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Best Irony Poems

Below are the all-time best Irony poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of irony poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Irony Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Irony poems are below this new poems list.

Irony of Being Me by Walter Skyy, April
Google irony by Lindsay, Bill
Ironic Irony by Thompson, Jessica
Love and irony by Hopper, Anna
The Irony of- You SAID by Manassian, Eileen
TIMELESS IRONY by lowe, millard
THE IRONY by Verma, Satish
Irony of Eggs by butt, mazhar
What an irony by Chutani, Mohan
RELIGIOUS IRONY by walsh, peter

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The Best Irony Poems

Details | Irony Poem | |

Devils Deadly Dime

Devils deadly dime

The sign said no grown-up at the playground.
Tripping on a penny, like a mime!
My hand is in my pocket with the dime I found.
Its all mine, I asked for the devils hand that time.
Echoes in my head, bounded by a screaming sound.
Paying for a forgotten crime,
on what comes around goes around.

A prison with greed that carries an evil musical chime.
Jumping off the merry-go-round!
Encouraged by the devil,
 the pleasure of his deadly nursery rhyme. 
Now the world is measured by my blood level.

The devils delight feasted on my youth before I hit my prime.
Bashing my mind, with thoughts implanted by evil.
Entering the day with no beauty to my sublime.
Begging him to remove this anvil!

He laughed while he cursed me with a favor for a favor.
A fallout so violently in this world not civil.
One can only lust on the taste that only he can savor.
Hanging out  by the swings wounding me with prey,
on two victims to his delicious flavor.
I climb my way to teach a lesson in hate not love.
Two siblings who always scream for each other.
Giggling as I offered each a push and a shove.
Stopping they give each other a big hug.
Defeating and proving love is a stronger disease
The devil wicked eyes looking  at me like a bug.
Clawing at my inner guts with remorse that he will win this war.
Until another day one skips the penny, 
and begs a poor fool like the devil for his dime.
Tossing heads for his tail when times hits rock bottom.
I will stray away from his deadly reaction time.
He will not own my soul so freak'em,
and his greedy deadly beg of a dime.


by;pd

More great poems below...


Details | Irony Poem | |

The Joy Killing Poet

**Back smile/smile Back **

With your heads way up your :]ssa[: 
You will never accomplish the win
I got shots that will protect me from your rabid ways
After you fell into a non-stop falling disease, 
Your movements weakened
Straight from a dried up well, 
Every day you frolic in a disorder that causes more brain damage 
With progressive mental retardation 
You continue to lick the top of your cleft lips

He is the saddest sadist human that ever lived!
So sad he has to live with himself every night
Kissing his young ones Goodnight 
In ways I can't even breathe to tell
The way he follows rabbits down the bunny hole
Killing each laughing hare
Wiping smiles, leaning in, 
The madness in Alice's Wonderland 
Madder and Madder The Hatter
Revealing
Your boldness is nothing more than baldness
A man in a monkey suit
Molesting the minds of his idiotic circle, 
Trying to kill the joy, not knowing
We don't care about his false Harvard WAY
I rather stay here dropping out, than pretending
Following his made-up perception, a cropped out waste
His taste, my best copypaste, he jacked on
A stench, they left behind when open mouths laugh
He educates by attacking women better than his own
Silently to the top of his knife, he stalks nakedly
Removing a few poems he plagiarized
His Poorness, brought many to donate to the salvation of his army
Sadness Delivered by the Joy Killing Poet and his little pigs

Cross My heart and hope to die!!!

~SKAT~

Details | Irony Poem | |

The Unknown

-"x+2 = 4"-

Enigmas of the soul
Do you know how it feels?

Never tasted before
Invisible Sun


PD

Details | Irony Poem | |

NO CONTEST

I worked through the day and the night Got the syllables and spelling just right My imagery was ‘simply divine’ I hoped that a placement was mine Got awarded the Poem of the Day ‘Congratulations’ the folks they did say I sat back and relaxed in my chair At my perfect poem I did sit and stare I was really so proud of my work Saw the winners… felt a right jerk My eyes scanned down the winner’s list There was an error - my name had been missed! My Members Contest list was showing N/A Guess it really just wasn’t my lucky day 12~22~14 Contest:-Contest – Jerry T Curtis ~awarded 1st place~

Details | Irony Poem | |

You and I and I and You

You, who are so perfect in my eyes, so beautiful- adorable, and I, so flawed, ugly, damaged and crawling with defects; why do you enjoy my company? 

