Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


CreationEarth Nature Photos

Best Nonsense Poems

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

Search for Nonsense poems, articles about Nonsense poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Nonsense poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Nonsense Poems
Read Nonsense Poems
New Nonsense Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

New Nonsense Poems

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

Nonsense The Norm by Henderson, Steven
More Political Nonsense by Turner, Daniel
Political Nonsense by Turner, Daniel
Angsty Nonsense by Mileaf, Cole
Sporadic anomalies, thoughts becoming nonsense by LoBianco, Leonardo
Fussin', Cussin' and all that nonsense by Earnings, J. W.
nonsense rhyme by rassillon, liet
Santa Snickers-Nonsense Alley V by Shaw, Kimberly
I Fit Nonsense Together by Deremer, Pam
political nonsense by allen, jon

View all new Nonsense Poems

Poems are below this ad.

The Best Nonsense Poems

Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Word Piles

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” — Dr. Seuss

There was an old man, he was tattered.
He’d piled his words like it mattered,
all of his life
through trouble and strife,
while his wonderful wife, well, she nattered.

Oh why do you pile those words over there?
They’re taking up space much needed for air!
Forgive me my dear,
I like them quite near,
without them, I simply don’t care.

He pushed them and nudged them, those words that he loved,
but his missus attacked them, often ungloved.
The man only smiled,
which left her unstyled
like all of her wits had been shoved.

One bright summer day the man took to flight,
off to the place we often call night.
His wife was aghast
as she stared at the past
and those piles of words in her sight.

She sat in their midst, breathing a sigh,
missing her husband caused her to cry.
The silly old pest,
could only but jest,
she missed him, but didn’t know why.

Until she began to shovel and scoop,
all of those words piled like poop,
throughout her house
by her missing spouse.
The thought made her lips start to droop.

Suddenly a baby word drew up quite near
and nudged at her eye, releasing a tear,
which started a flood
turning words into mud
who then giggled out loud with good cheer!

Contagious it was—all of that mirth,
more precious than gold (what it was worth)
turning around
her well-practiced frown,
releasing a smile on the earth.

What she’d never known, what she’d never seen,
was, though he’d loved words, she was his queen.
The joy those words brought
was what he had sought,
to give to his wife who’d been mean.

Now she saw through the mud his bright smile,
amplified much by the pile,
full of whipples and wots
and twisted what-nots
plus words not used in a while.

The funny ones, much in disuse,
discarded and thought too obtuse,
pronounced with a quack,
or maybe a glack,
were enough to plant grins on a moose.

So she gathered those words with great care
She even put some in her hair.
They whispered to her
like a kitty-cat’s purr
and her smile made onlookers stare.

She threw out her lonely big bed
and slept on those word piles instead.
The man of her dreams,
although silly, it seems,
was the hubby she’d deemed loose at the seams.

Finally she really did love him, him and his odd-wording ways.
She reads his words without ceasing, on her many, colorful days.
Her nights are now filled with chatter
and nattering, nat-nat-nat natter.
Those words and hers, joined as one voice, singing a word-piler’s praise.



John Wulf  08-11-15 for Dr. Seuss Quote Prompt Contest

Copyright © John Wulf | Year Posted 2015

More great poems below...


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Hogwash

Twas a fine October morning,
one September, last July!
The moon lay thick upon the ground,
the mud shone in the sky!

The flowers sang so sweetly,
the birds were in full bloom!
As I hurried down the cellar steps,
to sweep the upstairs room!

The time was Tuesday morning,
on Wednesday, just at night!
I saw ten-thousand miles away,
a house, just out of sight!

Its doors projected backwards.
The front was at the back!
It stood alone, between two more,
and it was whitewashed black!

Amen

Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

My weakness

        GOD

Wondrous of many blessings.
Smiling never a frown.
My prayers, Lord, are  suddenly being ignored.
I've taken a tumble of  fallen down
Lord, my life was plain and simple  
How did it come to this?
Lord, now I carry a  burden so deep
A torn up life not easy to fix
Hard to get my prayers before I sleep
Bleeding only internally!
Feeling very minutely!
God, have you deserted me or is it me who deserted you?

