Long Funnyold Poems
Long Funnyold Poems. Below are the most popular long Funnyold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Funnyold poems by poem length and keyword.
Strollin' thro' the park the other day I chanced upon to meet,
An old feller sittin' on a bench and he invited me to have a seat.
He looked somewhat disreputable and I was hesitant at first,
But he proferred a fifty-cent jug of wine for to sate my thirst!
The hootch loosened him as he disclosed his monetary philosophy,
So I sat back to listen, thinkin' maybe I could learn a thing or three.
"Son, you see that brand-new Cadillac a-sittin' over there?
I'll tell you how I got that and how I became a millionaire!"
"I check under every cushion lookin' for loose change,
When checkin' into a motel, but my wife thinks that mighty strange!
I even pick up pennies off the street, savin' all I can find.
People titter and gawk at me but I pay them never mind!"
"You see these duds I'm a-wearin'? The best Goodwill has to offer!
Shoppin' there leaves more pelf to fill my bountiful coffer!
I get free pop from Goodwill when to them I grudgin'ly donate.
Of course, I require a receipt for my annual tax rebate!"
"Each Wednesday I take my spouse on a jolly spree,
To dine on ninety-nine cent hamburgers, a bargain don't you see!"
Well, I learned one thing from that old geezer I suppose:
You can never judge a feller by the cut of his clothes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
A dear old friend of mine of many years was retired the other day.
In many ways I'll miss my pal more than words can say!
Alas, there was no longer need for him and his upper and lower case
Since the computer is now all the rage - he is gone without a trace!
I speak of my trusty IBM Selectric upon which I used to hunt and peck.
Now, I rely solely on my computer - frankly, 'tis a pain in the neck!
'Twas some comfort knowing that if my Selectric went on the fritz,
That I didn't have to call some "expert" in Mongolia when it gave me fits!
In his elder years his parts began to show some wear and tear,
And since the dear old chap hardly qualified for medicare,
'Twas getting difficult to find a typewriter doc for his repair.
After all, he and his elderly peers are becoming rather rare!
It was with some remorse that I consigned him to the Goodwill Store,
Hoping some less technological soul would give him life once more.
Now 'tis just this puzzling 'puter and me for which I have little affection!
(My monitor screen is becoming so blurred using whiteout for correction!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Hooray! I'm done with basic trainin' - I passed the rigorous test!
No more inspections, guard duty or standin' at parade rest!
No sergeants yellin' in my face, never more to be harassed!
No more parades or kitchen police, I'm headin' home at last!
I fancied myself chargin' into town astride a sleek Arabian steed,
(But I slunk into town on a Greyhound bus, I hasten to concede).
I thought I'd create some awe in my snappy Air Force suit of blue,
But folks thought I was the bus driver, a humblin' homecomin' debut!
'Twas nice to flop in my bed again with the luxury of sleepin' late,
And savor Mom's cookin' instead of chow hall grub upon my plate!
I decided to look up my old girlfriend and exude my usual charm.
Alas, when I met her, she was hangin' on some other feller's arm!
My Air Force career spanned thirty years and I've often gone home since,
But my friends frequently asked a question that always made me wince.
(I was always welcomed by old pals, neighbors and numerous kith and kin).
They admired my uniform but asked if I drove a bus much to my chagrin!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 10 in Carolyn Devonshire's "The Work You Do" Contest - September 2010
Poor old Chicken Licken's not the brightest little bird
Keeps coming up with theories that are clearly quite absurd
He got hit by an acorn, and to laugh would be a sin
But our little feathered friend believes, the sky is falling in
He’s running round the farmyard telling everyone his tale
“We must inform the government and do it without fail”
Rounding up some other birds to join him on his quest
Picking just the fittest, disregarding all the rest
The Goose and Turkey Lurkey led this brave deluded ring
As they marched into the night so they could go and tell the King
Poor old Chicken Lickens brain has really flown the coop
The way he carries on he’s going to end up in the soup
You might have heard the stories
Or maybe they’re just rumours
Of when my poor old granny
Lost her frilly bloomers
My granny she is old school
Hates waste of any kind
Repairs her clothes incessantly
With whatever she can find
When the lacky in her knickers
Lost all its stretchiness
She pondered for a while
And wondered what was best
Now granddad had some braces
That he no longer wore
Granny goes up to the bedroom
And she pinched ‘em from his drawer
She cuts up granddads braces
And stitching them by hand
On her bright red frilly bloomers
Puts an extra strong waist band
The next day while out shopping
She wore her favourite drawers
She visited the butchers
And several other stores
Though the ‘lastic was performing
The way she thought it would
The fabric of her bloomers
Wasn’t really all that good
Then as she packed her shopping
She was putting in the beans
When her favourite bright red knickers
Departed at the seams
Not being one to panic
She tried to be discreet
As her great big frilly bloomers
Landed gently on her feet
Stepping from her underwear
She didn’t make a fuss
Just picked up all her shopping bags
And went home on the bus
Of course she blamed my granddad
She said that he was wrong
To let her use his braces
Cos’ the ‘lastic was too strong
© John W Fenn 11-04-2009
When I was eleven years old, my family took a cross-country trip out to the western
United States.
