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Best Fun Poems | Poetry

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

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The Best Fun Poems

Details | Fun Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Ice Cream

''Like Ice Cream''

Having ice cream with you, 
Brightens the entire portrait in my youth.
Like catnip for a cat 
-- the     Reese's    fun never stops!
Like monkeys in a zoo, above a tasty sherbet treetop.

Ice Cream with you!
How sweet,  the imagery of 31 different treats 
Cold butter and  salty Placid water, with the works 
Amaretto peaches, and slushy sauce  --- twerk
Dandelion haven- above a marshmallow rocky road
Fireflies flicker around the fresh Lemon Drop Sky
A delightful sundae breeze on the crest of my tongue 
 Soft frozen chocolate dessert, nothing can go amiss 
Ice Cream with You!
So many to choose from, 
Savor the delicious flavor 
---of Butterscotch homemade rum

There's no other place I'd rather be
Lost Inside this forever hazel mint joy scenery 
The ultimate indulgence in one icy bite
A cream coconut cherry delight 
-served on the side with apple pie
In a cup, on a cone, my vanilla waffle boy 
Everything-- about-- you-- roams free 
like tubs of ice cream dreams

Listen to the sound of soft sprinkles cinnamon
The happy feeling that melts when you're around
I'm packing a giant scoop of Ice Cream from your heart

Adoring and Embracing Life
Every time you say the words
...I love you...


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Please, Pull Up a Chair

I’d like you to bring me a dinner for two -
A serving for me and a serving for you.
I’ll order up something that we two can share.
Please bring it, then sit with me! Pull up a chair!

We’ll start with a salad. I hope you won’t mind 
this salad will be of the specialty kind, 
the kind made of rainchokes and fiddlehead roots,
and topped with wassava and sharkflower shoots. 

And after our salad, we’ll have the main dish:
some Teek Bourguignon, or lardines if you wish
See, it just doesn’t matter what food that we eat,
as long as you join me! Please, pull up a seat!

Then after our meal, some dessert will be nice;
I’ll order us up some sweet cragberry ice!
We’ll top it all off with some coffee flown in 
especially from the small island of Dwin.

I’ll thank you, dear waiter, for serving my needs;
I’ll tip you with plenty of Dol-yapper seeds
For, you see, I don’t eat alone, not anywhere!
So bring it, then sit with me! Pull up a chair!  

Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2017

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Poetry Soup Pals

Heidi was one of the first to "March" in with greetings
Then, on "Wind," Gershon came along, his praises a song
But now since he's gone, I wish him well in his meetings
Then Pat, the Limerick King
always gives me a smile
And there's Line, the Canadian Queen
Her short verses linger quite a while
Maureen's quick wit, captivating
Jan's dragonfly imagination, illuminating
Nina's encouragement of my "Silly Words"
Her verses shine and soar like a bird's
Eve is generous with hugs and accolades
Susan G's talent earns top grades
Kim R is like great coffee - strong and sweet
Mark T's works stand tall and complete
Caren with a C, you inspire me
Let's do lunch the next time I'm in K.C!
For all friends, old and new, I just want to say thank you
For re-igniting my passion for poetry, anew-

Copyright © Michelle Faulkner | Year Posted 2018

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If You Weren't Such a Nut Meg

She had so many chances
     Yet she kept muffin it up
Butter intentions were good
     Just not much coffee in her cup

Couldn’t make a good decision
     Too much waffling back and forth
Always peppered with doubt
     Should she head south, no maybe north

Still, she was fun at a party
     I would say, hummus a tune
She’d say, Icing because I’m happy
     As the words began to croon

Maybe that’s what’s most important
     Omelet let her off the hook
So she’s always in a pickle
     Doesn’t do things by the book

Once again, I’m gonna help her
     Since she is such a good egg
I said, girl, you’d go much farther
     If you weren’t such a nut Meg