God, my Lord, my savior, how could you abandon me?
Must I drown in my own sorrow?
Must I wake up like this today and tomorrow.
Why have you left me, or is it me who left you?

God, I need you like never before.
When I wake up,
When I head out the door.
Tormented in a mood ring of stock
Heavily my tears hit the floor.
God, do you not feel me, or is it me who no longer feel you?

God, what is your plan for me?
What things did I not see?
I asked for you to forgive me in my ways of sin.
Why do you let him provoke me?
Lord, I forbid for him to win.
Relieve me from his gutless pain.
God, do you not believe me, or is it me who no longer believe in you?

God, do you not hear my call
My pitiful excuses make me weak and small
In your eyes, I no longer feel tall
I remain cursed in every single fall
Lord, only you can break this wall
Do you not see me on my knees
Must I beg and crawl?
I am at your mercy, crying out with grief
Open the path to the lighted hall
O' Lord, the day you judge me before your throne
Please tell me it was a lesson for me to stand up on my own
God for now I will end this talk
With the dignity to never look back
I ask if you were there on my endless journey of a relentless walk?

By:PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

FOR MEN ONLY TWO - girls, no peeking

Boys, we gotta have a chat. Maybe over your way things are where they’re at… just like you like ‘em! Oh, she brings your beer, scratches your ear, wiggles her rear… and things are really, really good! But be honest boys. Do you play with her toys and does she make...noise? The way you thought she would? I mean, when we guys do the laundry, isn’t it a joy fondling her big machines? Yeah...it may be a ploy:-( But really men... it’s a piece of cake. Put the dirties in the tank and take yourself a break! The buzzer rings the dinger dings, move ‘em to the dryer just be sure to take the frillies out... before they catch on fire! Remember what I said? It’s a piece of cake! Until you hear those dreaded words... which make the man-cave quake!!! “Did you FOLD the laundry, dear?” Honey!!! Sweetie!!! Darling!!! What about permanent press? What about those great big drawers? NO, honey...not yours! I mean the ones in the “amoire*.” (*Sometimes those fancy words work on ‘em, you know that!) Now be honest boys you’ve had the lesson too on how to fold those clothes, next to girls...it’s mystery number two. How come all the labels say wash in hot or cold? Use the bleach or don’t, but not a single BLEEPING word...on how to do the fold!!! So she always folds her clothes, her way, after I am through. Makes me feel quite manly, ‘cause I fold my clothes, my way... what else can I do? But when I don my T-shirts with those silly slogans on the rear the wrinkles I’ve created make my best lines disappear! Boys... We’ve got it figured out at our house I hope that you do too. btw...Those creases she insists upon? Give me a better view.

Copyright © John Wulf | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Little Tree

Little Tree danced… acrobatic and erratic and emphatic frenetic! Little Tree danced… tossing and turning and swaying braying! the chaining winds of youth leading him in every direction at once. “Oh,” he cried, “I so want to spread my powerful branches to the corners of the earth! Please, please, PLEASE!” he begged the breeze, “Scatter my seeds to, to, to... TO EVERYWHERE!” Little tree shook so hard in his frantic fluffle it made all his cones fall on the ground ...right beneath him. Old Tree, watching, smiled. “Will be a while, but he will grow.” Little Tree, limbs limp at his side, pouted.

Copyright © John Wulf | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

A CountryWestern Song

The Drinkin Thinkin Song

>chorus

Darlin...

the reason I’m drinkin’ to forget... I can’t remember!
But I know it happened last June...or was it...September?
I can’t recall at all but surely it’s true...
                                                               ooh, ooh, ooh; ooh, ooh 
>spoken

Baby, if I’m drinkin’ to forget...
                                            it’s got somethin’ to do with YOU.

>refrain
                                                                        
Many things, like...

the first time when we first met —
me and a buddy had a bet...
Could I make it past your loaded second base?