You, who are so sleek and slender, humming with a quiet intellect and a serenity about you, and I, so grossly overweight and pretentiously boastful and nervous; how can you abide my company?

You, who are a paragon of patience, so understanding and self-assured, and I, so insanely impulsive, so myopic and brimming with self-doubt; how do you stand my company?

You, who are so sweet, so considerably kind, so thoughtful and generous, and I, so bitter, so selfish, so self-absorbed; why do you choose my company?

You, who are so self-composed, full of self-control, so sound and stable, and I, so very neurotic, so completely compulsive and verily volatile; how can you tolerate my company?

You, who are so diligent, so driven and ambitious, so achieving, and I, so lackadaisically lazy, so uninspired, so complacent; why do you settle for my company?

You, who are ethical, so moral, so very virtuous, and I, so corrupt, so unprincipled, so wholly wicked; how can you endure my company?

You, who are so normal, so well-adjusted, so conventional, and I, so maniacal, so unbalanced and irrational; why do you condone my company?

You, who are bubbling with charm, who loves unconditionally and is absolutely accepting, and I, boiling with rage, fueled by misanthropy and incredibly intolerant; how can you welcome my company?

That you love and accept me for who and what I am, is a treasure beyond measure. I cherish your company, but why you cherish mine is something I cannot fathom. All I know is that I love you, my dear, beloved friend.

**This was written for two very dear friends: Karen and Tommy :)
***I also love palindromes ;)

*****FREE VERSE OLD AND NEW ENTRY

More great poems below...


Details | Irony Poem | |

Politician Chops A Tomato In His Kitchen, Another Politician Sips Tea In His Second Kitchen

Politician chops a tomato
in his kitchen
Now he's chopping a lettuce
in his kitchen
He's saying things at the same time
in his kitchen

He's endowed with multi-skilled sets
Yes he must live in the real world I've guessed
He can chop a tomato
And then a lettuce
And talk at the same time
I've never chopped a lettuce in my life
in my kitchen
I have chopped a tomato though
But it wasn't in my kitchen
It was in someone else's
kitchen
It was a pretty weird situation
That pretty weird kitchen situation is for another poem
And probably one you won't want to read
if  I'm being honest
So I won't be honest..honest.

Well that tells us all we need to know
I'm convinced
I always wondered whether he could chop a tomato
in his kitchen
It's not easy at the best of times
You know that
I know that
Let's not pretend
And he did it all in front of the cameras
in his kitchen
Chopping a lettuce truly earns my respect
And should earn yours too
A man who can chop a lettuce and talk about not wanting to be prime minister for a third term
When he's still in his first
To think that far ahead
in his kitchen
While chopping a tomato
and then a lettuce
in his kitchen
Talking at the same time
in his kitchen
About not wanting to be prime minister for a third term
When he's still serving his first
That truly earns my respect
Like watching a marine punch a gazelle..

And regardless of whoever's kitchen I happen to be in
Were I to be in your kitchen for example
I would feel that same swell of admiration
And I promise I would never chop a tomato
in your kitchen
And definitely not a lettuce
Just in case you're wondering
I don't eat lettuce
And even if I did
I would never chop it in your kitchen
Even if I were to be in a really bad mood..

And here's another politician
This one is in his second kitchen
Conversing with his wife while drinking tea
in his second kitchen
I know that could never be me
I don't have a first wife and I don't have a second kitchen
(and I don't really sip tea for I'm an uncouth gulper
probably my Indian upbringing)
Thus I could never be a democratic socialist leader
Although I'd like to be
Who could believe in me
When I don't have a second kitchen to sip tea in
with a wife which I don't have
Listening attentively to my democratic socialist thoughts
While sipping tea which I wouldn't sip anyway
Being more of an uncouth gulper probably because of my Indian upbringing
in my second kitchen
which I also don't have..