Copyright © Mike Gentile | Year Posted 2017

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A Concrete Snowman

                                                    THE BLACK
                                                    SATIN HAT
                                                    SAT TIGHT
                                        ON THE YOUNG MANS BALD
                                                    HEAD. HIS 
                                                EYES BLACK AS 
                                            NIGHT STARED INTO
                                              NOTHINGNESS. IN 
                                                 FRONT OF HIM
                                                      WERE 3
                                              PATHS WHERE THE
                                           CHILDREN HAD ROLLED 
                                         PATCHES OF GREEN GRASS 
                                          STUCK THROUGH PACKED
                                                FREEZING SNOW.
                                        IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS FACE
                                A CROOKED CARROT POINTED TOWARD 
                            THE HOUSE WHERE CHILDREN SAT LOOKING
                             OUT THEIR WINDOW AT THEIR NEW FOUND
                              FRIEND. HIS BUTTON MOUTH SHAPED FOR
                                HIM TO LOOK HAPPY SEEMED TO SMILE 
                                  AT THEM AS THEY STARTED TO BLOW
                                       KISSES AT THEIR WONDERFUL 
                                                  NEW SNOWMAN.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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Doggy Style

The eighties set fashion on fire,
That’s why it’s the look I desire!
So I’ve nailed it, long-term,
With a hot poodle perm,
Just like Brian May, Cher and Mariah.

Showed my stylist a photo of Whitney
She went ever so pale very quickly,
She got acid and bleach,
Three big drumfuls of each,
And some creosote. “Yes!” I cried, “Hit me!”

She slathered me, crisped me like crazy,
I said, “Hold up the mirror! Amaze me!”
And - woohoo and way-hay!
I was Jennifer Grey,
Ripe ‘n’ ready to woo Patrick Swayze!

But then - it all got rather strange,
For my poodle perm started to change, 
Seems its poodle-dog mind
Was not noble or kind -
It was dirty, debauched and deranged!

My friends weren’t impressed. They’d cry “Wowzers!”
As my perm tried to dry-hump their trousers,
It would steal all their shoes,
Roll in animal poos -
I was banned from their elegant houses.

But soon they were howling with laughter,
It would jump in the lake - I’d go after!
Chasing kitties for kicks,
Going crazy for sticks,
My new perm was a doggy disaster! 
It would seek other perms! It would spot em,
Bound up close, and then sniff round their bottom!
This all got me in trouble,
With Bon Jovi’s double,
Who called the police, which was rotten. 

So now I’m awaiting the chop,
Down at “Woofterz”, the dog-grooming shop.
Well, I’ll no longer feel,
Like a smokin’ Brooke Shields,
But at least all the lawsuits will stop!

6 May 2018
For Maureen McGreavy’s Contest “Tiger Lilies, Dandelions and Bearberries Oh My!”

Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018

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Fun In The Sun

And the people are singing,
the parade has just begun.
People singing and dancing
we are having fun in the sun.
I hear the trumpets loudly playing,
to the beat of the big base drum.
The people they are loudly singing,
let's all have fun in the sun.

For one face I am searching,
I cannot see it anywhere.
As we turn the corner dancing,
there is your glory standing there.
The joy of what is happening,
fills my heart with the beat of the drum.
The sun, its light is smiling,
while we all have fun in the sun.

Take my hand and we'll be dancing,
today all blues will be put on the run.
We are having fun a-moving,
We're all having fun in the sun.
How fast our hearts are beating,
as we're moving to the beat.
Love's song it keeps repeating,
as we all dance down the street.

What if the moon were shining?
stars were out in the velvet sky.
A new song our hearts singing,
On golden wing they would come to fly.
But this is day, sun is beating,
as people now begin to run.
the sea it is welcoming,
when we're having fun in the sun.

We are both having fun in the sun,
the day has truly now begun.
Let us play now in the sea,
you shall have your fun with me.
There is joy and laughter all around,
the song of joy is a happy sound.
Come into my arms on the run,
boy we'll have some fun in the sun.

Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2018

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D-Day in Malta:::co-write

We met in Valletta city on a fine November day
Introductions...hugs and kisses; we got talking straight away.
All agreed to go sight-seeing – architecture , harbour view
Made a stop to buy an ice-cream where there is a constant queue .
We strolled on and at Cordina’s chose al fresco to sit down
Next to regal Queen Victoria, a stone lady with a crown.
Drinks were ordered and pastizzi, which were followed by some cakes
Freshly baked and appetizing, all adorned with chocolate flakes.
We were served by cherub Fabio busy running out and in
Second time the badge said Mario, then we found that he’s his twin.
Jan and hubby soaked the sunshine, the Calluses hugged the shade
Those around spoke multilingual, a musician plied his trade.
We stayed there and spoke for ages, watched the tourists walking by.
Valentina took our photos; she is young and sweet as pie.