Along the way, we made a stop at a gas station / grocery store off the beaten path
somewhere in Arizona. Out front of the dilapidated store was an old Indian in full
Indian regalia sitting in front of a hand painted sign that read: “Best Memory in the
World. Never forgets a thing.”
Curious, I walked up to the old chief and asked, “If you never forget anything, what
did you eat for breakfast on your eleventh birthday?”
The leathery old Indian stared at me for the longest time before simply
replying, “Eggs”.
By this time my father was calling me back to the car and I left the old Indian chief
somewhat skeptical about his self-acclaimed World’s Best Memory.
Thirty years later, I was re-creating my family’s trip out west with my own wife and
children. As luck would have it, we stopped at the very same gas station and the
old Indian Chief with the same old sign was still sitting out front in his chair.
Excited, I told my children that I had seen this very same Indian years ago when I
was just a kid. I said, “Come on, let’s go talk to the old chief.”
So I walked up to the old Indian Chief with kids in tow, raised my hand and said in
my best Indian voice, “How”.
Without blinking an eye, he responded, “Scrambled.”
Let me tell you about the notorious two
Well known by both me and you
Terrorising the neighborhood
They ventured in to the wood
Causing mischief, getting up to no good
Poor old Anne May
Was baking cakes and cookies one day
Left them to cool by the window on display
Not knowing that the two were stalking their prey
The little sods ate the hot cookies off the baking tray
Then threatened poor granny May to make some more
When she refused they tried to squeeze her in between the oven doors
Lucky a computer hacker running from the police heard her distressful implore
He witnessed the duo trying to cut her up with a saw
They chased after him and caught him in flight
Boy you should have seen he put up a good fight
The police caught them and the duo acted like two little children that had fright
“It’s not like that,” he said, “Go see the old woman, what a sight.”
The police went to Anne May’s house
She was lying all wounded in a bloody blouse
Still squealing like a little mouse
She shook and would say anything until she saw her spouse
The notorious two were eventually taken to jail
The computer hacker now works for the FBI on bail
And if you want to know what happened to poor old May, the story is out on email.
For those who are blind there is computer screen braille
(humorous poem)
I left my pants somewhere
I can't seem to find them anywhere.
I have looked every place I know
Everywhere high and low
But still I can't find them
This are my special pants
They're not the best looking ones
They're not the kind to flaunt around!
Yet I don't worry if they look that bad
I still like my old comfortable pants
I also own a pair of worn out t-shirts
That they match this old pants I want
So I better keep searching for my pants
If I can't find them soon I'll be very mad
Cos I need them immediately very bad
So I don't have to run naked all thru the house!
(:
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2009
August 30, 2009
I suppose in every neighborhood there is bound to be,
An old grouch who with everything tends to disagree.
It matters not whether it happens to be a her or him;
He or she will zoom into orbit at the slightest whim!
The neighbor's pooch performed an indiscretion upon his lawn.
With that a figurative line in the sand was severely drawn.
Said he, "If again over that fence your scruffy cur hops,
Me and you will have a little chat with the local cops!"
A car flew down the street like a bat out of you know where.
All the old grouch could do was shake his fist and swear!
A kid with his boom-box on max drove him out of his mind.
The grouch told him to cool it or he'd kick his scrawny behind!
The old crab was kept awake all night by packs of barking mutts.
The sheriff he will call tomorrow, no ifs, ands or buts!
When the neighbor kids trampled all over his blooming flowers,
They scurried home to mommy as a result of his fiendish glowers!
The old curmudgeon has had many acrimonious conversations,
As upon the neighbors he has expressed his manifold frustrations!
The old grouser will undoubtedly start a heated debate,
When attempting to enter Saint Peter's Golden Gate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
My Favourite Shoes
New shoes bought at great expense, soft and supple leather,
Sturdy heels with non slip soles, fit for any weather.
One may declare without a doubt
These shoes are surely strong and stout.
Shoes that know just when to dance, when to walk or run.
Shoes that given half a chance, stride out to have some fun.
They’ll take you where you want to be
And bring you back; or set you free.
Handmade shoes that last for years, and travel many miles,
Crossing bridges, strolling lanes, through the fields, and over stiles.
O’er life’s great map still tramping on
To see the world before it’s gone.
Time marches on, by its side, these shoes keep up the pace.
They’re old and scuffed, down at heel; in fact, a right disgrace.
But throw them out, I could not do
For comfort is a worn old shoe.
"My Favorite Things" contest
Sponsored by: farah chamma