To be that man who can sip tea so nonchalantly
Not even in his first kitchen
But in his second kitchen
The one that he's not used to sipping tea in
That's beyond the call of duty
So beyond you
And me
So who really lives in the real world
Well I think that's plain to see


http://sukispangles.blogspot.co.uk

Details | Irony Poem | |

of love of war

of love of war
the staff of a prophet, seen fairness not imagine, sings shouting out, obscenity recognized, yet in search of fame, seeking stance the moment arises, seek of voice of power, godsend renown supremacy, yet prophet not acknowledged, kept desire of a great life, sought skill of voice, articulate hardly ever, cheek no longer free, famous self seldom bite snarls dogma, link of country of faith, kinship all that’s true, fair play desired fame acknowledged, pent the home front, covetousness war or peace love or hate, just yelp puppy love, nice _________________________| Penned on September 28, 2014!

Details | Irony Poem | |

Struggle

I don't want to die,
But my mind feels old;
My body is so tired
And my heart grows cold;
Hands itch to slice--
Just the skin--just the skin,
Blood flows out as the pain seeps in.
They wanna give me pills
To treat a pain they haven't seen;
They try to cure the symptoms
Without knowing what it means,
To pick apart my brain
Without dirtying their hands,
While I drown in a sorrow
That I can't understand,
While unhelpful friends throw
Such unhelpful advice:
"Stop feeling sad!"
"Think of things that are nice!"
Meanwhile I wish
for an end to the pain. 
I don't need any pills--
Just send me a train.

Details | Irony Poem | |

A Want To Climb

One day I started climbing; without question I climbed. Until finally I had reached the peak of Mt. Everest. I wanted to beat my breastbone yell like Tarzan King of the Apes. But... I saw a tree. IT! was the highest peak. I climbed. “Ta da"! But... there was an escarpment, higher. I climbed. Once again I... But... Stairs, stairs at the end of the land. I climbed Reached the top of the stairs. But... I saw a huge bird. “I can go higher” I told myself. I reached up with my arms, miraculously the bird accepted my hands. We reached the space beyond Earth's pull; there my magical friend released me. I kept floating up until I reached a tunnel in space, a hole on an incline that led up. I climbed! For an eternity, maybe longer. The higher I got... nothing. An enormous amount of nothing. I was going nowhere and I was doing it in record time. Then... Then I stopped. I mean I hit the brakes, reflected on my journey. The wildlife? Had I done damage? The escarpment? What was the vegetation, were there flowers? I should of gone barefoot felt the land under my feet; smelled the coffee. Were those really stairs I climbed? Was it friends and associates I was stepping on? I opened my eyes. The climb was like trying to walk to the end of the horizon. All leading to more vast “I don’t know what” but definitely up. “No!” I said aloud. “So what!” I whispered. So... I slid down the best slide you ever saw. I felt like a child again, I could see, smell, feel and hear, I could taste the sweetness of freedom in the air. I love sweets. So... Now, back to my land I plant myself firmly. I am one with all, a Giant Redwood surrounded by other Redwoods. I am at peace. Here, at the bottom of everything is my highest point. I bask in the heat of the sun. Feed from the richness of the land. Drink the cold water gifted to me by the skies above. What an incredible sense of strength I feel comfortable in my own bark. Just happy to be rooted. Now... I am the smallest tree But... growing. Fulfilled, satisfied just “to be”!
09/20/2014

Details | Irony Poem | |

Class Reunion

Fifty-year class reunions are stricken with sadness:
Former classmates falling apart before my eyes.
Jane uses a walker, and Stan exhibits madness.
Wages of age foreshadow classmates’ demise.

In youth’s green age I could not fathom this,
A time when peers would be withered and worn.
How I wonder could life have gone so amiss?
Surveying the scene, my heart is heavy, torn.

I give proud thanks that I’m not like the others,
Having been spared of time’s toxic touches.
“But what has befallen my sisters and brothers?”
I ponder the question as I reach for my crutches.


