Funny Home Poems | Examples

These Funny Home poems are examples of Home poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Home Funny poems written by international poets.


sleepless fun : footle


        

     toss bon-bons

                                 mice won ~


Premium MemberFunny How a Room Dies

     Funny how a room dies

        First it’s off to college
        Then out into the world
        Blink twice, there’s marriage
        Into the abyss, her room’s hurled

     Funny how a room dies

Premium MemberI Want A Funny

I took my new friend from Mars,
to the store not to the bars.
He was accompanied by his little green dog,
many thought he was a funny looking frog.
They messed their little green suits,
so no more fresh fruits.
A diaper they will need,
so they can go home and be freed.

Premium MemberOreo Coming Home

Picture of Little Oreo’s arrival

I can’t believe you bring so much love and mischief
You were carried in by a stork
Too much wait for your arrival
Now that you’re here 
Wasn’t told you do parkour
I can’t stop loving you
You’re so sweet little Oreo

Premium MemberSeeking My Lady

Although retired and glad to be "job free"
I've still places to go, things to do, people to see...

When I get back home the first 'Order of Biz'
Is seek out where Sweetie Lady is

I start my search through 1st floor rooms
Kitchen; computer niche; both bedrooms

If searching fails to show where she went
I go down to check our cold basement

She doesn't go up to the model airplane attic
So all that points to my one remaining tactic

Explore the 'Wilderness': to wit:
The lot on which our house doth sit

Although the view across the yard would seem to be quite clear
She has amazing ability in it to disappear

So then I have to raise my voice
Like a pet owner, but I have no choice

I plead "Please call to me, my Sweetie Dear!
I cannot tell if you are here!"

She emerges from some bush, with pruner
How can I not have seen her sooner?

No matter, now that she's in sight 
I only want to hug her tight!

Love of my Life: searching I DON't dread 
Is when I search for you at night
Close by me...in our bed!


Premium MemberI'm retired and live in a small, mobile home

I'm retired and live in a small, mobile home,
about 5600 miles from the outskirts of Rome,
about 7200 miles from the waters of the Ganges,
and about 5100 miles from Machu Picchu, in the peaks of the Andes.
It's a nice, cozy little home,
where every day, I try to write at least one new spanking poem -- oops!
one spanking new poem.
© Rio Jansen  Create an image from this poem.

Laziness

My heart and mind don't align
I yearn for dreams to yield but vegetate
Putting off things for the very next day
My willpower is always at its lowest
Laziness floods my habits and goals
Until I drown in unsuccess.
The bed, so invitingly soft 
It tempts me into a languid slumber
While a half-finished coffee mug 
Sits cold on my window sill 
My mobile phone, a dangerous distraction
As I scroll hours through social media when awake
Squandering my precious time away
My mind keeps dwelling on the past
Inundating memories of joy, sorrow and regrets
Serving no purpose
Then I slid into an eternity of pleasant thoughts
Of how to spend the next day of my life.

Premium MemberHappy Man

Sometimes I find myself inside
A mind of happy man
Who does everything all right
Much better than I can
He has a house by the sea
Breathing coastline air
There he sits, with book and tea
In his garden chair
I can read his book and smell
Cigarette he lits
What a funny little dwell
Is his mind of wits
He mows thouroughly his lawn
Doing what he can
Never in my life I’ve known
Such a happy man
He won’t know about me
And he wouldn’t find
That sometimes this world I see
Through his happy mind.

The tale of the whistling sock

Asleep in the bottom drawer
A place I now call home
I hear a voice call my name
"Sockie, Sockie" where are you 

I am here
I seem to yell
But my voice was muffled
By rolls of clothing hell

I listen to the frustrated grunts and growls
Doors slam 
The smell of brewed coffee
I guess it's early in the morning 

I try to stand 
Alas,held by the cuffs of clothes
A wretched ordeal 
That I could not foresee

Till I had an idea
So mad it's genius
I used my little lips 
And I began to whistle

Till at last it got to you
And then you brought me out
I'm here to rescue you Sockie
Was the last word you said
© Raki Lyon  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Finding Fun On A Budget part 2 - Summer Sledding

Aqua blue sled
Thumpity thump thump thump
Children laugh with glee

Thank heavens for air conditioning 
Bumpity bump bump bump
Wheeeee!

Mom mirrors masterpiece The Scream
Declares, “This shall not be forgotten!”
Dad pleads his case,
“But, I put a mattress on the bottom.”

The Fam

Mu uncle Franklin
was a pro wrestler.
He lit up a room
like Nikola Tesla.

My aunt Judy
was a cake maker.
Her cakes were tall
like an LA Laker.

My brother Steve
played video games
-until my mom Kate
called him names.

Kate, to her credit
was a fine, fine artist.
But with brains, forget it.
I am the smartest.

Premium MemberDuck

he sits on the roof
of the building opposite
I sit on the sofa
glimpsed from the window; 
him with his feathers
me with my skin; 
themes tune
and blossom falls
from trees
like plates don't fall
out of the cupboard
and we could go on
like that for hours
such
was the relationship
we had

Premium MemberEt Come Home

There on to you!!!
Your idiot brother
Hovered over a Starbucks,
Your sister was seen
Cruising Rodeo Drive.
And Uncle Henry
Got hold of a bottle
George W. Dickle
Tennessee Sippin’ Whiskey
…and you know Uncle Henry!!!
Left his “vehicle”
In the river….
They’re still dredging
Papa says he’s had it with you guys
And Mama said
She’ll leave a light on.
Your best bet is…
Head to the border
Claim asylum
Head for San Francisco
…You’ll fit right in.

                 Love
                           Auntie Grnshht

Two Worlds

Welcome, to the realm of wonder
Meaning an alley around the corner
Of a market street, where Kings and Queens
Satisfy their needs by monetary means
While they live on Eden plains
We wear fitted "Outcast" chains.

But we have King of our own
Midas, with a touch of gold
Wandering worker is what he is
And Back-Alley Kingdom is all his
We're the people of his nation
That spreads from here to train station
Which is around twenty blocks
Soon it might reach even docks.

There are rules on streets to abide
Since our and Royalty's world's collide
And blend into one, so heed what I say
Because be it hard as it may
Making peace with the "gods"
May increase our odds
Of surviving in this Kingdom of Chrome
That all of us, in union, can call home.
© Pim Fool  Create an image from this poem.

Premium MemberShambles

The old homestead is a shambles,
nearly hidden in wild brambles.
My mind reveals a happy place
that had once held your funny face.

The tree swing we once swung upon
is fallen rotted and now gone.
How many the years, or the miles,
have stolen those days of our smiles?

I survey the giant oak trees
we would climb for a cooling breeze.
Now covered in wild woody vines
that hold our secrets in confines.

All in shambles and forsaken,
my early memories shaken.
Has life, like home, come to descend
from vibrant life to final end?

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