Funny School Poems | Examples
These Funny School poems are examples of School poems about Funny. These are the best examples of School Funny poems written by international poets.
Old School Cool (c) 2025 by the Entangled Pair
She's hot, yes, but she's also cool
she is a gem, she is a jewel
I think she's great (and I'm no fool)
she beats those drums like she's old school
she pounds those skins, sometimes it's funny
she hits them like they owe her money
and one thing more I'll tell you honey
she's on that kit whether cloudy or sunny
She's been that way right from the start
plays from the the soul, plays from the heart
she always does more than her part
it's not just passion, it's her art
looking back I am that fool
dug in like a Missouri mule
and if this doesn't break some rule
she's not just cool - she's old school cool
word
as the dance ends ~ the wallflower comes to life
My head has always been made of glass,
and inside it lives a faint idea of who I am.
She used to be a silhouette,
but even then she wasn’t very defined.
In eighth grade, I believed that she lived in the shadows,
because showing herself felt heavier
than living in the trenches of our own mind.
In a way, she was right.
I was told that the time would come when I’d figure out who I was—
but what use is saying “everything happens for a reason”
if it only makes me sad?
I started to write in my mirror:
words like “I’m funny, I’m thoughtful, and I’m kind.”
And I waited for a big moment,
when I’d realize that I was right.
Then came social media.
It made me feel like people could look into my seemingly see-through mind through a cracked lens and endless filters.
I thought maybe they could help me figure out who I was,
but no flashy moment ever arrived.
It wasn’t until my friend thanked me for giving her a birthday gift
and studying for a class I didn’t take just to help her understand
that I got home to my dusty shelf and whispered into an empty room while looking my mirror in the eye
“Maybe I wasn’t wrong after all”
Sir Isaac Newton, so great,
Had the apple been rotten and late,
No physics would have been discovered yet,
No derivations would have ever been set.
Katie’s ribs pressed against her skin,
the sharp angles of a body once soft.
She lifted her blouse, let me see—
the stubs, the little bumps,
two perfect incisions smooth as marble.
I swallowed.
Physically lubricious—I couldn’t do it.
Her perfume fought the chemo stench.
Coiffed mascara, a careful face,
a practiced smile, teeth too straight.
She asked if I still wrote poetry.
I said nothing.
Once, she stretched across the hood of my car,
blonde roots peeking through red box dye,
sipping melted ice from a gas station cup,
her freckles a map I traced in secret.
She could talk for hours,
a queen without a kingdom.
She whispered after the hysterectomy,
baby gravy’s got nowhere to go.
No need for rubber—
I trust you.
I left the room, shame humming in my jaw,
the sound of her voice stuck in my teeth.
Later, I cried.
When Shakespeare was in school learning his grammar,
under his breath, you could sometimes hear him stammer,
"Who are these fools
who teach you to write by these rules?
They might as well teach you how to screw in a screw with a hammer!"
Spring semester has started.
We’re all immersed in the ritual of change
and totally committed to that descent into madness
to the relentless drabness, the flatness, the blandness
for the hours, days and weeks of study
and a bone-deep fatigue that’s actually funny
We’ll live at the edge of intensity
near the the corner of drudging
and gather around the printer
at the media center
like a secular rite of passage
I think I need a daily grind—to keep my mind busy.
What’s wrong with me, that when I’m on vacation, I miss it?
What if work/study is one of my bone-marrow-deep love languages?
.
.
Songs for this:
Happy Dreamer by Laid Back
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
(You're Better) Than Ever by illuminati hotties
Edgar my dear
Why do you have that spear
Is that your plan?
When in a jam?
Scare the bloody Kansas City yellow and red
When they fight the fowl volture appearing dead
Spirit Haunting
Spirit Daunting
Blazing under the Baltimore sun
Until Poe's poetic message is done
No swift moves will be here
Only Chiefs carcasses holding their Daly beer
(There are wisdom schools which,
going backward from what has happened,
can either prove or disprove almost anything)
If there’s a fool, who’s learnt to be nigh cool,
He sure would win so-called wise as a rule,
Let him come from whatever wisdom school.
And if there be a bully anywhere,
If he gets ‘way with his bubble of scare,
There’s ample chance, it’s just his frothy dare.
Let me put it simply this way rather:
Should a man feel fully free, I gather,
Chances are, he’s born free of a father.
I therefore have this simple rule that reads:
If any an input in life succeeds,
Scant little has it to do with your creeds.
It then fails to prove nor ever disprove
That tales in tales, nor ever love in love,
Given earth’s gravity, can higher move.
____________________________________________
Tercet |10.04.2024|funny
Poet’s note: A Triplet, Triolet, nor yet a Terza Rima, this is a Tercet, marked as Other. It is time Poetry Soup allows this classification.
My mom is setting the table.
Fork in hand, spoon in hand, plate in hand.
Everything on hand.
I fidget with a napkin.
I told her about a dream I had.
She didn’t think it was funny either.
I dreamt that I graduated college.
My name was called on stage,
It was ethereal.
Silverware clanging gently.
Getting ready for the guests.
I would put a diploma in the living room, I decided.
I would always take the time to dust the frame, before guests would arrive.
I promise.
I would dust it every time.
One time when I was in nursey school, Miss Shanahan had everyone sit in a circle and one-by-one say what we wanted to be when we grow up.
It was what you’d expect…
Doctor
Firefighter
Astro naught
Truck driver
Race car driver
Veterinarian
Police officer
Movie star
Baseball player
Actress
Princess
Detective
Engineer…and the like
Then it was my turn:
“What do you want to be when you grow up Bobby?”
I thought about it a minute, and said
“God.”
That threw her for a loop.
There was no braggadocio.
No narcissism, no conceit, no misplaced pride
I didn’t think I had a shot at it or anything.
Just seemed to me it would be the top job.
Can’t blame me.
Collective nouns, what do you mean?
Let me present-
A gaggle of geese,
A moose and some meese,
A tuft of grass,
And a band of thieves,
A fleet of ships,
And a flock of sheep
A flock of sheep?
Well, if the goose is geese,
geese are a gaggle,
moose is meese,
So, why is it not a shoop and a sheep?
ENGLISH! I think I might even sue!
I will take you to the BENCH of judges,
There we will resume!
You make a porridge of words
In your cauldron of 'sense',
Whilst you horridly cackle!
Your words need to be observed
Under a great big lens!
...And then a flaming Pterodactyl ate my homework
John G. Lawless
©6/16/2023
Mary skipped to a different beat
You could see it in her funny feet
One shoe off, the other on
One sock green, the other brown...
She did her homework in the john
TV, computer, and radio on
Excelled in school at irrelevant classes ~
Shining shoes of cloth and threshing molasses
Mr. Toast
There was a person whose name was Mr. Toast,
A man put him in a toaster for him to roast,
But he got burnt,
And became a Ghost!
Mr. Toast,
Who was now a ghost,
Couldn’t be seen by anyone
Which made him proud for another boast!
Now as a ghost,
He went through walls,
And everyone was now afraid,
As they knew of Mr. Toast as a ghost!
One day he broke into a laboratory,
And started drinking the chemicals
From which he became once more Mr. Toast,
And he was now also afraid of Ghosts!
-Tanzeel Aslam Khan