Details | Irony Poem | |

Saving McGee

Now down at our local pub
I noticed McGee at the bar
So I pulled up a chair, A bit unaware
That he was a bit under par

He said to me "Last night, 
I tried to take me own life
I wanted to end my misery
In this world full of struggle and strife

So, I started to take a thousand pills, 
and wash them down with wine
but after the second aspirin 
I started to feel just fine

Details | Irony Poem | |

No Deposit, No Return


Your wishes can't regain,
A thrill so long ago. 
To once again reclaim 
A past you wouldn't know. 

You view a different dance, 
With unfamiliar tune 
You pine for lost romance, 
Yet treasure not the Moon.




Meter - Iambic Trimeter (Cataletic).
A-B, A-B Rhyme.
 
Gene Bourne.
06-11-14




.

 

Details | Irony Poem | |

WHEN THE DUST FINALLY SETTLES

Oh why oh why don't you clean your room I wish I had heeded my mother’s words For I’m sure many a mother has said this to their child But fate intervened and the dust still hasn’t settled - In fact I’ve not spoken to my mother for over a week Last weekend I met the man of my dreams – James Tall, dark and oh so handsome, like a young George Clooney His number was etched in the thick layer of dust on the dresser My mother took matters into her own hands She decided to dust and tidy my room HOW COULD SHE DO THIS TO ME! His number is erased forever - I have no way of contacting him Guess I have learned a VERY valuable lesson NEXT time I meet someone … I will write his number in my diary! 25th February 2015 Fictional write for the Gathering Dust’ Contest - John Lawless

Details | Irony Poem | |

And The Piper Played On

 And The Piper Played On

The mystic piper paid his earthly dues
 strange tunes he did so often choose
 Notes that ring so loud and so clear
 wiping away doubt and darkened fear

 Yet each found this a false delight
 shadows that lurched in evil night
 Music set to lowly goals and greed
 easing pains from a desperate need

 Dancing in a deepened hollow ring
 woes trailed all that shout and sing
 Piper plays on in his standard way
 as his victims spin and gaze far away

 Stars spin away so very far, far above
 this world needs more, always more love

Robert J. Lindley

note: Inspired by the words of a fellow poet here. Such inspiration is in great abundance here as this site offers the writings of so very many talented artists!
I am humbled to read such poetry and any subject can find inspiration from the tremendous number of offerings presented here each day! From seasoned poet to newbie the talent here is simply amazing..

Details | Irony Poem | |

The plague in Spain is carried mostly by a plane

Isn’t it ironic?
That the plague called the bubonic
Killed the man but not the rat
And did not even kill the cat
That caught and killed the guilty rat

Isn’t it ironic?
That in this age of the electronic
Ebola is running unabated
It’s deathly thirst left quite unslated
Just like the plague as earlier stated

Isn’t it ironic?
That in this age of progress so terrific
A plague is not spread by a rat
Nor by bat and not by cat
But by technology - imagine that!

Details | Irony Poem | |

These bare walls

On these bare walls 
there once hung
artwork that was picked by you,
which you'd then picked over,
leaving only a needlepoint 
your mother made for our wedding 
and a picture an alcoholic friend gave you
of a bear

How ironic now, 
it seems, they're not so bare
since I've hung a painting of
dancing bears on the bare wall where 
I took down the needlepoint
and a butterfly, 
in the bare spot you left
by the front door

Details | Irony Poem | |

In My View

Butterflies cover my eyes with beauty beyond my own desires 
Overwhelming lush sweeps through my skin as if I had bathed in aloe or wore an expensive silk attire
The power from the sun rejuvenate my spirit 
Heart filled with joy and mind filled with so much peace that you could hear it
Flowers start dancing every time the wind walks by
To the rhythm and beat along the riverside
My God, what a mighty love you are
Thank you for staying near me and not afar
In the dark, I fear not, for you are with me
You are the true guide and light to thy destiny
For my ways are not yours and that’s what makes you great
You gave the Gift to me for my soul’s sake
As I walk around this cold and rugged world
A light of your face shines out like the word
For you are not hard to find
Protecting me from all that’s unkind
So my life each day becomes new
In my view

Details | Irony Poem | |

Take Me For Granted

Take Me For Granted

Maybe I'm just crazy
or my views are slightly slanted.
But I love when you don't have to ask.
When you take me for granted.