Now, I sure had a thrill, 
while going’ in for the kill... 
until you smashed that bottle on my face!

Oh...and then...

there was our joyful weddin’ day.
You happy; Junior…on his way.
The first time you was late—right after our first date  
was the time I got all wrapped up in my fate!
 
                                      (your daddy’s shotgun sure made that a hot one)

Ah...but

how the years rush by…like dust in the wind.
Our make-ups make more babies — cousins for our kin.
My folks, they sure love you, but your folks do abhor— 
                             
the day my big old shadow, darkened their front door!

                                     (did I really say fat fanny about your old granny?)
>Bridge

You got me on the spot,
I forgot and you went squat,
it’s a damn primordial sin,
the toilet your tush fell in!

So I’m sittin’ here in this bar,
wonderin’ who made you the star,
starin’ holes in a bottomless glass
wonderin’ why I should kiss your a**!

But there is no doubt about it,
and to the world I'll shout it,
the reason I love you, I think…
you give me a damned good reason to drink!

>chorus

So Darlin....

The reason I’m drinkin’ to forget...I can’t remember!
But I do know it’s huntin’ season…in late December.
I can’t recall at all but surely it’s true…
                                                           ooh, ooh, ooh; ooh, ooh
>spoken

Baby, if I’m drinkin’ to forget...
                                               it’s got somethin’ to do with YOU.


                                                       (the boys in the bar think I’m a star)
~~~

Huh?  Wha’s that, buddy? She is?  Here?!! OH SH**!!
~~~
Well hello Darlin...
Wha’s that, baby?

No, baby, I never met that woman before...
ouch, ouch, stop that!
no baby, she just sat down on the stool next to me...

Oh, sweetheart, can’t we talk this over?

Say what?

The reason I can’t remember ain’t got a damn thing to do with September?
Could it be true? 
Wha?  
Nothing to do with you?

Ouch!!! Stop that darlin’ !!

Baby, you’re makin’ me look bad...

Leggo my ear!!!

Sweetheart...I  L O V E  you, baby!
~~~

Yeah, I’m comin’
Yeah baby...I know
Yeah, yeah, yeah

trash is full,
baby needs a new pair of shoes...
GD toilet is plugged...
New furniture!!!  What’s the matter with..

~~~

I’ll see you later boys...

Copyright © John Wulf | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

A Fine Flavor between lines

Is it Love
a simple bowl of ice cream
sweating from the heat
cherries on the top
huddled 'round and looking sweet
two little wooden paddles
pretend that they are spoons
as we sit beneath the stars
in the savor of the moon
your lips are all I see
as they caress them with a passion 
the cherries on your tongue
in a delightful playful fashion 
with our eyes intent and focused
in a stare of solemn trust
Is this ice cream truly love
or is it merely cherry lust

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

On Capers, Learnings and Such

At the tender age of ten, time does not exist
life, the juicy oyster, is hardest to resist
for a boy who watches Cowboy shows, fueling fiery dreams,
besotted by my plots and plans, I began to cook up schemes.

But not like my best buddy, Jack was his first name,
(not our Soupy-Poet Jack, but his mischief was the same).
Villains and heroes we played a bunch, to while away the days
Cowboys and Indians aplenty, unique in quarreling ways.

My pal Jack the dreamer.  Lord how he could plot!
I the lowly lemming, followed and got caught
in pursuit of grand adventures, clueless, unaware  
my back against a wall—the dreadful double-dog dare!

His mother of all schemes?  The stuff his dreams?
To rob a mail train, weird as it seems.
But not improbable,  because we lived by the tracks,
near the local station, (yes m’am... just the facts).

Sundance and Butch blew up a car, surely we could do no less.
Could we rob the Empire Builder,  without a great big mess?
As the engine murmured and sighed, astride a well-earned a rest
the porters loaded baggage, we watched disembarking guests.

Then we did the stealthiest sneak (ever!), along the northern side
clambered up the mail-car ladder, without even being spied.
“Reach for the sky!” we boldly yelled, startling the postal clerk
who sorted mail with practiced hands... nearby the gold did lurk.

