Funny Sonnet Poems | Examples
These Funny Sonnet poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Sonnet Funny poems written by international poets.
Cyberspace, my blue astral projector
I'm not seeking new friends to entertain
I dwell in a big celestial sector
Cradled in great cool mists and northern rain.
Yet, from funny dark galaxies above
Comes bright celestial advice, kind and wise.
The Oak Grove beckons those whom nature loves
To stretch their wings where faery nature flies.
A faery soars through Cosmos, fierce and free.
No longer bound by bedridden routine.
I journeyed back through past pink memories
And glimpsed my magic future, wide and keen.
A verdant woman, celestial and high,
Candle visions that light the morning sky.
Last night I dreamt I was one-rupee coin
Who met a two-thousand rupee crisp note
In a rich man’s pocket, looking so keen
At the exalted worthy of my vote.
The note asked: you find anything funny?
No, but you must have moved many a miles,
Which, a penny like me cannot any,
The coin wondered. No, caught I was on isles
All along, detained as if in dark land--
In lockers, safe from prying eyes of law,
Until given was to a corrupt hand,
No, there’s nothing in me to inspire awe.
All life I’ve spent oh in utter darkness,
Relieved I feel at last this to confess.
_____________________
Sonnet | 28.07.2025 | money, journey
Every wonder where they come from?
I’m just glad that I still get some.
Sometimes they’re pleasant and seem good,
sometimes vague and misunderstood.
At times they’re funny or bizarre,
like riding on a shooting star.
Often it seems they’re teaching me,
past life lessons I didn’t see.
Sometimes one seems like dejavu,
in another time I was you.
Then there was one, I wasn’t a man,
my whole body was made of sand.
Dreams are intriguing, so much fun.
Recurring dreams are never done.
Cool waters casade over myriad
rocks. That serpentine creek which heads to sea
Voice lilts,, its charm draws me in period
Fears enters as I sit under the tree
Crescent moon rising gives off lunar light
There appears a phosphorous light green glow
Creatures who are naturally bright at night
Water ripples by, while soft breezes blow
Fear gives way to the beautiful set-up
By God's verdant earth, Lord of creation
Then creatures slither emptying my cup
A lizard, not a nebular station
The negative ions should be soothing
A night visit seems to offer musings
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her skin's mahogany, not regal white.
She slaps on paints and fillers by the ton,
and has the dress sense of an anchorite.
Fastidious? Only in her brand of beer.
Brash burger joints are where she likes to dine.
She'd rather look at Fonzie than Vermeer:
thinks maybe vampires dwell in Wittgenstein.
It's Oprah Winfrey over Orson Welles,
and Justin Bieber beats Thelonius Monk:
she'll read "Hello!" before the Book of Kells,
and Chateau Margaux's just for getting drunk.
A fiery, funny, perky popinjay?
I wouldn't have her any other way.
My bars the words, the prison guard my verse,
Rattling the staves of this poetic cell,
I struggle vainly, locked up in this jail.
Yea, thus is my predicament, my curse.
Oh, how jealously, you smirking blank verse,
I look upon what freedom guides your quill;
For formal phrasing does of me compel
Stubborn structures—the styles which I rehearse.
But, boldy bumbling, art is now arising!
Walls becoming my score, and tallies tones, ?Confined to meter, bound by rigid rhyme,
I yet find measures full of surprising
Motifs. The modern poet at sonnets groans,
But I, I do believe they’re quite sublime.
O, idle love that flows where meters clash,
Where sense and vigor do not well align;
For thou the bowl of sense do rudely smash,
For I, the quest for harmony divine.
Think not these matters well enough ignored,
That coursing love shall float us to the shore;
For current-crossing whirls one cannot ford,
The broken ship of love a thing of lore.
And still, there is the sunlight of thy strength,
That doth ignite the world with crooked rays;
So great thy power that knows too short a length,
I fear my sense is lost as I amaze.
