Best Funnily Poems
That's not my elephant! my father said to me
Mine is pink with wings, funnily, he likes to eat spaghetti
I think I'll call him Ella, named after a girl I knew
We danced at the 2nd graders ball, her dress was so see through
My father was once a politician, until his marbles began to set
I visit him as often as I can, introducing as if we'd just met
But somewhere in his confusion, he can recite The Bill of Rights
And once he does he smiles, to me he can still delight
As I turn to leave, to wave goodbye, in his eyes I see a tear
Still reciting The Bill of Rights, smiling from ear to ear
With Ella from the 2nd graders, he smiles in self triumphant
As he points towards the window, it's not pink, that's not my elephant!
Can't believe I'm penning this mess,
but I must address the gifted poetess,
Jan Allison has a degree from the
distinguished Poot-Toot University,
she has a PhD in Fartology.
An expert she is,
and, gee whiz,
anyone who writes of farts
so funnily,
is the "Queen of Flatulence,"
a PoetrySoup decree!
And yes, I know some are offended
by potty humor,
but we need comic relief in
the literary til we laugh ourselves
into a stupor,
as this world has much strife,
even if it's gaseous,
laughter heals life. ~
I still remember mama's cooking.
It is said that one never forgets , no matter what age, now matter what stage, mama's cooking always remains,etched in my memory.
I remember her famous fried chicken, her stewed peas( hold any Jamaican man) and rice the aroma of succulent pork, not often ,but a taste to die for.
I remember her Sunday special, it was always special, as it was that time of the week for bonding, I looked forward to that, Sunday matinee on then JBC ,Sunday family chit chat.
Tales of what happened at the hospital, the gruesome,detailed tales,lol, but somewhat riveting,almost as interesting as the movies.
I remember mama's cooking. Come to think it she was always there to cook Sunday dinner, even now that I think about it, she must have been exhausted, after a long ,arduous day at the hospital, but never failing ,she was always there to cook Sunday dinner.
I remember mama's cooking.
Mama always seem to have the touch, that special touch to make everything taste delectable, anything ,Calaloo, greens of some sort, which I guess most children hated at some point,curried goat,dumplus, and her chicken soup,hmmm!!!, THAT!! I have fond memories, the cure for any and all ailments ,whatever it was ,it was just right, after all ,its my mama's cooking.
I remember mama's cooking.
She taught me how to help myself, as in the future, believe me came in very handy " A man must learn how to help himself in the kitchen," she always said.
I remember mama's cooking.
Even when at play one knew that ,by the fragrance from the kitchen that dinner was nearly ready .Funnily enough her cooking was the bench mark ,all others are judged , wifey, girlfriend, if its not up to mama's standard ,you better learn and learn quick.
She doesn't cook anymore , ( sigh ) but wherever I go ,I still remember her cooking ,my mama's cooking.
Oh spite, oh hell – to the Hell in my own name too!
The hell in love, the hell in romance, the hell of all men!
He being in my name as well of course… as if I’m made of men!
Do they control me? Na… funnily enough the sound of
my name’s conclusion… and what (no doubt) a modern man
would say at my fawning
Aside: What Demetrius feels about me without love’s potion.
for them. My name; partly made up of them all -
Hel e na.
He created me.
Created my name.
This man who shook history, shakes the
vast fields of stages still: created language,
created insults and idioms, created footlickers
and scullions and loons.
Aside: What Demetrius calls me, no doubt.
What if though, we were thrown into modern day -
we four tangled lovers? Our forest now a cobbled
city street, our names a hashtag or blend or
portmanteau of #Demena or #Hermander…
Aside: or #paintedmaypolegetsherman
…how my old Bard would laugh and
we would be his self-coined ‘laughing stock’.
I’ve been in ink and upon folio paper. Aloft a stage
and before groundlings: photographed on set, reviewed in
magazines, photoshopped
Aside: False imitation! Spurious image!
for internet trolls - a word
with a very different meaning to the faeries I’ve met.
How language adapts! But what, pray tell, stays?
Intrigue. Love. Summer seasons and shows,
his words, his characters - us and you and your
interest in him: a roundel we return to even
in his words we unknowingly use…
I should know of course… He made me after all…
Hel e na…
and you, in your hands and seats and voices,
still make me feel that same love and spite and Hell.
Neither of us are likely to be forgotten soon…
na.
People should be treated
First as humans
Before anything else.
