest in the world outside, idly wondering if there are enough pills in the bottle to kill you, then thinking it's not worth the effort to find out because you're dead inside already. Randomling 28: Guilt By Association Fresh morning light frames the cat, surrounded by piles of dirt and deceased plants, looking innocent. Randomling 29: Bell the Cat How do you give a cat a bath? Maybe you can do the math. All I know is she stinks to high heaven. And of us there are only seven. How many humans to bathe a cat? Definitely more than where we're at! Randomling 30: Muse
I want to write a poem using the word gossamer. “Gossamer.”
Randomling 31: Ripples
Canoes rock gently under the waxing moon. Black water ripples, painting a beautiful scene under the scented pines.
Randomling 32: Sunshine Waterfall I cleanse my face in a sunshine waterfall, luxuriate in a sunshine shower. Waterfall flow and warm me; sprinkle lemon drops through my hair. Randomling 33: Salon Treatment Hurricanes scour everything they touch, then rinse and blow dry. Randomling 34: My Window Blue sky pokes its face through the canopy of trees. Heat wave is over!

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman

Details | Bio | |

Solitude: To Yoda, An Ode

Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.

Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.

Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.

Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.

My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.

Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Sad Gardener

His seeds
Grew weeds


Copyright © Nick Bagnall

Details | Epitaph | |

Silly Epitaph 13

Ron was a foreman
He performed demolition.
Sadly his last blast
Sorely failed to miss him.

Copyright © Tara Andre

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 | Epitaph | |

Silly Epitaph 16

In loving memory of Jones,
The best duck I've known.
My pet and friend since I was four.
For a bird, he was dear;
I wish he was here
So that he and I could do more.

Copyright © Tara Andre

Details | Rhyme | |

The Grape Pain

Today I am a grape Hanging on a vine Perhaps to be plucked one day Ending up in someones wine Maybe I'll be bitter One of the worst ones you could eat Or possibly be the most tastey ones The sweetist of the sweet I hang with a bunch of others That I see all through the day Longing to be anywhere But there seems to be no way Seeing alot of other beauties Farther down the line Hoping they will notice me When I'm plump and in my prime though now the nights are getting colder Others have begun to all fall down Bunches of dying grapes Laying everywhere on the ground Unable to handle this madness I'm letting go of this vine tonite So I won't have to wake to this sadness That I must see through each days light
Dan Kearley:9-21-11

Copyright © Dan Kearley

Details | Senryu | |


cherry bombs convulse
their fuse burns painfully fast
lesson learned, no thumb

Copyright © Mac McGovern

Details | I do not know? | |

Nothing But Lint

Nothing But Lint Nothing but lint in my pocket. It could be said that I am skint. I did have cash to start the day. But money, no sooner earned, is no sooner spent … they say. Now I sit alone in a diner cafe. Slowly drinking one last black coffee. But hey! What is that on the floor? Near the leg of the table by the door. It's a new penny coin all shiny with glint. Now there is something in my pocket … besides lint.

Copyright © Ken Duddle

Details | Epitaph | |

Silly Epitaph 17

Johnny was a baker
He made great cakes and pies.
Too bad he left the oven on;
He caught on fire and died.

Copyright © Tara Andre

Details | Light Poetry | |


                               NO REFILLS---Dr. P. Soupenstein
                               Rx *7563287      BEC 11/11/11      
Seems to me,
what you need 
for healing this condition...
is something real
you can feel
to ease this mean affliction

Patient please
accept from me
this poetry prescription:

      ( <_____PUSH & TURN_____> )

Take ONE positive poem
Read ORALLY 2 times BY MOUTH -----
Every 4-6 HOURS AS NEEDED for the pain 

Blues and belly aches will dissipate
resulting in healthy energy gains 

-Alcohol may intensify the effect of being drowsy 
attempting to read while operating machines... 
will cause you to drive lousy.

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Limerick | |

A sad old flea

A sad old flea and a silly old gnat
were boogieing it down
on the neck of an aristocrat
When suddenly Splat
they're flat
And that was that

Copyright © Donald J Bennett

Details | Lyric | |

It's My Birthday, It is Your Birthday

It’s My Birthday

It’s my birthday…  I look out the window there is no one for me owe so, owe so lonely poor me . 

It’s my  birthday…  you surprise me, with a Barber-Q grill  with a cooler that chills with a grin we show white grills.

Happy Birthday… it’s my Birthday I am still waiting,  it   is almost the end of my the day, just waiting on you to wish me a happy birthday which, well make my day. 

It’s my birthday…you do not remember that day, can we go out for we can remember that day?

It’s my birthday… I can share it or alone, some share it with a twin, or with a friend and the ones who stay to the ends like a good friend.

It my birthday…  its looks like another day to me I just need someone or something to comfort with me a room full of women and with hand full men, a juice in cup, juice in glass, with a sweet lady and grill on cut grass that may make every day feel like my birthday, with a touch of class. 
It’s your birthday… it’s your birthday you should all-ways win on your birthday, if do not have a mate you sneak and go on second party date form those who may player hate.  
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday!  it comes and go, I see you come through, looking out my window with a hand full company that is what a party really should need, yes it’s sweet, sweet with music and sweet with treats or  it must be the money, or food, or brinks, or just me.

Poetry 7/7/12 by author Keith Kadell

Copyright © Keith Relf

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Suicidal love

Suicidal love

It chokes and mauls me,
It suffocates me as its venom spread to shake my heart,
It kneads and lives me vulnerable to hurt,
When you hunt it,
I remained obdurate to love,
Its obsession sucks my strength,
When the peril of real epitome of African beauty sprout her,
Chokes and desires of having you drown me into sour guts,
It is a suicide how this eerie feeling fills,
For it freezes not the frosted and fermented heart to freedom
It is suicidal how love is.

Copyright © Sabion Osore