Best Funnynight Poems


The Tale of Miss Jenny Prime

Let me tell you the story of Miss Jenny Prime,
who spent all of her days making everything rhyme.
It was thought she’d outgrow this strange childhood spell,
but her fetish just grew and made her parents’ life hell.

When Miss Prime was a baby, still sporting a bib,
each night she was cuddled, then placed in a crib
by her doting young parents, who thought it quite funny
to give her a pet name, “Sleep tight Hunny Bunny.”

And that was the start of poor Jenny’s plight,
forced to listen to vowel chimes night after night.
Before long she was making up rhymes for herself,
all her un-rhyming toys were just left on the shelf.

Even quenching her thirst could cause quite a stink,
no O.J for Jenny, her drink had to be pink.
They bought her some shoes, red, shiny and new,
“I’ve told you, I’m not wearing a shoe that’s not blue”

She demanded a dog so they went to the pound,
she picked the fattest one there, just to have a round hound.
Her bed had to be red, her jeans had to be green,
and a fish dish for dinner or she’d cause a right scene.

Stamping her feet she cried “I should be Jenna,
and for pocket money, I should be getting a tenner”
Each Friday brought tantrums, as she hardly had any,
reluctantly taking just a penny for Jenny.

Her increase in years simply brought more despair,
she bleached ebony locks for she needed fair hair.
The colours of clothes always caused her to cry,
so to get round the problem she learned to tie-dye.

Now I know it will come as some sort of surprise,
but Jenny had caught a young gentleman’s eyes.
He knew things would be tough, but he’d give it a try
so, with posies of roses, he dared to drop by.

The roses were great and he was kinda cute,
he’d even gone to the trouble of tie-dying his suit.
He was called Jack Kilkenny, his name did not rhyme,
so she told him to leave and stop wasting her time.

But Jack was his nickname, his real name was Lenny.
Alas, this information was not known to Jenny.
He was perfect for her, a match better than any,
for if they’d wed they’d be Lenny and Jenny Kilkenny.
Form: Rhyme

Keepin Up

Got a wild hair and found  a younger woman
did I.
Took a trip oh howtime did fly.

I wake up she already ran three miles.
Going eighty down the interstate.
she's doing more than playing 
with the dials. 

Last night in the sack.
She turned into a gymnast  and 
almost broke my back.
Now im looking through the phone book
begging her ex boyfriend to take up the slack.

If there ever was a foutian of youth I wish 
sombody would pour me a cup.
Cause im having a hell of a time keepin up.

For the first time I gotta chick askin hey you
asleep?
Gonna change my name to Dracula
with the hours I keep.

Took her to the track and she out ran a horse.
Some guy looked to me and asked.
You gonna take her to the derby?
To which I replied of course.

One night she asked wouldnt this be great to do forever?
Hit the ground running.
Saying baby I gotta check the weather.

You know this old dog just aint no young 
pup.
I might be on oxygen and in a electric wheelchair.
But im keepin up.
Form: Rhyme

Sensitivity

SENSITIVITY

They’re all ignored by us, but they have feelings too :
A black  gravestone  in  New York, down in the world, 
Recalling its halcyon days as a part of 
The impressive strata  at Palisades Park.
The statue in the museum of  Androcles and the Lion
Daydreaming   -  oh,  for the good old days just lying sunbaked 
On the beach surrounded by 
Fossil shells and shrimp at  Sables  d’ Olonne,
With the feet of the famous resting gently on you.
And the marble fireplace  in our  living room - 
He can still  see in his  mind’s eye 
The Carrara  quarries in  bygone days…..
Why,  some of his great-grand-daddies  were 
Hacked out of there  and taken to Rome for the Via Appia.
Oh yes,  stones have feelings too.

My carved ship-of-the-line from Nelson’s navy 
With  her masts and spars and decks and cabins 
Lies awake at night thinking of her days 
In the pine forests of Norway;  and next to her 
This old  cedar jewellery  box, with intoxicating  
Smells of the coast at Prince Rupert  
Where she  lay on the beach for weeks 
Before the saw mill changed her shape and sent her  to me.
The new  sapele door in our hall  spends hours 
Wishing for his buddies  in the jungles of Uganda 
Where the ants would tickle you 
Half  to death with their constant scurrying
Up and down your branches,  building this or that.
Listen closely and he’ll boast that some 
of his relatives ended their days as propellers 
on German zeppelins, I kid you not. 
Everyone has to feel special.