I take you as you are
But first as human.
For we were first humans
Before we became all-what-not
That we have become today.
So I would be glad
To be treated first
As human before anything else.
As human I enter with my wife
Into my room at night
And after our natural duties,
We gossip over many things.
We laugh about many funny things
That were said and done
During the day by our neighbours
And friends and all.
We mimic them funnily
When we are out of gossips,
She tells me to hush
While she places her ear
Quietly on the wall to hear
What our neighbours were doing
And she removes it abruptly
Again in shock
Not believing her ears.
Hush… Hush
She signals me to put my ear
To the wall.
When I did,
I heard my neighbours
Mimicking us; gossiping us.
So on a rainy Sunday
All dressed up in white,
We are going to church.
And we greet you loudly
From across the road.
As if to show our
White apparels to you.
Then a speeding automobile
From the blues splashes
Mud-water all over us.
Inside you laugh
In spite of your outward
“Sorry o sorry!”
And in the morning of the next day,
Like the humans we are,
We yet exchange warm greetings
The neighbours, you and us.
fishing finds
I’m foolishly fishing in the frost
freshwater follows fondly
foreign fishing forgets funnily
finest fishing feels furiously
fair fishing falls freely
fresh fishing flies fabulously
Yet it’s so cold
In mid-November
funny fishing fails fortnightly
fat fishing finishes fatly
fast fishing flows frozen forcefully
full fishing fills finally
fine fishing finds foolishly far
9/25/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY JAMES EDWARD LEE SR. © 2020
>The sea and me
By Stanley Russell Harris
Poetry soup honorable mentioned.
(The new mad author)
I like to be beside the sea.
Calm or rough a delight to see.
If calm, I’ll paddle in the sea.
But swimming, no you won’t find me.
I never really learnt to swim.
Was no sea where I was living.
There was no river nearby.
Nearest swimming pool, 5 miles away, I sigh.
The only water that covered me.
Was in the bath tub funnily.
And in the bath tub, you can’t swim.
The only tide mark I really did see.
Was the watermark in the bath, you see?
When I pulled out the plug just so.
Bath water out then did flow.
Back to the sea, you swim in you know.
But I do like to be, beside the sea.
Calm or rough a delight to see.
But swimming!
No you won’t find me.
As that is Father Neptune’s home.
And he I do not wish to see.
Now this is the lot you’ll get from me.
Of what I call, my poetry!
The above poem was posted on the BBC news page. Today which as I have a memory thingy I thought was Tuesday. But then every day could be a Tuesday couldn't it ?<
Gold fish
On my vision and swum one
Sprawls the heart of those humans
Ah! They say funnily
Not knowing my stay
Why? In such a way.
What matters only viewing outside colour?
Innerly they knew me I’m fish ever
They want to keep me in aquarium
Construing a four wall of transparent
Limiting me within four feet boundary.
Treasured only to provide them pleasure
I’m with my fate not happy always
Waiting time to get old in the slap of time.
News flash! Race, it doesn't exist,
We're not defined by our skin.
We are not defined by our hair or our eyes,
Nor the houses that we live in.
News flash! Race, a flawed science theory,
It's a meaningless backward thought.
It should not be given the light of day,
And it definitely should not be taught.
News flash! Race, a divisive idea,
Used by wealthy who think they're right.
And, funnily enough, the wealthy have skin,
That's yellow or black, brown or white.
News flash! Race, maybe there might be one,
Maybe one race defined with any real worth.
The civilized race called humans of course,
All sharing our beautiful Earth.
Trying to sleep
I will lie down make no fuzz think of nothing
And relax, the past is a foreign country no need
To go there, it is like raking yesteryears leaves.
So, you feel hungry too late to get up now anyway
No food will not kill you have diabetes shut up go
Sleep, and before you know it a nice girl will serve
Breakfast…oh yeah!
Try not to remember any jokes you brother told
it was thirty years ago back then you laughed
At things that are not funny now.
Can you think of an example, (shut up and sleep!)
We found older adults funny the way they walked,
And you think that was funny?
No, not know that I’m old and walk funnily too.
Well, I don’t think much of your sense of humour.
Are you upsetting to me now? No, shut up, sleep!
“tell me a story, tell me a story before I go to bed
You promised me you said you would…”
A bit of a song I heard.
It's funny,
when we are asked questions and we don't seem to get it. we end up only to find out that the
answer lies within the alphabet of A-Z.