Looking down the barrel of a cap-gun forty-four
he cast a nervous glance at a very distant door,
but could not feign bravado—we had him dead-to-rights—
any sudden move, he knew, and we would dim his lights.

He stammered, “Fa..fa..fa..fa..fellas... take it easy now,
we’ll have to see the Engineer, especially seein’s how
I alone can’t breach the vault, for I only have one key
and the engineer has one, it takes two of them, you see?”

So off we strode with him on point, our bluster burst aglow,
with him in front and us in back, it was the grandest show!
Little did we comprehend, a button had been pushed
ensuring a surprise for us, we soon would be ambushed.

My pal Jack had blundered.  Remember—it was his plan!
Inside the locomotive was a brave and mighty man,
not just a lowly hostler, but Casey Jones the third,
how quickly mettle turned to mush, when Casey said one word:

“FREEZE!” (...suckas) and “drop those guns, you dogs!”
(We didn’t pee our pants, but our brains were stripping cogs.)
“Sit down over there,” he said... did he try to squelch a smile?
We said, “YESSIR!” much in unison, and sat for quite a while.

Casey took our guns and told us not to move
heavily deflated, our day had lost its groove.
Mostly he ignored us and went about his work.
As our eyes parked on the floor, the train began to jerk.

We were moving! MOVING?!  Apple pie and jam!
Holy smokes and artichokes! How would we ever lam?
Our minds were set to fretting, our brows were set to frown.
The pride and joy of Jimmy Hill was heading out of town.

Like most tales of remembrance, this one’s out of hand
it’s time to wrap it up and on a happy ending land.
You see, a small town’s nothing, if not tightly knit
The hero, Casey Jones, was really Bob Dewitt.

The station master Wilbur, with Bob had made a pact
to teach us boys a lesson, on how we ought to act.
Wilbur called our mothers (horrors!), Bob applied the gas,
he set the throttle hard for a run up Lost Trail Pass.

On the other side of Lost Trail, a Westbound freighter waited
its fate and ours were soon to meet, up close and related.
Bobby stopped the train that day, (which was against the rules)
and transferred to the freight train, two silly little fools.

Grown ups laughed I’m sure of it, as us lowly villains pouted
the story of two lads a’thwarted, ‘round the town was shouted.
But, we got to ride up in the cab, of those brawny awesome trains
which both did conquer mountains, and roar o’er mighty plains.

Lesson taught.
                               Wisdom earned. 
                                                                Often I’ve looked back.

                     What is stuck inside my noodle?

 
                NEVER TRUST A GUY NAMED JACK!!!


notes:  The Empire Builder was the premier passenger train of the Great Northern Railway.  GNR was founded by James Hill who was known as "the Empire Builder."
The train is still in service, although it is now operated by AmTrak. Photos is courtesy of the Great Northern Railway Historical Society.

Copyright © John Wulf | Year Posted 2016


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

EmotionLess

      EMOTIONLESS

By morning wake
When the light in my face
I'm reminded of your disgrace!

How can I do this to myself?
How do I wish Calgon would take me away?
Will I ever wake like the melody of the Blue Jay?

What am I suppose to do?
Shut myself down from this misery?
Emotionless, because I am too weak to be strong

It's my fault for inviting
-he that dropped my heart from cloud nine
Well, I have nothing else to say.
Except, "life has no meaning, and here I am GONE!"
Emotionless

SKAT

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Met-a-Four

“Met-a-Four”


I “met a four”
when I was three
and oh the things
it did to me
and fingers counting
one-two- three.
When the four
brought in a five
all my counting fingers
came alive.
Reaching for the
other hand
said “times two”
is oh so grand.
They ran through
six, then seven – eight
danced with the nine
to celebrate.
Then the quantum leap
to ten
and shouts of 
let’s do it again.
Somehow the
ones and two and threes
increase in size
exponentially.
Still, my fingers are
mathematically smitten
seeking warmth
within a mitten.