Jan and Bob will be returning in two years on Malta’s shore
Although Maurice has predicted it will be a year before!
They will then be celebrating married bliss with silver ware
All on Soup will be invited; this occasion is to share.
That’s a promise made for keeping – friends will meet for sure once more
We shall have some cake and snickers; sweet surprises lie in store!

Fun poem ~ co-written by Paul-Jan-Valentina  on 2/11/2014

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

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She collected sea shells, I collected sand - Repost

She collected sea shells, I collected sand She collected sea shells, I collected sand She searched for the perfect one I reached down my hand I carried a bucket A basket she did whirl Mine was filled with tiny grains Hers with mother of pearl She came out each morning Me, just late at night She adored the sunrise I loved the moon light Then one day it happened My alarm clock didn’t ring I woke to a rising sun It was the weirdest thing I ran down to the shoreline My bucket in my hand It’s then I saw her gorgeous face While I collected sand I found a perfect seashell And watched her eyes grow wide She held out her basket I placed the shell inside Then she reached down before me And gathered in her hand I held out my bucket She filled it up with sand And now each day and evening We walk along the shore She told me that she loves me And her I do adore So if you see us out there Strolling hand in hand Know...she’s collecting sea shells And I’m collecting sand This is one I posted when I first arrived here, I thought I'd share it again. :)

Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017

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pun with eggs

Benedict was tired, he’d been driving all day.  
This was his last delivery, 2 tonnes of eggs delivered to Safeway.  
The kid came out of nowhere, stared Benedict in the face,
He tried to brake, then swerved, in the wrong place.

The scene was chaos, emergency services scramble into action,
Ambulance officer, Florentine put Benedict’s legs into traction,
loaded him in the ambulance and quickly whisked him from the site.
The bystanders hoped that Benedict would be all white!

Sergeant Skillet arrived on the scene, he was feeling a little queasy.
A witness came forward and told Skillet the truck went over easy.
Skillet gleefully took a statement, finally a case he could crack.
He poached a pen from Constable Quiche, wrote it down on his back.

The clean up took some time, it was a delicate operation.
The fire brigade, were walking on “eggshells”, had been since they left the station.
Scene commander, Dumpty, directed the crew from a nearby wall.
If things went wrong, he knew he’d be the one to take the fall.

A nearby, protest group, trying to shake loose the yoke of oppression,
were called over to help, clean the streets, for these young folk a good lesson.
It’s not all about being self, centred from the cradle to the casket.
And to remember the old adage, Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. 

Copyright © old man emu | Year Posted 2017

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I Wish I Was An Octopus

I wish I was an... octopus, Way down in the depths of the sea, With suckers so comical, face diabolical, Kooky as kooky can be! Hurray! Hurray! I’d be jetting away! As I flunged through the shimbly sea, Confounding all others by changing my colours, An octopus’ life for me! A cephalopod who looks awfully odd, A freak with a beak, tee hee! I’d never more moan, “ooh, the pain in me bones!” Cos I’d be an invertebrate, see! Hurray! Hurray! I’d be wafting away! As I flooped through wurgly sea, Squeezing through cracks with a curious knack, An octopus’ life for me! If you crossed me, I think I would squirt you with ink, How I’d laugh as you scarpered from me! I’d be sly, I’d be smart, but I’d have a great heart, No - better than that... I’d have three! Hurray! Hurray! I’d be creeping away, As I scrundled down deep in the sea, I’d not hunger for much - for I’d taste all I touched! An octopus’ life for me! Us humans are gringey, our lives dull and dingy, What cloddery beings we be! I’d rather be flexible, waving my tentacles, Flubbering curiously! Hurray! Hurray! I’m dreaming away, Of a life in the glorpical sea, As a creature of splendour, a freak show contender, An octopus’ life for me!
3rd May 2018 For Viv Wigley’s Contest “I wish I was a...” 1st Place

Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018

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That's Some Trick

Bewitched again by autumn's laggard spell
Like alchemy, green leaves are turned to gold
Although the summer still has dreams to sell
I watch fall's silent sorcery unfold

Brisk morning breezes hint of coming cold
Forgotten are the yellow daffodils
The grass is brown where robins once patrolled
Who now, I'm sure, are sunning in Negril

And yet it seems leaves change almost at will
As fall performs his yearly slight of hand
Replacing summer heat with twilight chill
And leafy green to russet on demand  

While autumn draws attention from my eyes
It tricks me not to notice how time flies

    by Daniel Turner
Negril is a tourist destination in Jamaica 

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017

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Americans Can't Spell

You Americans really can’t spell,
There, I’ve said it out loud - what the hell!
Though we all recognise,
And, yes, humour your tries,
Well, the fact is, you’ve failed to excel.

