Best Comic Poems
Some don't think I'm funny
But that's not true at all
Others think I'm serious
Although I'm having a ball
I have a sense of humor
Even though it is my own
I sometimes laugh quite loudly
Mostly when I am alone
When I see other's antics
It's not my wish to be rude
So I listen to each word
And to their actions I am glued
I keep my thoughts to myself
Most of the laughter is inside
For my inner comedian
Is the one enjoying the ride
All my gathered material
The observations I have made
Conversations and actions
In my mind are all replayed
By reading my words with intent
You'll witness the humour within
My methods are somewhat subtle
For my content is paper thin
Mr. Meow Our Kitty Comic
While talking to our neighbor one day
Our cat Mr. Meow rubbed up against my leg
“Oh there is Saffron.” our neighbor said
“No, No, you must be misled
That is our tabby cat, Mr. Meow”
The neighbor shook her head and raised her eyebrow
“He has lived with us for about a year
We call him Mr. Meow since meowing is what we constantly hear
He followed my husband around the yard one day
We thought he was a stray and decided to let him stay”
“No, he was born next door
With several brothers and sisters on the shed floor”
Just then mama kitty walked up to Mr. Meow and they rubbed noses
Our yards were separated by a few trees and a bed of roses
“We got all his shots at the vet”
“We did too the day after we met”
We started laughing and our neighbor said, “What a little comic mess
Saffron alias Mr. Meow, the little con can be your cat I guess”
Mr. Meow, we discovered was a comedian
My husband and I were his biggest fans
To get our attention he would do a little prance
A hunched back like a Halloween cat dance
Many a day he brought us gifts, birds and rabbits
Without success we tried to break his serial killer habits
Laughing at him was what he liked most
Of course, he could be distracted by a piece of pork roast
During his sixteen years he learned to sit on command
He seemed to realize our dog Boodro got treats if he obeyed demands
We can't help but smile as we think of him
Our beloved tabby comic who always made us grin
Lil Abner
There was never a feature in all the world,
Like "Lil Abner" for chasing the blues,
It takes this romantic comic strip,
To really make the news!
I'm always quite excited when our
"Press" lands against the door,
To see if "Lil Abner",
Is alive and well once more!
Every venture he undertakes,
I trot along too!
For in my imagination,
We find lots of things to do!
Now you may not agree with me
On a comic strip so small,
But "Lil Abner" still remains,
My "favorite" of them all. . .
Trying to fall asleep in Spring,
I found the trick of counting sheep,
Grazing in flocks and wandering,
Could not succeed in bringing sleep,
Following one another too,
Bleating meanwhile, and eyeing me,
They sauntered by, as all sheep do:
I watched them, counting patiently.
In Spring’s lush pastures so sublime,
It seemed that every flock would grow,
Filling the fields at lambing time,
In numbers more than I could know,
No rest would come, no pillowed bliss:
I saw there was no end to this.
Greg Davies is my secret crush
He appears in my fantasies
With his dreamy azure eyes
And a dazzling smile
Greg Davies is the man of my dreams
An accomplished actor is Greg
A stand up comedian and host too
Indeed, he is a talented man
Entranced by his demeanor
I watch with fascination
As I cool myself down with a fan
Greg has silvery grey and white hair
Sexily flicked back with perfection
My hands yearn to run through it
Cup his face with my hands
Gaze into his sapphire eyes with affection
Sexy and clever too is Mr Davies
An ex teacher of English and drama no less
A welsh born beauty with brains
I wish I had been one of his students
Attending his lessons in various forms of undress
A bit of role play please and thank you Sir
I would be really naughty at school
Placed over his knee
Punished and spanked
Break all the rules deliberately
I want to feel every inch of his perfect frame
Stroke the places he likes to be touched
Feel his large hands on my quivering body
I sound completely cuckoo
But I assure you I am just in lust
This is one man I want down on me
No in-betweeners in between
He has size fourteen feet
And girls
We all know what THAT means!
He can be my Taskmaster
Or a master of a different kind
I would give him total submission
He can fire his cheesy balls straight into my open mouth
He can do what he wants, I don’t mind
I need his body wrapped around mine
His luscious lips I crave to kiss
Stroke his sexy chest
Massage him with oils
Just to meet him would be bliss
With a hint of a Welsh accent
His voice is divine
He is a man I would love to meet
The perfect parcel
Over two metres tall
I wish Greg Davies was mine
Any woman would be lucky to have him
His is a Taurus
The most sensual sign
Handsome beyond belief
I am sure “Eight out of ten cats” would agree
Greg Davies is gorgeousness personified
Dazzled by Superman,
Batman
and the Human Torch
She walked the streets
of the city
and was left behind
by time
She saw the gray urban environment
and believed that
superheroes should spring
up
from behind every door
No Archie here
just a bleak
landscape
until riotous colors
explode - leaving behind a fistfull of memories
You are the stuff my culinary dreams are made of.
Unending shapes and sizes.
From skinny linguini to the rounded orecchiette
and squiggly fusilli.
As my tongue tastes morsels of your saucy tubular goodness,
I compose a rhyme of the ancient marinara to atone
for my over-the-top pasta love.
