Funny Rhyme Poems | Examples
These Funny Rhyme poems are examples of Rhyme poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Rhyme Funny poems written by international poets.
She waltzed and tangoed on ballroom floor, her
partner an Umbrella !
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The all consuming fragrance of the delicate white flowers.
You and I would sit in our perfect garden for hours.
The sweet scent that smothered the garden with rapture,
The bees hard at work as droplets of nectar they capture.
The emerald hues of the leave's colour are interlaced.
Sweet juice of the orange's tantalizing taste.
To be able to pick the juiciest fruit to share,
As the soft breeze gently tossed the curls in your hair.
To sit under the shade of our magnificent orange tree,
The sun sending tender rays to warm so delicately.
We'd sometimes sit in silence reading each others mind.
As love ever present grew and our souls entwined.
I remember the day we planted our enormous tree.
We laughed that it was the first of an orchard, we did agree.
Its survival was doubtful, not much more than an incipit twig.
We both tendered it carefully hoping one day it might be big.
Quite a task nurturing our funny little tropical citrus plant.
Choosing the warmest spot in the yard, so the sun could enchant.
In winter, being so careful to brush all the snow away.
My sweet darling this all seems like it happened only yesterday.
Everyone has their ups and downs
sometimes you win sometimes you lose
come to a crossroads there's no knowing
which is the best path to choose
funny how the way to work gets longer every day
while the road to you is shorter by a mile
it don't make me late it's not the job I hate
and thoughts of you always always make me smile
but about my boss there's really nothing nice to say
with his workers working hard at not working at all
my co-workers shirkers lurkers each and every one
but then I have you to look forward to
when the daily race is run
and the working day is done
everyone has their ins and outs
some days are good some days are bad
go out on a limb and there's no telling
it may be the best day you ever had
everyone wants a happy ending
and I look forward to our rendezvous
my heart knows which route to go
it only shows the road to you
There's a vision we hold,
It's value in what has been told,
The reason so many souls are sold,
Working life away to acquire gold,
Molding their existence.
What is it's significance,
The difference from any other stone?
You're only shown you needed some,
Just a little crumb is all you need,
To feed a family in need.
That shimmering greed,
Now poisoning Earth's seeds,
Dirty deeds making enemies,
Turning beauty into pennies.
Keeping people from getting any,
Only creating scrutiny,
Mutiny in reverse.
As the curse is lifted,
Only the gifted can see,
The truth behind money,
I think you'll find it funny.
The value that is assigned,
Is defined within the mind,
Signed by the soul.
Gold stole the power you hold,
Devouring the life you were told,
Was just about growing old,
And watching it all unfold.
Have you sold your life to gold,
What is the value you hold?
Hope I'm the only one you call Beb
Every time you go to Bed
Keep it low-key with them Blues
Or listen to my lyrical Bars
You Promised to be my only
I go keep it a hundred with you Bae
You pretty thick with some big Booty
I love everything 'bout your Body
Go put on your Bikini
Lemme take you out to the Beach
Bang you hard from the Bay
With no sweeting in its coastal Breeze
surviving_pawn
Carol Burnett you always and forever have me laughing
whether kicking your heels or falling down, slap-stick gaffing.
I see your signal to your grandma, and feel I know you well
Some of your skits had a marvelously funny story to tell
In a few movies you played a mother, who had lost a child
Your dramatic roles showed me that you are not all wild
I can relate to you in many ways; you seem real and honest to me.
If there is another movie star more relatable, I am not sure who it could be.
I am a mouse, I am I am
I am a mouse, I am
The sort you would surely kill
If you found me in your house.
I am a rat, I am I am
I am a rat, I am
Your voice would suddenly go shrill
If you found me in your hat.
Moonsack Reynolds and Sylvester Brime
are funny names that do not rhyme,
and while that's no reason for you to care
that I wear batman underwear,
consider that as I turn to leave,
your silverware is up my sleeve.
three aliens camped out in the desert in the heat of the day
Their skin which had been green, turned a tiny bit more gloomily gray
They were huddled around a campfire or was it a TV?
I tried to tiptoe past them, hoping their intentions were friendly
One of them pointed and my head began to twirl around my neck
It rotated three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle, what the heck?
the aliens laughed; one of them handed me a tin full of beer
I did not dare reject it, because I was now trembling with fear
funny stories were told in their alien language, which I did not know.