And what about those unassuming steel forks in my drawer   
who can still tell stories 
Of their days as iron ore in Finland, 
And how their brother Ernie became 
A bumper on the President’s limo (supposedly).
Or my wife’s copper bracelets  with their pathetic tales 
Of being shipped from Cyprus 
and remelted into ingots in Bimingham.
I have overheard the wings of a  747
Recollecting  in the hangars at night  
How their existence as bauxite in Jamaica was so idyllic, 
“Wit  all  dat  reggae and  smokin’  and god knows what, man.”
They too have their memories.  
And, man, de smell in dat hangar!


The Fountain of Truth

Well, when I started getting older
I decided to set out on a quest
I was gonna find that Fountain of Youth
Or, at least, I'd try my best

I stumbled across this forgotten village
Where only young people live
That's when I knew I'd found it
I was almost positive

I saw this beautiful stone fountain
Standing in the middle of the square
My journey was finally over
As I slowly walked over there

They had a tarnished silver dipper
That was hanging on a nail
Beside it was a old wooden bucket
And then, a golden pail

As I was reaching for the dipper
This little boy appeared
He said, "Careful you choose correctly"
And he suddenly disappeared

Now, I didn't know which one to choose
The wooden bucket or pail of gold
So I decided to drink a little of both
At least, I wouldn't grow old

And then a couple of hours later
I noticed, I wasn't looking too young
Then that little boy came back and said,
"Do you know what you have done?"

I answered, "Yes I do" before I thought
Though I really wanted to lie
I just couldn't make mysef do it
No matter how hard I'd try

"You have cheated," the little boy said
"Now you'll never find your youth
For by tasting both you've deceived yourself
And it became the Fountain of Truth?

So, needless to say, I really messed up
And I'm cursed for the rest of my life
Cause it doesn't matter how hard I try
I can never tell a lie to my wife

They'll be no more late night poker games
Or a night on the town with the guys
I've changed my name to honest Abe
For I can't tell no more lies

Now, the reason I wrote this story
Is, well, I really can't tell you why
I was gonna make a reason up
But, remember? I just can't tell a lie
© Larry Belt  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Twas the Night Before the Wedding

Twas the night before my cousin's 
wedding
He reluctantly gave in to the 
bachelor party vetting
A burlesque, tawdry strip club was 
the setting
Unbeknownst to him, the bridesmaid 
was his appetite whetting
With gratuitous lap dance, began 
the ribald feting
In drunken stupor, the enamored 
groom his fealty forgetting
Released his inhibitions all of his 
clingy garments shedding
Strode platform, in sync with 
bridesmaids erotic moves duetting
In tantric rhapsody, she released 
pheromones his testosterone 
subletting
Enraptured with his riposte jaunts, 
her matrimonial bond shredding
The enamored bridesmaid with lust 
his bare essentials began petting
His betrothed parts to her 
dominatrix will indebting
As the groom climaxed, his phallus 
got entangled in her fish netting
Two truant souls now writhing; 
spent body parts bloodletting
Dislodging their carnal chains, into 
frothy night jetting
To hotel that lodged devoted bride; 
their remaining passions bedding
 Lurid, tawdry tryst not regretting; 
but o'er bawdy exhibition sweating






Wedding contest
September 14, 2012
Form: Rhyme

Farley Versus Swayze

Remember when fat boy Chris Farley
Competed against Patrick Swayze
On Saturday Night Live
Judges couldn’t decide
Picking one dancer made them crazy

In the end it’s Swayze who prevailed
Farley’s dancing career was curtailed
When he danced, his belly
Shook like tubs of jelly
As an erotic dancer he failed

After a great deal of strong debate
The judges gave it to Farley straight
“You’re not as good looking,
It’s Patrick we’re booking,
He dances best and you’re no lightweight.”



There was an old episode of Saturday Night Live where Chris Farley and Patrick 
Swayze competed to see if they could make an all-male dance team.  It was 
hilarious watching Farley trying to dance.
Entry for Miranda Lambert’s “burlesque” contest
Form: Limerick


I'M Pajammin'

It all started in kindergarten with cowboys on them
Next came Smokey and the Bandit's Trans Am
Collected a pair Doris Day once wore
Took a pair from the garbage at the curb next door
While most people are Jonesin' I am Sammin'
When night time is my time I can secretly be pajammin'
I have a pair from Frederick's of Hollywood on order
A pair from Taco Bell with their slogan, Make a Run For the Border
An organic pair made out of Poison Ivy, that I will never wear
A pair from my Psychatrist asking is Anybody In There?
From Janet Lee's suitcase in Psycho
A pair with the Gecco from GEICO
A pair I wear only during the NBA season so I can do some dunkin' and slammin'
I am definitely a closet case when it comes to pajammin'
I have a pair directly from the WWE
A pair designed by David Hasselhoff, now that is scary
A Richard Dawson pair from Family Feud
A pair from Nancy Grace with her quote, "Some Other Dude"
A silk pair from the weaves of China
Speaking of weaves, I stole a pair from Aunt Jemima
A pair from Captain D's, they smell like fish, I mean they are really clammin'
Nobody would appreciate a good, solid, living on the edge type pajammin'
Once again I appreciate the night when it arrives
Sometimes I get so excited, it gives me the hives
So where is America's understandin'
I see no get togethers for us who are obsessed with pajammin'
Form:

I Am Bored With My Tv

How can this be you ask
with over a hundred channels to chose from
at any given time
right at your fingertips
If I had back all the minutes
that have turned into hours
surfing night after night trying to find
one program of substance to hold
my attention more than the length
of its commercial advertisements
I could do something more constructive
than catch snippets of a sappy movie of the week
how to make money in less that sixty seconds
watch ex-television stars battle for a new job
reruns of the dying daytime soaps
the reality of having five, six, or eight children
As bored as I am, it seems like today’s entertainment
click by click has at least enabled me to participate in
and enjoy the daily gathering at the water cooler

Shani Fassbender

A Town Too Small

A Town Too Small

By Elton Camp

Bugville’s city charter should be eliminated
Because it is far too small to be incorporated
The mayor is also the town’s garbage collector
Plus also serving as the local building inspector

City council meets in back of the general store
With little business, they seldom do it anymore
The town’s only lawyer was disbarred years ago
It’s okay, because to him there’s no reason to go

Old doctor Jenkins provides family health care,
If you should die, then he’s the one who’s there
Doctor and undertaker a conflict may seem to be
But however a case turns out, he’ll win you see

Just one policeman patrols little Bugville town
For expenses, not enough speeders come around
Therefore, in order for some extra revenue to raise,
The chief is a cop by night and runs a taxi by days

The only café doesn’t serve very many hot meals
As a slide line, it also carries some buggy wheels
And if it is from Bugville any tourist doesn’t hail
The only place he can spend the night is city jail
© Elton Camp  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

A Mad March Night

One night while i was driving,

and heading back to town.

Something jumped from nowhere,

Good Lord i knocked it down.

I got out of my car

my nerves were in a scare,

then to my surprise

there lay a great big Hare!

His breathing it was shallow

so i put him in my car,

at least he was alive

my home was not to far.

at last i reached my house

i carried him inside.

I laid down Mr Hare

his eyes they opened wide..

at first he seemed upset

but then he settled down,

heartbeat back to normal

at last i lost my frown.

But i had plans that night

a night out with some girls

and here i was quite trapped,

left dreaming of my thrills!

My lodger was quite dirty

covered in brown mud,

bit"s of grass adorned him

he was heading for my tub!

Never mind a Vet

for he was fit and well

after bumping into him

i knew that he"d be swell.

Just then the phone did ring

"Oh when you coming down?"

"I can"t". I just replied,

all be it with a frown.

My girlfriends were not happy

i knew them oh so well,

so i told a big white lie

the one that we all tell.

"For i am running oh so late,

the next time oh i swear,

for i have such a bit to do,

i"ve still to wash my Hare!"
Form: Rhyme

When Lost Dont Be Found/Night of the Living Marathon Runner

She's screams running blindly into the night.
How much fun are first dates.
Slow down my sweet this love you cannot fight.

She's screams into this night like some demonic hound.
One word advice my dear.
When your lost dont be found.

She ran down to the lake but some jerk in a hockey 
mask  tried to snag  her leg.
Please dont take shellter in that farm house.
The guy with the chainsaw isnt a late night lumberjack 
my sweet please dont make me beg.

Ive herd the zombies are restless  so avoid the grave yard.
Do you run marathons my dear?
I swear can we take a break why must you make things so
hard?

She finally stopped and struck a karate pose.
Twisted arond in the air and threw a thrust kick.
To a area only Dr Igors hand knows.

She took my arm and poped it outta socket.
I screamed like a little girl.
Really I was just playing take my car keys  my wallet
and if ya hear something in the trunk dont 
unlock it.

Fiends came to my rescue and what I say is no lie.
She  made quick work of them all.
Got pair of plyers and made my werewolf more than cry.

To heck with you guys im taking this puppy to the
pound.
And sometimes when lost it's best not to
be found.

And in this lesson we learn its sucks to be hunted 
but for me its was worse to be the hunter.
Thank God I survived.
The night of the living marathon runner
Form:

Here There Be Tygers

Last night I glimpsed a pretty limerick crudely scrawled upon a tiled wall,
in the lavatory of my favorite bar.