Stuffed, plain, buttered. Swimming in Sunday sauce.
The tastiest were those plain whites I pilfered from the pot
before nonna caught me. Whack! with the wooden spoon.
It’s rumored my very first uttering was mangia – an oft-heard word
spoken by mama as she attempted to feed me.
“You’re going to turn into a rigatoni
if you don’t eat something else,” she implored.
Ha! If I were a rigatoni, we’d be cugini.
I only liked you, beautiful al dente you.
And semolina only, please. I accept no impastas!
You’ve been with me through thick and thin,
mostly thick ... around my hips.
Late night comfort snack,
midday bowl of depression-busting goodness.
The breakfast of strong Italian women!
You are Sophia Loren’s guilty pleasure.
Mine, too. With the emphasis on pleasure.
One bite and I am transported back to childhood.
Visions of homemade pasta drying on pristine
white flour sack towels tantalize my taste buds.
You, dear pasta, are la bomba.
My love for you is unending, until we all farfalle down.
Written by Gail DeBole
On December 8, 2021
Updated on February 6, 2025
Before his fans entered the funeral’s door
They all read a sign that they couldn’t ignore.
The sign listed rules to be followed by his fans
Who had come to show respect for this funny man.
He wanted to make sure his mourners stayed safe.
To not follow these mandates would not help their fate.
Before they could enter to pay their respects
The first request was to all disinfect
By cleaning their hands with sanitizer provided
While social distancing six feet - they were all reminded.
Everyone had to show a card that proved
They were vaccinated at least times two.
They were all to wear masks to filter the air
In case Covid was in attendance there.
The comic - so funny while he was alive
Couldn’t resist entertaining even after he died.
Lying very still in a handsome blue suit
The comic exuded humor even though he was mute.
And as each person approached the casket to say a goodbye
Some laughed or you could see a smile in their eyes.
For the comic was lying there even in death
Wearing a face mask to not be a threat!
From early to late
All the people came and went
Friendly groups they were.
One day in mid June, in far off Rangoon.
The hand drawn baboon, a comic cartoon,
Was flown to the moon, by hot air balloon.
Then late afternoon, while in his pontoon.
A massive monsoon, blew like a typhoon.
He fired his harpoon, what's next! sometime soon.
4/ 28/ 2017.
( The last adventure of baboon continued )
With Mayday maroon, tied to his galoon
He ditched his cardoon, but ate the dried prune.
It was oppotune, with some good fortune.
He missed a sand dune, and surfed the lagoon.
Then with a soup spoon, rowed home to Cancun.
He now plays basoon, in some old saloon.
This was added after the contest was judged.
The first of May twenty seventeen.
He was a Blacksmith
He made swords for the movies
Tall, strong and brawny.
The Keystone Cops were funny,
Chaplain, Keaton, Lloyd, and Fields too.
Laurel and Hardy, and Will Rodgers,
Were just some of the names we knew.
Who can forget the Stooges,
Or all the pies we saw them throw?
Who didn't laugh at the Brothers Marx,
Or Abbot and Costello?
Berle, Caesar, Skelton, Crosby and Hope,
Could always bring a tear.
So could Allen, Paar, Kovacs, and Carson,
As we guffawed ourselves to the floor.
Gleason had Carney, Martin had Lewis, Lucy had Desi,
George had Gracie, and Burnett had her crew.
While Cosby, Pryor, and Murphy,
All taught us to laugh anew.
Cohen, Benny, Youngman, Diller, Rickles, Hackett, and Winters,
Are some of the names we recollect.
Everyone fell out of their chairs,
When Rodney "Got no respect"!
Today we have Billy, Whoopi, Robin, and Dave,
Leno, Rodriguez, Wallace, Jeni, Wright, and too many more to name.
But each still works to bring us laughter,
Today, their job's the same.
They poke fun at life's human side,
As did the jester who first began the gaff.
So when the comic entertains us with his work,
All we can do is laugh.
They see laughter and hear our smiles,
Whether they are "Stand Up" or "Situational" workers.
They take the pulse of every audience,
To see if there are any shirkers.
But "Laughter is the Best Medicine",
A saying that is all but true.
So, don't be afraid to let your bellyaches come from laughter,
When a comic entertains for you.
Limericks crochetés: Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump
Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump
Made father’s money jump during slump
Dreamed of ruling this earth
Joined campaign (in) stand-up mirth
Made people laugh without using trump.
He played to the gallery hirsute
Soon his jokes turned sauerkraut through soot
Before long they cried : Heil !
Jackboots clicked, people wail
In goose-step, give : Sieg ! Heil ! salute.
Moral : « Listen not to funny man Dump !
Migrants all know how to scale wall jump.
Ten million there love US
Minus some (who) think like louse !
Live not solipsistic world on rump ! »
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
The irony of mother nature
Posed with forefathers of Africa
Is the stature of comic posture
When proud butterfly in beauty
Dances on defecation of ugly donkey
Seeking the normalcy of natural reality
From obnoxious comedy of derogatory ignominy...
Step right up unto the latest craze
Doe bank baby trying to escape
Big buck's double digit haze ?
A phenom horned in sound
Sweeping across its banks
Her plastic hobo clowns.