I was relieved at two thirty-five a.m. when they finally let me go.
they had a giggle that clued me as to when I should laugh
I ran all the way home to hug my cuddly, a furry giraffe.
During the COVID lockdown,
"Yours Truly" became "Spend Cast"
All those stimulus checks...Gone!
Now, just figments of the past.
I bought way too many Sox,
I bought way too many Shoes
I bought way too many T-shirts
I think I caught "Consumer Blues!"
Bought a lot of funny Hoodies,
And bought "Six" Damascus Knives!
Bought Boxers by the dozen,
Oh, how would my funds survive?
If I had back all the "Coin"
That I gladly threw away,
Like those G.D. "Lotto Tix"
I'd be a "Wealthy Man" today!
The quill flows friendly in steady hands
The ink spreads over the page like butter
Thoughts and ideas are conveyed quickly
No verbal setbacks from slur or stutter
Soon, brilliance breaks free from the shadows
Fame and accolades are on the menu
Adoring fans throw laurels at your feet
Your name up in lights atop each venue
Then a funny thing happens to your ego
All this attention has exiled your gift
Your quill weeps and sheds lonely tears of ink
Thru the rubble, just broken words to sift
Now, gone are the laurels, gone are your fans
No more accolades, no more fond greeting
Your quill just went limp, like your dying dreams
Words are eternal, but fame is fleeting
Our relationship is on shaky ground
We don't kiss each other like before
We don't say hello and goodbye anymore
We give each other the runaround
For the grace of God
We need to sit down to talk things over
We need the help of the Lord
Countless serious promises were made
That we must keep, cherish and honor
We must always sleep in the same bed
Until the end of time, until eternity
We must behave and act maturely
We must discuss everything thoroughly
We must smile and be nice to each other
We must live in peace and in harmony
And our love and passion must last forever.
Copyright © January,2019 Hebert Logerie All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
When I arose one day, I could barely walk.
Had to drink my coffee before I could talk.
Before I was done, the bathroom would call,
I held the grab bar, but still managed to fall.
The shower beckoned me, so I went on in.
I slipped on the soap, and bruised my shin.
Later I was hungry, so in the kitchen I go.
I screamed a bit loudly, when I stubbed my toe.
My dog started barking, and looking quite mean.
He then bit my leg, it was a real bloody scene.
I made it to the fridge, and looked inside,
There was nothing to eat, so I sat down and cried.
I ordered a large pizza, and thought "oh well".
But when it arrived, it was burnt as hell.
I tried to take a walk, but my feet were still sore,
Instead of feeling good, it was becoming a chore.
I made it back home, after slipping in the mud,
That's it, I thought, this day's a real dud.
I thought tomorrow will be good, like it's always been,
I laid my head on my pillow, then the ceiling caved in.
Goodnight!
What if one day the death comes knocking at my door uninvited,
What if it's my last day to see my loved smiling,
What will happen to the list of places I wrote, where I wanted to explore,
What will happen to my bucket list , the long drive midnight,
What will happen to my dreams , the hard work I've been doing,
To my favourite type of dress or the jewelry I wanted to purchase,
The love I've longed for, the light laughter , soft hugs and kisses I've been dreaming off,
The white gown on my weeding night and a gaze never leaving mine,
But I would still like to know where I'd be buried or the flowers i would receive,
How many would mourn and cry or how many would laugh at my sight,
How many curse and how many wouldn't come,
Isn't it a funny thought , my love?
I do want to see myself age, thick white strands and wrinkled hands ,
But I would still like to see if I'd smile or cry when the uninvited guest would arrive.
Marjorie Moose, with her chandelier crown,
found twelve ducklings just wandering down.
No mother in sight, no map in their beaks
just confused chirps and moss-covered cheeks.
She took them to a pond shaped like a spoon,
where frogs sang jazz beneath the moon.
She taught them to nap in a thistle-made bed,
While squirrels served pines and soup in a shed.
But one day the sky sent a postcard of rain,
Signed by a breeze from the mushroom terrain.
Then Mama Duck swooped from a cumulus cloud,
and all the ducklings chirped, absurdly loud.
“We love you, Moose Mum!” then gave her a hug,
and a necklace of gum from a raccoon’s tree rug.
Now legends say in the forest of blue,
babysitters have hooves and hearts too.