And if but once thy rhyme was not the worst,
I know my heart with love should surely burst.
A sonnet and limerick once met
Romantically in tete-a-tete.
The sonnet had grace,
The limerick, no trace:
Make match of your muses, the net.
Where went my package, ordered long ago?
The app displays delivered, but no proof waits
At the door, nor at the store—no box, no crates,
Whereto my package? I simply don’t know…
Was it stolen, picked up by some joe schmo?
Or lost in transit, misplaced, dropped, as fate’s
Great comedy, with mischievous whim dictates?
Whereto my package? I really don’t know…
This stupid app is just no help, I swear,
The tracking code is gone, the “Contact us”
Is missing, or hiding in some strange place,
Tucked away from consumers unaware.
Oh! and to what end, all this tedious fuss?
Where is my package? There’s not a damn trace…
The funniest people are the most sad,
They're the ones who are coping with a smile.
The ones who don’t argue, never stay mad,
the ones who, for laughs, go the extra mile.
The funniest people need to laugh most.
They hide their depression, bury it deep,
They're the ones who laugh louder, jest, and boast.
The funny people sadness likes to keep.
Funny people end up crying alone.
In the cover of dark they let out tears.
Share life with sadness running to the bone.
Funny people are swallowed by their fears.
I find the funny people in a crowd,
And I hope they know that I'll be around.
Both selves have fallen, to the drink at last,
A time to forge the third, and split anew.
The first: Too funny, fleeting dreams have passed,
Too light for purpose, upside-down yet true.
Beloved by all but self—so lost, so sweet,
Its hollow laughter echoed through the night.
The second, cold with empire’s pallid beat,
Kept the professors' chickens up in fright.
The wine—transforming masks of elf and self,
A cruel trick, as one dissolved to two.
The world feigns wait, confused, upon a shelf,
Not knowing which of these it wishes true.
Yet seasons change, and with them comes the call:
To walk as one, or split, to rise from fall.
"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. The word is love." Sophocles, Greek Poet
How is the tender word love felt and seen,
words have many meanings what does love mean?
Love can always be heart warming and viewed,
as we enjoy a meal with loving food.
A funny laugh is a great attitude,
it sure can turn around your day and mood.
Love and kindness puts a stop to a feud,
saying bad words and your mouth should be glued.
All your friends and family should include,
loving days with plenty of gratitude.
Love can be great to set everyone free,
this is uniquely for you and for me.
No more weight now to bear we can just flee,
let's fly free like a little yellow bee.
~Write me a Sonnet but, let it be known
no poems are allowed with names there upon.
No wordie finesse to impress or construe
like gossamer wing, sublime or imbue.
Submitting confusion or befuddled verse
or morbid misssspellings will cause me to curse.
And, please leave out language referring to sex,
for most to be tactful, it's far too complex.
Disqualification befalls the Bard
who fails to comply or rules, disregard.
Expecting to place, my will must be done,
but always remember… you’re here to have fun.
When judges use hammers to drive home their rules
just try to avoid getting hit by these tools.
My pen, it cries
I wrote for too long
To get sleep, it tries
To end my songs
I deserve to write
So I tell him to stop
But it still fights
It now worked like a mop
He is now mad
But still, I am not done
"Oh, stop lad!"
But this is fun
"Your handwriting, oh, one of a kind!"
"I would love this day, if I were blind!"
"The pen is mightier than the sword"
Said the towns' poet, a bit of a bard,
To the Chief of the military,
Challenged him to a duel, gave his shiny card
The card had his house no. and plot
The challenge? A battle to death
To see who will rot,
The Chief sharpened swords, the poet simply read
They got in battle, in the poet's house's battle ground,
The chief raised his mighty big knife,
The people sat waiting for this round,
This was a battle to death and life!
The poet then threw some ink on the chiefs eyes,
Blinded him, stabbed him with the pen, took all his 9 wives