It's funny,
how often we wonder how much is in our bank account or how much you dream of owing
only to descover the answer is within the figure range.
It's funny,
how easy it is to make choices when it comes to the things we want, be it material or non
material but we find it pretty difficult choosing an answer to an objective question.
It's funny,
how time flies when we bother ourselves asking ourselves when this year would end only to
look back and smile that it was just yesterday.
It's funny,
how our choices vary with age forgetting the fact that when it gets to an age, we become
choiceless and we take things the way it is either good or bad.
It's funny,
how people learn. shared self experience sounds crappy but learning the hard way is a
better option.
It's funny,
how this is funny that someone greatly concerned funnily wrote this unfunny talk in a
humurous way. YIKES!!!
P.S Don't forget the lesson with the humor... thats if you think its funny.lOl !!!
I`m SICK of People who laugh at me,
Sick of them MOCKING me.
Don`t they know it makes me feel Bad?
Being Embarassed infront of them ...
Makes me feel all alone.
I feel Useless with them laughing at me,
with them looking at me Funnily.
I tried to endure it but I give up!
I want to change, To change who I am.
I want God to know! That I don`t want who I am!
This Bruises on my Body,
Is my Punishment to my ownself!
The Pain I feel that they can`t.
It`s too much!
Just too much to take
Why can`t they just accept me?
Why can`t God just Change mE?
Why can`t I be Someone Else?
Why can`t I be Perfect like them.
I wnt myself gone.
I want myself to be new,
But why can`t I?
I don`t Understand.
Why can`t they just Accept me for Who I am?
Why can`t I accept myself for who I am?
Why can`t god make me as Someone else?
I hate it!
I hate this Feeling!
and I just can`t take it anymore
Boko haram terrorists
Times without number
A neighbourhood unsettling with a bomber,
Their grabbed territories
Zones of a thousand worries!
A people in panic
Piteously plan their escapes route,
Their pursuers, a manic,
Who must them funnily shoot!
It’s a horizon of unthinkable sleep
And the digging of graves not decently deep:
It’s a constant brandishing of a superior weapon
That precious lives make a lottery coupon.
North-East Nigeria to forever a story tell
That Borno was once a plain cell,
Each is increasingly a militant
Not convinced that innocent lives are important.
Excellent kidnappers they’ve got
And Suicide Bombers a lot:
It’s a pant welcoming an explosive,
Whose impact is a monster:
It’s wearer, an unbelievable youngster,
Obsessed with destructions, extensive.
Crazily, every Boko Haram
Takes non-adherent for a ram,
To readily his daughter
Slaughter and quarter
For a voiced and heard “Blood of Jesus”
What an Islamization of Nigeria
That should True Muslims anger in Algeria …
A mediocre mealworm was sat on a hill eating a sandwich and drinking some tea when along came an elongated machine with a red face and elastic eel ears which pinged and ponged. The mealworm was confused. Surely not here he thought. It only occurs elsewhere. But elsewhere is neither even, exact or existential. It is to be said that the tunnel the meal worm then dug spread out under ground for several acres. No screws were needed. Just dig dig dig. In fog in sun in snow in hail basically all weathers. Now safe to sip homemade barcadi which had steeped in preparation for this day. Turboprop opera drowned out the booming from above. And the little dove sang sweetly as he supped his well deserved beverage. Feral fragrance frankly feels funnily fished. And after such a hard days work of sitting on that hill the mealworm could laugh and laugh at the chaos above safe in his chambers and surrounded by female earthworms in their bikinis. No ha no x and no z. Representational
The day the internet stopped working, I opened the door and let my face embrace the breeze of cold air,
I looked around to find dainty plants for which I never cared.
After a long time, I stepped out of my house and strolled through the park for a while,
Funnily, I felt as if I had walked a mile!
I stopped and was astonished at the sight that beheld my eyes,
'Oh dear!' people are conversing with each other and being nice!
I sat on a huge rock at the corner of the park,
Soon I realized it was getting dark.
After ages, I looked up at the sky contrary to my daily routine of looking down at my mobile screen,
'So that's what they call sunset!' I happily scream.
For a moment I felt my life was a lie,
I guiltily looked at the Earth, for which I never batted an eye.
A familiar sound shook me out of my thoughts,
I was notified that the internet connection was back and I was pulled back into the same knot.