John G. Lawless
12/4/2014

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Golden Dreams

The Leprechaun.

. 
Run, run, run as fast as you can...
I'm still gonna get you, my little green man...
I grabbed on to the gold buckle on his waist...
I held him down, with no time to waste...
I tied The Leprechaun to a hollow tree,
Broke off a branch and poked him on the knees.
I kept on poking him with a stick.
I kept nagging him to reveal his magic trick.

This little shamrock kid would not break.
He kept insisting THE LEPRECHAUN legend was fake.

This little odd dwarf kept lying about his mythical pot of gold. 
I kept repeating all the stories I've been told..  
Nagging him and nagging him~ FOR HIS POT OF GOLD!
He lied, about the fables, telling me his gold does not exist...
The Leprechaun refused to hear the clover list...


**** 

It's been 7 days!
And, still he won't give up, what's at the end of the rainbow. 
Tickling his little Eskimo toes,
Running feathers underneath his nose. 
"Look you little green treasure troll, I've captured you, and demand the gold!"
"You won't get me with your tricks!"
"So don't even try to outwit me with your silly MAGIC!" 

I suppose his silver-tongue, will have to do,
And the little gold buckles on his shoe.
I got tired of trying to make him see, my point of view.
I got a better deal and trade for a monkey at the zoo.
Now the lions are enjoying a Pot of Leprechaun Stew. 
After All! 
Nothing I did, made him unfold.
All I wanted was his pot of gold!

by;pd

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Just doesn't add up

Pythagoras once fell off a ladder
And landed on a venomous adder
This adder couldn't add
Calculus made it sad
Algebra and theorems made it madder.

Copyright © Nandita Das | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

SATAN OSCILLATE MY METALLIC SONATAS

*****To the naked EYE, this poem may seem like gibberish,
but I assure you it is loaded with 24 palindromes,
3 palindrome phrases, 1 hidden palindrome phrase,
and is chock full with enormous wordplay...
oh and one more palindrome in this description. 
Can you find more? I challenge you word freaks!*****


____SATAN OSCILLATE MY METALLIC SONATAS____

Last night, around eleven or so, I decided to paint a pink castle.
To my dismay, on display, is what looks more like a pink asshole.
Picasso would've been so proud!
Today, upon recording nothing short of a colossal debacle,
I've chosen to
utilize the eyes of a hostile apostle.
Tossing docile scribble, I'm scribing.
Describing life like a diatribe conniving REVIVER at a revival.

LIVE EVIL!

Palindrome EYE to the side of my tribe.
Get in line, standing at the hands of HANNA.

PULL UP.

RISE AND VOTE SIR!

EYE
LEVEL 
to 
NUN'S
BOOB.

WOW!

We OTTO-matically 
POP a PEEP at NOON!
DAD got so damn mad he DID the DEED
and split three XANAX with his MADAM and MOM!
(ALA the ABBA GIG way back in them AHA kookie KOOK days)

So anyways...
Back to peek hassle!
Do ya' think he might like ta' take a stab at my STATS?


*****(this was fun as fun can be:
hope you have half as much fun with it as I did:)*****

~JSLambert

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Mouse-Pig

I have a fat and furry friend
All pink and spotty black.
I grew him from some Camembert-
The smelly little Rat!

He is my very Mouse-Pig
For that’s his very name, 
Sometimes I call him Roger 
Just like his steptwin Shane. 

I like to give him all I can
Though humble poor are we.
I gave him a good character- 
2 slices for his tea. 

I love my little Mouse-Pig 
I love him like a pet. 
Sometimes I take him out for walks 
And sometimes to the vet.

I dare not let him venture far 
For fear he won’t come back. 
Last week he almost wandered off 
Without his packymac. 

‘You’ll catch your death- or even worse!’ 
I warned in worried tone. 
‘There’s things out there what likes to eat 
A Mouse-Pig far from home. 

‘Don’t worry Dad,’ he answered back 
In usual piggy chatter. 
‘If anyone should have a go 
I’ll cover them in batter!’ 