I need it when you're needing me
when push comes down to shove.
I love when you take it for granted
that I'll show you my love.

How when you know I'll be beside you
and I'm not afraid to fight.
And how you take it for granted
you'll be loving me tonight.

Go on baby you can look away
the seeds already planted.
I love the way it feels to me
when you take me for granted.


Not everyone will get this poem.
But those that do, have known love at a depth not everyone will ever see.
They've been hurt. Taken advantage of and they have been betrayed.

Still they have known love. 

They were open to it. They've been warmed by it's fires and chilled by it's North wind.
They've flown where eagles fly. And they've crawled through hell and back.

None of it for them but for one they loved.

Because if you know love, you soon find that it's not love until you give it away.                       

Edwin C Hofert

Details | Irony Poem | |

Across the Void

a man and a woman
lucky in love and precious
fate walked in and kissed them both
kisses wet, sloppy, thirsty
from an unplanned tenderness
romance fluttered
love came next there was no doubt
their chemistry delicious
played one off the others substantial
in the beginning of her purring
on purpose as fate
walked them down the primrose blushing
passion concentrated and gifted
translovely dream cooing
across the abyss
separating them from their naughty
they talked of love needful
secrets were confessed fragile
vowed to leave the past behind
shredded and troubled
their bond will be sewn husky
he closes his eye tender
she holds out her attractive
together they are damaged

Details | Irony Poem | |

Jogger and Logger

For "Show Me the Funny (part two)"

There once was a fellow a woggin'*
Who bumped into one who was loggin'
They had quite a spat
The ax was a bat
And the first had a lump on his noggin


* Woggers are those who get all dressed for jogging, but only go at walking speed, while vigorously pumping their arms to delude themselves that they are jogging.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Confession of a silent Artist

Creative writers are never given flowers while they still breathing poetry.

Biters wait patiently for the last breath to pay their respect and get paid with your work.

Claiming being sent by callings to keep the legend's work alive till infinity.

No doctor has the cue for this sick world.

But guess what we writers do care.

We keep writing spiritually we don't care.

Atleast i don't care, i know you'll be speaking my language with your theft.

Evidently i do share.

You are that invisible disciple i recruited to speak for me in my death.

It's the life of an artist who cares.

We don't seek recognition.

Recognition come to us that's why we endlessly spread.

We are angels with no wings heaven is closer to us we don't fly.

Paradise is home for holidays filled with dead writers.

An escapism from you hooligans.

Its a crime not a mime when you speak rhyme in my rhymes.

Thank God i'm still an infant in this poetry, i have a chance to fill up the grave you dug for me.

Your patience will have to patiently await my departure patiently.

I have enough time to unleash these constipated rhymes.

You think you got me.

I speak better in my rhymes like a machinegun tone spraying pee.

My skeleton is covered in mics louder i do speak rhythmic bones.

My skeleton is made out of cables transporting poetic stones.

My soul will be kept in your brain's museum.

There i said it.

Ye i meant it.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Irony Abounds

On an unsinkable ship’s maiden voyage, it sinks.
The pastor who preaches against alcohol, drinks.
One’s surrounded by people, yet remains all alone.
Confessing sins to another, our sins get atoned?

A nation’s chief tax czar, who cheats on his taxes?
An animal lover hunts deer to relax.
Sing praise and kill humans, in the name of a God?
Destroying our enemies, lasting peace we applaud?

The lifeguard fearing water, who remains on dry land.
American foot...ball, is played with the hands.
A high school track coach, who's morbidly obese.
The steakhouse that's owned, by a vegan!

A priest preaching sermons on love, is a pedophile.
Repeat charity builds dependence, over time.
Nations war against drugs, while beer they endorse?
Adolf Hitler’s Grandmother, was Jewish!

