Long humor Poems
Long humor Poems. Below are the most popular long humor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long humor poems by poem length and keyword.
A Poetic Pinnacle – Release 2
By Franklin Price12/10/2016
A poetic pinnacle I'm trying to attain
The thought of it is daunting as it's running through my brain
There is no heavy lifting, where I would need a crane
I meet it with some humor and never with disdain
I hope I am successful that it will entertain
Familiarity with many words I will attempt to feign
I try it mainly for myself, want nothing else to gain
Want new underwear for Christmas, I hope that they are Hanes
Further alphabet progression in this poem I will ingrain
More difficult than first grade and reading Dick and Jane
Or remembering the Senator, Virginia's Timmy Kaine
All the letters so far were left where they were lain
I must leave them lying there my progress to maintain
My wisdom tooth is hurting I need some novocaine
The dentist is a friend of mine, he will help me to obtain
A shot placed in the gum below will take away the pain
Now back to the monorhyme that's not a short quatrain
Of the letters in the alphabet, only eight remain
Hope that I can make it while still remaining sane
If you see me spouting gibberish put me on the crazy train
That travels to a plane that will fly me to Ukraine
Before I arrive I'll comb my hair I'm just a little vain
The excitement now of writing this, beginning now to wane
The first shot now is wearing off, I'll now use xylocaine
For “Y” I'll make a German word just to “yankyourchain”
This attempt has made me hungry, I think I'll eat some Zatarain
Finally finished all the alphabet, though “Y”'s a little bane
Had help from several writing friends who planted words of grain
PANTYGYNT, HUMPWHISTLE and the first who was SANEJANE
Without them, Pinnacle 2 is not, or at least be quite inane.
...I must’ve passed out not long after that,
in the hospital people did say
that bison and bull went for ten minutes,
before the tired, and both slunk away.
The people called it the best rodeo
that any of them had ever seen,
some hippies protested, what else is new,
they said treating bison that way was ‘mean.’
And the Forest Service took my statement,
it was clear they thought I was at fault,
but they could not book me for any crimes,
none had seen the first charge, after all.
Some of the bull-riders thought I was tough,
and declared I should take up the sport,
they even wrote a song about the day,
but didn’t mention how I ruined my shorts.
I just declined, having more than enough
‘fun’ riding on the backs of bis cows,
I just wanted to find some quiet job,
if this mad universe would allow.
But I should’ve known this wasn’t my luck,
and soon events would somehow conspire
to make me baptize the pope himself
in a church that was strangely on fire…
We children gathered around the table.
The aromas were rich and dense, we fidgeted.
But we had one last thing to do - before we began the feast.
We all, in our places, held hands, smiling, as my dad began to sing
- and, after a beat, we all joined in.
** To the tune: “Rudolph the red nose reindeer*
“Leonard the big leg turkey
had two great big turkey legs
and if you ever saw them
you would actually say, “they’re big.”
All of the other turkeys
they would laugh and call him names
they never let poor Leonard
join in any turkey games
Then one foggy Thanksgiving eve
The pilgrims came to say,
“Leonard with your legs so big”
“How’d you like to join our Thanksgiving gig?”
Then how all the turkeys loved him
and they shouted out with glee
“Leonard the big legged turkey,”
“you’ll go down in history.” (like the light bulb)
“you’ll go down in history.”
“you’ll go down well with graveyyyyyyyyyy.”
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
.
I've been a vegetarian since 1999, so I don't know why I write poems like this.
The Lion and the Lamb
Lamb said, "Violence is not the way of God."
Lion said to Lamb, "That's odd"
(and I quote verbatim)
just before he ate 'im.
Lion's Face Splattered Across the Front Page
Lion was out on parole
when he saw a Gazelle and ate him whole.
His attorney apologized for the pain
and would carefully explain
that the jungle king would plead insane,
but the jury found he was not insane, but droll
when he said he should've topped him with a jelly roll.
Carnivore Herbivore Dialog
The carnivore spoke, "I eat animals raw,
according to the jungle law".
The herbivore replied, "I won't even try it,
I observe a strictly vegan diet",
as he proceeded to gently chew
a burger of mushrooms and tofu.
The predator ate him in one gulp and said,
"I prefer my dinner to be grass fed".
Last night; had to study for trig homework,
I was so tired, but I had to stay awake.
Too many problems that I went berserk;
Took my time; I could not make a mistake.
When I finished, I started seeing stuff,
A Pterodactyl was staring me down.
Began to shake in my bones; I wasn’t tough,
House was so quiet no one was around.
I thought to self “He’s going to eat me!”
I had to think fast, too young to get ate.
To my surprise, homework was ate with glee,
But I was mad; I stayed up way too late.
Was I dreaming, or was it a real smirk?
Who knows, but he was an absolute jerk.
Inspired by the “And Then a Flaming Pterodactyl
Ate My Homework.” Contest
02/02/2021
The situation that my pappy is in has gone from bad to worse.
It all started on the day when he began to carry a purse.
Things got really bad when I went to his house and saw him wearing a dress.
He says that he's a woman who's trapped inside a man's body, it is a mess.
Pappy has also started wearing high heel shoes and using make-up.
It's embarrassing when a man's dad leaves lipstick on coffee cups.
