Funny Vanity Poems | Examples
These Funny Vanity poems are examples of Vanity poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Vanity Funny poems written by international poets.
Like a dog digging bone, I hunt stories
Write orgies from words known
With syntax like old men's drone
And metaphors overblown
In the quiet still
in the sable night
dreamy dotted with
punctuates of light
I recall
my youthful days:
no balcony too steep
nor high – those I could
not climb, then~ simply I
would fly
Wanted: old Juliet, with
sympathetic elevator --
1
sunflowers ring
teenagers ChatGPT
Sapphic know-how
2
her décolleté blouse
and see-through saree—
curve’s vanity
3
a curled snake
with fangs ready to poison
love’s narrow passage
4
sky’s canvas-
disfigures in no time
my funny face
5
she wrings her hair
rising from the lake:
rural Venus
--R.K.Singh
You can’t understand how that sounds.
You laugh, but you look like clowns.
Don’t repeat the joke. Don’t assail
my ears with what you would call a humorous tale.
I don’t have the patience for this. My head pounds.
I’d rather eat coffee grounds
than listen to your waste of nouns.
But heaven forbid you notice this detail.
You can’t understand.
Your obliviousness astounds.
It begins to escape the bounds
of what reality should entail.
Yet you seem infinitely able to exhale
nonsense. There is so much about you which confounds.
You can’t understand.
There once was a gadfly daring.
His speech, it was laced with swearing
He said too much
which earned a punch
from the blonde whom he’d been staring.
Next to my mattress
is a mirror
decorated with crude stickers
stolen from a dirty bathroom in
a seedy bar
in Polish Hill.
Great for staring into when waking up
for the day.
My ex-girlfriend also liked it
when we had sex, because
she enjoyed watching herself bounce
on me, on my memory foam,
admiring her heavy-breathing form...
But I've never looked into it
during sex.
No.
I avoided it like Medusa's head of snakes!
I've never done the mirror sex move
from American Psycho;
never emulated Patrick Bateman,
flexing while inches deep in a tight,
sopping .
No,
no Huey Lewis and the News either--
no music, actually.
All that could be heard were muffled moans
and pleasured panting.
Yes, I wear a mask
to shield from Covid 19.
My glasses fog up.
I have this disability
The one called imbecility,
Along with instability
And rampant incivility.
I lack dependability
And have no credibility.
I’m short on sensibility,
Am prone to gullibility
And have the inability
To see my fallibility.
And yet, with great humility
I say with plausibility
The concept “genius” – you’ll agree –
Really fits me to a tee.
This Side of the Mirror
I feel lost within the mirror’s eyes
Those charming narcissistic pools
As vast and blue as endless skies
Glittering like two polished jewels
As I look deep within those gems
I recollect such secret woes
Held trapped inside my lover’s skin
Is such a torture none should know
Drowned deep within the vainest vice
An honest pain baptized this soul
Although it seems that dreams are nice
When unachieved they take a toll
I can not hold, my love, so dear
Or press their lips upon my own
And even, could, I hold them near
The truth remains, I am alone
Hair Everywhere
Hair Everywhere
Every part of my body looks rather shoddy because it’s covered with hair
There isn’t a place, even my face, that has managed to remain bare
Time goes by, and I don’t know why, but it just keeps on growing
Like drifts of snow when it’s five below and winter winds are blowing
Covering my back there is no lack of curly long black stuff
And on my shoulders as I get older there’s way more than enough
It grows on my toes and everyone knows it blankets my forearms too
Sometimes I yearn for a mild sunburn, but none of the rays get through
Could it be a bad omen that my abdomen has a layer of dense dark locks
I look like a brute in a bathing suit; I’d rather hide in a box
There’s a wooly bush all over my tush and fuzz growing out of my ears
And to my mustache, I say “Balderdash;” Got any pruning shears?
One thing for sure; it’s hard to endure; in fact; it’s really a bother
I’m not certain of where I got all this hair; it might have been my father
It’s clearly true that he’s hairy too, so it’s probably due to genetics
At least as a girl, I can give it a whirl and cover some with cosmetics
Limericks crochetés: Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump
Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump
Made father’s money jump during slump
Dreamed of ruling this earth
Joined campaign (in) stand-up mirth
Made people laugh without using trump.
He played to the gallery hirsute
Soon his jokes turned sauerkraut through soot
Before long they cried : Heil !
Jackboots clicked, people wail
In goose-step, give : Sieg ! Heil ! salute.
Moral : « Listen not to funny man Dump !
Migrants all know how to scale wall jump.
Ten million there love US
Minus some (who) think like louse !
Live not solipsistic world on rump ! »
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Fingers tapping show impatience
Urge the red to turn to green
Precious seconds go by slowly
Till the amber glow is seen.
This is it … the feet are itching
The gear lever is clutched tight
It’s the calm before the tempest
Then it’s there – a change of light!
But what’s wrong? There is no movement
Horns are blaring. It’s too much!
Right up front she holds the lipstick
And applies the final touch.
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Contest: Any poem that makes you smile.
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed 6th
Love’s Wheel
Nothing could compare to how you make me feel
Would that in this envelope were
My body, my heart and soul
In the distance I see your face and hold your hand
I hope-
I know you understand after a while
I see you don’t back down
You have taken a stand despite
Three choices given on love’s wheel
To help the blind to see
More time on the fruited plains,
And a bird on the wing,
That was me
The thing about drawers,
they hide clutter.
If company's coming,
do a bit of “stuff it” cleaning;
throw stuff in a drawer, and close it.
Neatness counts.
The problem evolves -
how to remember - what went where.
“Where’s the thermometer?”
“I don’t know.
It should be in the linen closet.”
“Well, it isn’t!”
“Try drawer number seven.”
“That’s the first place I looked.”
Drawer number seven
is the ‘catch-all’ drawer.
Of all the drawers I have known,
drawer number seven
is the most fascinating.
If you go rummaging,
you never know what you’ll find.
Rosemary Clooney’s song,
“Come Ona My House” expresses
her desire to give you everything.
If you come to our house,
we might match her desire
but I’m not sure we’d know
where to find stuff.
reduce
caboose
___________________________
8/18/14 For Andrea's Contest: "Let's Keep Footling Around"