It would seem, as the language has travelled,
That the mould has set in - it’s unravelled,
Cataloguing your gaffes,
Could take aeons perhaps,
If I ploughed through them all, I’d be frazzled!

Don’t apologise! Don’t take offence!
It’s quite difficult, in your defence,
But, my friends, with some rigour,
And fervour, and vigour,
Your progress could be quite immense.

So if vast stateside skies appear grey,
Or the lustre has gone from your day,
You could try drinking cider, 
Say prayers! Eat more fibre! 
Or.. try spelling stuff the right way!

Good night my fabulous American cousins.
You know I love you all x x x

(Oh the irony... as I submitted this, I had to tick the category named “humor” ;-D)

Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018

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A Rattling Rhyme

Words can be whimsical, a merry-go-round
They run in a circle, they go up and down
They play hide-and-seek until they are found
Look how quickly the little ones grow!

Words can seduce like a sizzling dance
They'll perplex the complex, if given a chance
They're as sincere as England, as sexy as France
As reckless as the caution they throw

Words can get tipsy if taken too much
The pretentious go on and on about such-and-such
The brutish ones can bail you out in a clutch
The foolhardy don't know they don't know

Words can be gossips who can't wait to gab
Words can be lavish and leave you the tab
Words can covertly steal and grab
Their guile is only for show

Words can impulsively issue a dare
Words can react with extravagant flare
But words must always be handled with care
When timing's too slow, for words on the go

Look how quickly the little ones grow!
As reckless as the caution they throw
The foolhardy don't know they don't know
Their guile is only for show
When timing's too slow 
For words on the go-


Copyright © Michelle Faulkner | Year Posted 2018

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Troop-troop-a-troop, into line, bright-eyed poets,
There’s one way to write now! We’ve told you! You know it!
Don’t mention your heart or your soul, don’t go aching
Or rhyming, or metring, or feeling or breaking
the rules! There are RULES! Did you not get the email?
Don’t make pretty stanzas, you cretins, you’ll derail
the cold, sniffy wagon of leading-edge writing,
You simile sinners! We’ll not be inviting
such boneheaded blah-bags of beauty to dinners,
Don’t look at the shortlists! Don’t talk to the winners,
who spoke of their sadness through sickbags, urinals
and corpses and dentures and came to the finals
In irony-beards – look at you with your normal!
You speak of your children – unspeakably awful!
Who wants to read that! You are scrap-heap deluded,
See, NO-ONE got published by rhyming like you did,
Or, even worse, laughing... don’t laugh! We want litter
and entrails and filth, we want messed up and bitter!
Your poems are passé; you ought to destroy them...
What do you mean, people seem to ENJOY them?? 

29 October 2018
For Creative Conformity Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless

Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018

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The Elves Snow Party

Away up north where it’s snowing they say
the elves are preparing for Christmas day.
Big elves little elves, busier than bees
All building toys, for under Christmas trees.

Some work with hammers others building bikes,
some riding through the room on brand new trikes.
Tiny elf voices ringing loud and clear,
everyone’s full of love and Christmas cheer.

Suddenly the chatter stops; all are still,
Santa walked in the room with book and quill.
Looking down at his book, Santa Clause stared,
then lifted his eyebrows as he declared,

Today I looked inside my books
and I found that we are ahead,
and thought because you worked so hard 
we shall all go outside instead.
Misses Claus made lots of sweet treats
so let’s all eat and be hearty,
for today here at the North Pole
all elves shall have a snow party.

Quick as a wink the elves they disappeared,
Santa just smiled as he tugged at his beard.
Laughing he watched his little friends scatter
and soon the mountains echoed with laughter.

Snowballs were flying, snowmen taking form,
and hot chocolate kept little elves warm.
They were sledding, skiing, skating all day,
see, elves aren’t simply, all work and no play.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
Contest: Children’s Christmas or Holiday Tale
1st place

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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Poetry Soup Kitchen

-Poetry Soup Kitchen-

Grab your aprons and spoon
Today we will not think of the stars and the moon,

Open your eyes, be grateful for all we have
Together we can paint the world
In any which way we desire

Let's give, live and celebrate the New Year
Poetry Soup Style
Happy New Year 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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The Flight of Bebo

Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings 
'cause he knew he must try

There were two other birds 
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb

It must be so hard 
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me

I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?

Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor 
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever

He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings

Bebo worked hard all week 
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair

With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?

The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high

Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight 
just get up there, you'll see

Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see

The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly

From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight 
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight

Copyright © Roger Horsch | Year Posted 2013

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My Wish

Hello Ms. Johnson, I’m sure this sounds strange
our mutual friend, said you need a change.
She told me how hard you work every day, 
come home to your children, no time for play.

Your husband left you without any money
and traded family, for tainted honey.
You work as a nurse, working hard for each dime,
yet nothing’s left over at holiday time.

A holiday spent solely enjoying life,
playing with your kids no worry and no strife.
this dream keeps you going, each and every day,
my dear Ms. Johnson I believe I have a way.

I have a house with an awesome ocean view 
for two weeks Ms. Johnson, it belongs to you.
I’m going on a journey and would find it grand
if you could watch my house and enjoy my strand.

If you and your children would like to come here,
believe me Ms. Johnson you’ve nothing to fear.
When you call Janet, she’ll give you my number,
my wish for you is a little less cumber.

Sincerely Brenda Meier-Hans 
Contest: My Wish For You 

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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A Debutante's Ball To Remember

A Debutante’s Ball to Remember
In the autumn of my life, oft have I recalled that superb summer night, when I finally experienced my long-awaited heart’s delight. Family and close friends were all ready for my entry into society, to celebrate it with a grand debutante’s ball filled with gaiety.
In a dreamlike state, I felt like a princess with a golden crown, making my grand entrance wearing a champagne chiffon gown. With matching gloves, and a pair of satin shoes on my tiny feet, my auburn hair was adorned with butterflies and posies sweet.
The ballroom was magically transformed with gas lights all aglow, and a glittering chandelier reflected on a highly polished mahogany floor. As the orchestra played, my body and soul were enraptured and consumed by its rendition of Ravel’s enthralling “La Valse” which pervaded the room.
Elegant ladies were all dressed to the nines in exquisite pastel gowns of winter white, baby blue, powder pink, pale peach and beautiful browns. In tacit competition to out-best each other, social charms were well-honed, as they daintily fanned themselves and gossiped animatedly in hushed tones.
Refined gentlemen in their finely-tailored tails navigated the room to mingle, keeping an eye out for eligible heiresses beautiful, graceful, and single. Wafts of mild masculine colognes came from discretely dabbed faces and hair; while the fresh feminine floral scent of French perfumes permeated the air.
Armed with a full dance card, I waltzed the night away with ardent admirers, curtsying and coquettishly smiling, moving on to more exciting suitors. My enchanting evening climaxed with Strauss’s “Vienna Waltz” filling the hall. Oh, what a tale I will have to tell as my granddaughter prepares for her first ball!
11-21-2014 Contest: Your Favourite Old Poem (06-08-2015) Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton Placement: 1st Contest: Ballroom Delights (12-16-2014) Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst Placement: 2nd

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014

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Inspired Muses

Inspired muses reach out from the page
To touch the hearts and minds of those who read
Their presence in descriptive rhymes, a sage
In words of ink your thoughts become a seed

I wonder if it's ever crossed your mind
Someone in years to come might feel your muse
Will it be inspiration they will find
Or will your words just leave them more confused?

And yet we bleed our muse to feel the high
Then cover up the blood in metaphors
We make them laugh, so no one sees us cry
Those fears we hide in words forevermore

But muses rarely ever get the blame
Cause down below, they wisely sign your name.

    by Daniel Turner

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

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Aunt Clementine

It's the summer, and it's time
to take the train to old Saint Ives
and visit my Aunt Clementine
who lives alone by an old salt mine.  

Aunt Clementine, she likes to dine
on mac and cheese at half past nine
then eats big slices of strawberry pie
while she sits and watches the fire flies.

Aunt Clementine loves polka dots
mostly orange, there's quite a lot
on walls and rugs, on kitchen tops
on her clothes and her dog named "Spot".    

Aunt Clementine has crazy hair
that flies around most everywhere
while she hurries and scurries 
here and there, and likes to say,
"Well, I declare!"  

When she puts her lipstick on
Aunt Clementine breaks out in song
and tells me I should sing along
even if I forget or flub or FLOB 
she tells me I am never wrong. 