It was very funny,
definitely dirty,
and classy in a back-alley sort of way.

Anyway,
I finished reading it and chuckled lightly while sitting in the stall.
I realized that since I was carrying a pen,
it would be wrong not to write something in response to the bawdy poem.

So, while I finished my business I pondered what to write.

It wasn't too long before it hit me like a fist.

You see,
I had been oogling a sexy bartender all night long,
her short skirt and low cut top provoking my chemicals en masse,

And observe!
low on her left buttock and just visible when she bent over to get me another drink,
I beheld a tatto of Tigger from Whinnie the Pooh.

Surely such a beauty is worthy of tribute.

And so, 
still sitting,
I uncapped my pen and wrote as a footnote for all to see:

'Here There Be Tygers'
Form: Narrative

Last Minute Battle

Messed up room and untouched books ariled by dust,
Branded cards specially bought
To bring out yips,
Last year’s Questions
Cut-short by hazards,
Next day’s paper
To prove the intellectuality in us.

Gabfest few minutes and
Gambling with the Joker for few hours,
A priori minds
And the counterattack,
A checkmate came after
When we realized
Only a night left thereafter.
Tension free four noetic minds
Held back for the bid,
Contributions pulled together
For the set paper to reach us.

Selected essay types and unsorted small questions -
Difficulty aroused to find out the answers
For the latter ones.
A yawning start and pages on count
Serious four minds
Now settled to start with the easygoing ones.
A Night-tea break and counting the part left
A great deal to follow, Unlaxed mood yet.
Cut-shorts answers on the way to close
Six month’s at one night
Now to face a three hours of fight.

Smiling four faces and head surging legion
Final bell rang and papers distributed.
Eye balls bulged out,
Heads started to itch,
Last night bid paper
Appeared a son of a b(i)tch.

Experienced four minds
Now to prove their intellectuality –
They followed the same old tricks.
Mugged up answers allotted
To the questions appeared from the same chapter,
Few were filled up
By their inborn self author.
Three hours to end
And we finished an half before,
We just followed the same old theory trick
Never leave the field blank
Or else to choke.

-------------x-------------------
Form: Narrative

Premium Member The Diary of Lord Kellington (17)

Being that I am a philosophical being.  I find myself pondering many unique thoughts, 
as I sit and stare off at the night time sky.

Earlier, I dined upon a sweet, young flower seller, down at the Square.  She wore a 
shawl about her shoulders ,that were stooping too soon on someone so young.  As 
though the weight of all her thoughts, rested upon her delicate shoulders.  Well, she 
has no need to worry now.  After I sampled her blood, I slipped a thousand Pounds 
into her skirt pocket.  It always does good for a shepard to tend his flock.  

Ah yes!  Pondering thoughts.

I wonder what would happen, if  were to awake to be mortal once more?
What if I were to conceive an allergy to blood?
Maybe I should allow myself to fancy myself in love and marry?
What if I were to enter a church in all my monstrous glory?  What fun!
Or, what if I was no longer welcomed by Polite Society?
What if my tailor quit!?
Or say, if I were to reach out to you, the reader of my night time missives, right now.  
Grab you 'bout the throat and drink deep?  Ha!

But, what nonsense I ponder and write of.
For I will always be welcomed among Polite Society.  I am far too charming not to be.
My tailor, although routinely vexed with me for the late night hours I employ his 
services, would never quit me.  I pay his exorbinate fees without qualms.
The rest of my meanderings. Ha!  I fear not a one.

But, the mere thought of Crystal having kittens herself....GADS!

~Lord Kellington
Form: Narrative

"the Happy Witch"....

The dew is on the pumpkin ,
and the moon is high and bright
I just hope when I return,
I dont see any pumpkins smashed on my lawn tonight.........

 Halloween is special to me , in a spooky kind of way,
Love to rev up my broom and see them all running away.......

 It humors me, all the screams and scary sounds in the night,
to see the terror in all the lil faces, makes me laugh with true delight..........

 Fright night is my favorite night of the year,
I get a little tickle if I even see some tears......

 So I'm revving up my trusty broom ,
to go a hunting by moonlight
Hopefully I will get more than just candy bags tonight......

 I'm hoping to swoop down on a small child or two,
and if you arent very careful , 
I might even get to YOU.........

 I am generally a happy witch if you havent figured this out,
But my cauldrin is a boilin,
Now I must be getting  out......

 Look out all you ghosts and lil goblins too,
Im comming after you...........!!!!
Form:

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