My pappy said that I shouldn't feel ashamed because of his new clothes.
But it really draws attention when a man wears a mini skirt and panty hose.
When people see my pappy, they point and laugh at him.
Then I get arrested because I beat the crap out of them.
Pappy asked me not to beat up anybody else because it's an awful sin.
I told him that I'll have to fight until he either has a sex change or behaves like a man again.
(This is a fictional poem.)
POTENTIAL is what you may or may not have,
according to someone else.
ABILITY is what you have at a particular moment,
but is not always apparent.
TALENT is what you think you have,
but may not actually.
SKILL is what you've acquired over a long period of time,
but may lose without use.
TOLERANCE is what you display,
only when they agree with you.
MODESTY is what you express,
but only when they are impressed.
HONESTY is what should be used,
but only when you're not endangering yourself.
SINCERITY is what you must have,
even when you're endangering yourself.
(8/84)
HUMOR is what you must find, because we
all know that you're not perfect.
LOVE is what you need to express, because
We all know that no one's perfect.
(8/90)
You tell folks you’re as busy as a bee,
but I’ve been watching you. Here’s what I see:
you, sitting on the porch with book in hand
and dozing off. Is this the “work” you planned?
When I fly by your windows, I peek in.
Neglecting dirty dishes is a sin!
I’m shocked to see that messy, unmade bed!
You’re busy—like me? This is what you’ve said.
When you compare us two, I feel distressed.
Thus, in the name of fairness, I suggest
“I’m busy as a sloth” is apropos
for those like you. Let this be your motto!
June 13, 2022
entered in the Bee Creative Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Words activate something in me
even if I’m just thinking, not writing.
So I soon find myself back at the keyboard.
It seems that my life’s been a series of keyboards.
My motor’s always running—I idle fast.
But I’ve been untying my intellectual shoe-strings recently.
Dissociatively avoiding intellective pursuits,
and embracing entropy (since school ended).
It’s been relaxing—I’ve felt new to my body.
There’ve been happenings lately,
particularly in the nocturnal theater of romantic nights.
My bf Peter’s here—trying to look impressed by an under-grad degree.
He’s a pretty good actor—for an amateur.
We’ve been interrogating the richer aspects of love,
testing it’s configurations you might say,
with constant motions and lush indulgences.
We’re savoring this temporary freedom,
devouring it, like mindless carnivores.
Peter lives in Geneva, you see, while I’ve been in New Haven.
If I’ve learned anything, in my ivy league, senior year,
it’s that you can’t cheat closeness with virtuality.
He may have a new job in New Jersey and I'll be in Boston.
I've already calculated a year’s travel expenses from
Logan to Liberty and back 52 times = ~$62k. Make it so.
I'm an enumerator, I count everything
—the left facing croissants on a tray,
the days Peter and I have been apart,
and the modicum of hours we’ve had together.
I’m somewhere on that obsessive-compulsive bell curve,
and I’m a Libra, uncomfortable in an uneven world.
Perhaps there's no shame in this.
I wonder sometimes, when we’re separated, if we’ll still work, when
we’re reunited, and then, like sunlight can suddenly define shadow,
we can see that it does.
That love is more potent than wine.
I dream of things I can’t have—yet,
like the life I’d like to live—someday.
Hey, I’ve something to look forward to.
.
.
Songs for this:
Love Train by The O'Jays
Easy by The Commodores
A pro-active journalist
is like a research-committed teacher
teaching and listening to cooperative research designs
and presentations.
The opposite of the journalist's deconstruction
of events
is reconstruction through predictive narrative.
Just as the opposite of permaculture's green activist
regeneration
is pathological degeneration
emerging from past too-monoculturing memory
Back toward too much red-meat butchering
and ballistic slaughter
swimming in pathogens
about health-resilient DNA-RNA solidarity genes
for future regenerative reconstructions.
Recently
the local writer of Permaculture Opera
invited me to his and her place,
I'm still not sure s/he has chosen
Either/Or gender,
for a co-author interview.
But I need to arrive
just before dawn
and not drive in
or even toward
EarthSoul's healthy address,
if at all possible.
So, I'm riding my bike
and arrive just as pre-dawn light
could reveal river homefront terrain.
There s/he is
atop a barren maple tree,
facing East
across a valley,
rocking back and forth
from north to south
and back again...
S/he calls "Good Morning!"
as if this emerging light
has already made Earth's best day invitation
convocation
to and for those less grumpy
and feeling old-knees and hips frumpy.
S/he welcomes me up
and so I go
with all my Senior Citizen climbing years
behind me
to rest just below Earth's swaggering
Operatic sway.
Before I can ask
what s/he is doing
S/he tells me
This is Earth's centering sit spot
from which s/he greets our vibrant Sun
when clouds do not grey stand
in dark swaying way.
Here s/he waves back
as Earth's trees thank FatherSun
for waving forth
paid-forward
toward this WuWei Day
West for Ego Win
and East of EcoRooting Yin
discerning through and after dualdark night.
Like a Permaculture Opera
opening each morning,
each life,
this ego/eco centric
Western swaying
dusk-fading glory.
My Opera piece will begin
There's no such health-listening thing
as a non-teachable moment.
A local pro-active journalist
sways like a research-committed teacher
teaching cooperative research design
through re-presentational invitations...