My Aunt Clementine is really fun
she certainly is not a nun
and so full of mischief
I just love to come
to be with her is double fun 
in my book she is number one!

Written on 8/19/2015
For Children's Story, Dr. Seuss Style contest


Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2015

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Six-Word Couplet Series

Pumpkin turns carriage
Prince offers marriage 

The Elves and the Shoemaker
Business lacks clout
Shorties help out

Scaling her tresses 
Young prince impresses

The Three Little Pigs
Wolfie wants bacon
Brickwork frustrates him

Puss in Boots
Smooth talking feline
Princess makes beeline

Sleeping Beauty
Hundred year nap
Ended by chap 

Beauty and the Beast
Loving what’s ugly
Renders it lovely 

Hansel and Gretel
Candy trap foiled
Witchy gets boiled 

14 September 2018
Written for Six-Word Couplet Series Contest
Hosted by Mark Toney

Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018

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Last Tussle in Brussels

Somewhere in Brussels, March 2019,
Poor Theresa’d not slept since about Halloween,
But at last it was ready! The dream Brexit treaty,
Which pleased every spluttering zealot so sweetly!

So ready to sign it, she tried not to squeal...
Until Boris* burst in and cried “NO BLOODY DEAL!”
Theresa yelled “shut it, you haystack-haired chancer!”
But Europe said “sorry, we’ll take your first answer!”

Then Macron and Barnier*, Merkel and Juncker*,
Cried “See ya, Theresa, we’re off to the bunker!”
Theresa gave chase; Boris stuck out a toe,
The Jimmy Choos buckled, and down she did go! 

The bunker shut! Pawing the intercom button 
And licking the speaker, she heard them all tutting,
Then Merkel said “Vile vee regret ze estrangement,
Zey cannot exist vizout formal arrangement!”

Theresa was screaming “JUST LET ME IN NOW!”
But she could have sworn Barnier cried out “KA-POW!”
Then she felt a great shake like the boom of a bomb -
And her satellite glasses showed... Britain was gone!

Well, after some hours of wailing and gnashing,
They found little Britain complaining and splashing
and shivering up by the cold Arctic Circle...
“Best wrap up vorm!” tittered Angela Merkel.


We last saw Theresa all sun-kissed and blustery,
Hiking the warm Euro hillsides of Tuscany,
Boris was found (well was dug up in parts),
With a hot Belgian waffle stuck right up his ****...

As for Britain - it’s time in the cold had begun,
The crops slowly died in the thin arctic sun,
Til a hobbit named Corbyn* cried “Right! Who needs feeding?!”
And was hailed as a God with his frost-hardy seedlings.

And somewhere in Dudley, a “leaver” called Norris,
Polished his gold-plated statue of Boris,
And petting his bulldog (with hands somewhat frozen),
He gave a wry smile, and said, “that bloody showed ‘em.”

*The cast (for the benefit of the lucky people who don’t have to hear about this nonsense every day!) 

Boris Johnson: tousle-headed lying twonkweasel who helped get us in the ridiculous position in the first place.
Michael Barnier: The EU’s chief Brexit negotiator. Has self-righteous manner of schoolmaster dealing with a tiresome child. 
Jean-Claude Juncker: President of the European Commission  
A hobbit named Corbyn: Just a hobbit obviously. But coincidentally shares his name with the leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition, whose hobbies are beards, nationalisation and seeds.
With apologies to all Germans (sorry, Agnes) for Merkel’s comedy accent.

27 July 2018

Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018

Details | Fun Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Think I Need A Man In My Life

Think I need a man in my life-
a dear writer-friend suggested.
So please dismiss and remiss,
prior I've requested.

Thinking, a man in my life,
could really make things right.
he my man could be my fan...
and fan me all the night.

Cleopatra I could be,
he could be my slave...
YES I think I need a man in my life,
excelled in a good wave!

Think I need a man in my life,
makes me very hot.
"Think I need a husband"-
I simply have forgot.

Think I need a man in my life,
that sounds like so much fun.
Winter time he'll be all mine,
a heater like the sun.

Think I need a man in my life,
to bring me lots of flowers...
Chocolates too; must bring a few,
hand feed me for hours.

Would be nice to have a man in my life,
oh how it sounds so sweet.
I could yell- what's that smell and
he could kiss my feet !

Copyright © Paris-Maree Boreham | Year Posted 2018