Details | Irony Poem | |

Interalphabetnet sex stew



Primose path leads to the slaughter of American
dream delete pause proficiency with internetty
webbegone after thoughts of yahoo googleyed 
interred intracacises that shed benign capsules of
 mom entary apple pie delquiences cooling 
the soul shopping for the next alias avenue of
pointless me procurement mauling an ongoing
onerous dildodate vis a vie meme.com/me in 
an engaging omnipresence of sextext no tact
spell ckeck chicshicshakplak no sense tic tac.
Talk? Walk? Balk? Chalk? Sue? Sulk? 
Dinosaur diligence posse with the senior
gestages gestulating, we r forevre 21 and ying yang 
dung. Yes, good f ing luck with that!! Look at your 
petridish parents and see what box u check to lid close
and abscond with the lost liberal leftovers. That
is you in reverse in a few carnal years after Hilter youth
children decide to screw us as the new 
generation which skewer post present parental postulates 
to the oldster outhouse outlets so u can be "youf" free. Little
do they notknow as they cumulatively co opulate 
that they set the stooge stage for no thanx ahole actions. 
The DOS does'nt fall from the Apple tree. Leave it, 
love it, learn it while ye may, the kid crisp cosmos of
offspring social dicktates are biting at your heartbeatbit 
empty elmo enterprises. Pause parenatal prenatal
preferences prepearing perinatal persons pretasking
postnatal practices, in which you have veno papa preparation.
Think before you For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge and Analyze
your ass-incarnate initiate. Borrow berofe u basterdize, 
condomize before u copu culminate, decide before
u dicktate, envision before u envy, fail before u foil, 
grasp before u germinate, halt before u hinder, 
illuminate before u illerate, jump before u jinx, 
kill before u keep, love before u lay, meaning before
moaning, neutralize before u now, obilerate before
u ooops! presence before predicament, quit before
quake, resilience before ridiculous, sanity before
sexusensuality, thinkth before u thumpth, utilize
before u unionize, victory before victimization, we 
before want, xx nor xy, zen before zeal. Pocket 
passion files fly in the face of ruined reason residules
to the point of pronounced perplextion plagued 
prominantly with no recall references to problematic 
protocals for near north normalicies in my buckeye
life measures of simpatico silly symbiosis sublime
of mini me monophile mucous made misdemeanor
milktoast memories. Pass go, collect $200.



Details | Irony Poem | |

Call Me Insensitive

You call me insensitive,
But I don't believe that's true;
Because, you see,
It's all about me.
It's not about you.

You say your opinion doesn’t matter,
That I’ve no respect for your point of view;
But I do if we agree,
Because it’s all about me.
It’s not about you.

You say I’ve no compassion,
No feelings for your troubles or your blues;
But none of us is issue free,
And mine are all about me;
But…not about you.

A time old adage, 
“To thine own self be true.”,
Is all about choices you see.
My choices are all about me,
And, certainly, not about you.

So, when free or forced to make your choices
You’ll understand and know it’s true 
To decide what will or will not be,
Won’t be at all about me;
It will be all about you

But special moments confront each of us,
When what matters isn’t “Me”.
And while these moments are few,
They’re not about me, not about you.
For a time, it’s all about “We.”

Yes, “…no man is an island.”
Is a valid point of view;
But if it’s not about “We”, 
Then it’s all about me.
Sorry.  It’s not about you.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Beautiful Girl Yearning Heart

I awoke one cheery summer morn
and watched the gentle breeze waft the fields of ripening corn
At once I saw the peasant girl off the common
through the branches of white cherry blossom
hurry along the cinder path up yonder hill
to labour long day at the woollen mill.

As pretty as a blessed angel
as sweet as honey from a bee
I an admirer from afar who hast never noticed me.

And in my lonely velvet covered poster bed
In placental home I idle the hours away
so wrapped up in warm repose
I dream about her every night and day.

How I long to stroke her long hair
and nuzzle my weary head at her
heaving bustling breast
and breath in her  ripening alluring womeness.

By the old coach house inn
a field of purple heady lavender grows
a place where the butterflies flirt and dance
and on a star filled moonlit night
has seen many hastened romance
How I long to lay her down
and hold her in my gentle loving hands
and to the nightingales tune
explore the surface of soft ivory
illuminated by the moon..

I left a silver heart shaped locket
and a note wrapped in a posy
upon the path for her to find
I watched as she bent down
to pick it up and looked around
hiding behind the shuttered window blinds.

But she be only a lowly peasant girl
and I a man of nobility
it breaks my love struck  heart to know
our love can never be.



Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Jan.