Then all at once, without a sound 
He sang with all his might. 
I’ve never heard a Mouse-Pig 
I said in wondrous sight.

‘That’s nothing Pa,’ he mouthed in tune, 
And leaping to his trotters
Declared as he flew flying off-
I’ll show those dirty rotters!’

‘Farewell my fat and furry friend,’
I bellied to the sky,
And turning one last time he squeaked,
‘I’m off to find my sty.’

And then he flew right out of sight, 
As far as I could see, 
And with a little shedding tear 
I went in for my tea. 

Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

I came Across A Jumpher

I came across a Jumpher
A jumphin’ up at me.
It wasn’t very springy
As far as i could see.

It tried to do someothersault,
Impressing like a tree,
But landed with a thumping thud
And hurt his only knee.

‘How come you like to ravel so?’
I bellied like a navel,
While on the other hand i plied
Some custard on a table.

‘I’m only giving all I’ve got-
A hundred miles an hour.
But if you take it at a trot
It soaks you with a shower.

‘I see,’ i said, came out my head,
And nodding fully clothed,
I asked if he’d seen Ninnynook?
A nose that knows no prose.

‘I likes to smell his gravy soup.’
He jumphered like a sweater,
Then driving like a five wheeled horse
Left home wrapped in a letter.

‘Good luck, you leaphing lunging loon.’
I mouthed in Granny’s gums
Then smiling like a holiday
I went to see my chums.

Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

The weeping fish orchestra

I once awoke into a dream
And there I saw a sight.
Adrift, a draft of Daffodils
Breezed on a hard day's night.

Still looking up and at the sky,
A Dandelions nest, 
Shone down like rays of Buttercups
Alighting up my vest.

“Hello,” I bellied up to it.
And smiling like a wave,
Hoped hoping as I climbed inside
That it was well behaved.

Abound with hobnail boot astride
It turned and travelled on-
Until it reached another place
Where I had not come from.

“It's like a well know strangers face,” 
I mused in thoughtish utter.
The one my Fatter used to wear
Before he ground my Mutta.

Then leaping like a jumping bean,
I landed open eyed,
And spied a sandy cobbled shore
where nothing did reside.

“How long,” I said, “have you been here?”
And in a mock reply,
It answered with a knowing look,
Then flew off on a pie.

Alone, I sat beside myself,
For company of course,
And listened while I hummed a song
In tones that made me hoarse.

And then, I swear, as fast as fast,
Beneath a sea of hands,
An orchestra of weeping fish
Grab grabbed me from the sands.

They sat me on a flying Whale
That soared beneath the sea,
And took me home to where he lived
To make us both some tea.

“Oh, what a lovely Plaice you have,”
I told him over grubber,
And with that, getting on all fours
He let me pull his udder.

“Please don't do that!” A Fishcake cried,
“You don't know where he's from.”
But having learned this lessen once
I noticed I had gone.

Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Lucky Numbers 2, 10, 24, 65, 93

You don’t know this but
we’re all ISBN’s. At birth,
we’re tattooed across our asses
with barcodes, ID tags, social security numbers.
The only doctors allowed
to perform this surgical move
were trained in suits and sunglasses,
were handcuffed to computer suitcases,

held galas in mansions in the hills
of Virginia, roamed secretly through tunnels
beneath Abe Lincoln’s feet, they infiltrated
every hospital, mandated staff to hand over
the key cards. Don’t be alarmed.

Chocolate brownies can still
hold good dreams, peanuts, and marijuana.
This information should not stop you,
you wondered before about those
seven digits printed across the tops of your pay stubs,
didn’t you? And the 48906 signature on every document
from your university.

Yes, you see now. All along,
that tattoo on your soul numbers destiny:
one of the numbers stands for the birthday
of your child, one for the day your parents will find
cancer sinking its teeth in their osteoperostic bones,
and one lists the street address of the building
you will die in. The hospital’s phone number
is merely a set of numbers. Ask them

what they’ve done to you, and they’ll shrug
their white-collar shoulders.


To view this poem on my blog, visit http://wordsareaneed.blogspot.com/2014/12/lucky-numbers-2-10-24-65-93.html.

Copyright © Kelsey May | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Don't Read This Sober

Twas a fine October morning,
one September, last July!
The moon lay thick upon the ground,
the mud, shone in the sky!
The flowers, were singing sweetly
and the birds were in full bloom!
As I, walked down the cellar steps,
to sweep the upstairs room!
The time was Tuesday morning,
on a Wednesday, just at night!
I saw ten thousand miles away, 
a house just out of sight!
The door projected backwards,
the front, was at the back!
It stood alone, between two more,
and it was whitewashed black!

Sorry, Soupers, I just had to
get that out of my system!

Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2013


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

No Sleep

A tired young man with no sleep
Heard it would help to count sheep
Made his way up to ten
But got scared by a hen
And the big stick of Little Bo Peep

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

New Age Poetry For The Silly Masses

New Age Poetry For The Masses


0' WOW! I can write like this too
emotions, deep emotions spilling
 on my keys!
Hot butter oozing in my brain
Midnight the sun shows to effect
Bus ride today was brutal,
old tramp begged for a dollar,
I tossed in a quarter and smiled!
There was a dark stain on my shoe
O' LOOK! Heart cracks in tune.
And daisy cried ALL NIGHT.....

Words, words squiggles that be so crazy
My ramblings impress the fools.
My night is boring and I am word lazy.

Signed, rambling heart on my sleaze.

10-10-2015

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Stuck on You

I used to be free
Acrobatics in the air
I would soar with flair
From here to way over there
Fly away
Into my dreams
Free as the air that brushes by me
Anywhere I could be
Whatever tickles my fancy
I could be the fly on the wall
Or the annoying one
Tickling life and all of you
Laughing as I fly so free
Oh how I could dance in the skies
Landing on buffets to delight my eyes
Feasting on gourmet of french cuisine
Life so joyous from high in the skies

So one day my life came crashing down
You imprisoned me to the flyers pound
I could not escape you have me well bound
Now I struggle my life is on ground
No more flying, no more freedom
I am now all tied up and
Stuck on you
To my death I will hate this fate
Regretting the day you and I made that date
Landing on you was death in black
You are the one to steal my last breath
You are……..
Flypaper
I, the Fly

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Spooks were making love



                  Spooks were making love their bones were clattering
                       Fresh in after death sex they were a prattling
                                 They missed the first session
                                   How to spook the passion
                 And slipped to their graves skulls down saber rattling










          Spooks were making love© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 14 November 2014

Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

My hovercraft is full of eels

I'll try to tell you without my usual cant
that all I wanted was to go sailing with
Sherry Saturday morning but I can't!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

The watchman phoned when I was lying  
in bed to notify me of this.
I was shocked to find he wasn't lying!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

My good-will has been weakened
because of this horrid event
which completely ruined my weekend.
My hovercraft is full of eels!

These morbid creatures are serious
party-poopers. Remember!: Their
electricity is deleterious.
My hovercraft is full of eels!

My beloved Birthday present invaded by
these heinous monsters! I will have to buy  
a new one 'cause to this one I must say bye!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

Ghastly! You don't know how this feels!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

Copyright © Ivo Cosentino | Year Posted 2014


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

Rhubarb

I put my shoes on back to front
to step into the past,
sent my watch by express mail
to make the time go fast.
Wrote 'atom' down as 'mtao'
just to generate unclear fusion,
told my friends I wasn't there
but an optical illusion.
Put my head on upside down
for a thicker head of hair and no beard,
when you can't think of topics for a piece of verse, then
what the hell- 
do weird.

Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2015


Details | Nonsense Poem | |

fifty shades of grey 2 - follows Jan

Some just dream in colored things.
of Queens with sails or Kings with wings
but one will greet the day
on simple shades of grey
oh see the way her heart just sings

Copyright © John Wulf | Year Posted 2015