Your favourite comic poem

[Miranda]

He Tells Her - Wendy Cope



He tells her that the Earth is flat -
He knows the facts, and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong.
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.

The planet goes on being round.

[Taliesin]

I thought I knew no comic poems in English, but now I remember that once on a Valentine's day I read some.

God made the Earth,
and the sky and the lakes
and woods and meadows too.
And He also made you.
But we all make mistakes.


I love you, I love you,
I love you, Valentine.
But don't get exited -
I love monkeys too.

[poehee99]

On a tired housewife - N.N.

Here lies a poor woman who was always tired,
she lived in a house where help wasn't hired:
her last words on earth were: 'Dear friends , I am going
to where there's no cooking, or washing, or sewing,
for everything there is exact to my wishes,
for where they don't eat there's no washing of dishes.
I'll be where loud anthems will allways be ringing,
but having no voice I'll be quit of the singing.
Don't mourn for me now, don't mourn for me never,
I am going to do nothing for ever and ever.'

[Tabac]

Little birdie in the sky
Dropped some white-wash in my eye.
Little birdie, I won't cry:
I'm just glad that cows don't fly!

[amuse]

roflmao

[Pickles]

The sex life of the camel
Is not as dull as one thinks
For in moments of animal passion,
He makes crude attempts at the Sphinx.
But the Sphinx's posterior passage
Is clogged with the sands of the Nile,
Which accounts for the hump on the camel,
And the Sphinx's inscrutable smile.

anonymous

[poehee99]

John Hegley 1953-

Malcolm

Miserable Malcolm from Morcambe
had rottweilers but would not walk 'em
They were stuck in all day
but no muck would they lay
because Malcambe had managed to cork 'em.

[Taliesin]

Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rarely ever wrong.

Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect in it's weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

-- Sauce unknown

[Isagel]

I imagine that Donne had a sense of humour:

GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

[Helga]

J.S.Mill

John Stuart Mill,
by a mighty effort of will,
overcame his natural bonhomie
and wrote 'Principles of Political Economy'.


Lord Clive

What I like about Clive
is that he is no longer alive.
There is a great deal to be said
for being dead.

George III

George the third
ought never to have occured.
One can only wonder
at so grotesque a blunder.

Savonarola

Savonarola
declined to wear a bowler,
expressing the view that it was gammon
to talk of serving God and Mammon.


these poems are all by Edmund Clerihew Bentley, I love how he talks about everyone like they are all so bad at what they did.

[byquist]

Gwendolyn Brooks'

We Real Cool

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

[q0987]

Dishes, dishes everywhere,
pots and pans and silverware.
I come to work and what mine eyes do see,
all these dishes just for me.

The dirty pots and greasy pans,
those I have to do by hand.
Not one or two, three or four,
I've done all those and yet theres more.

Oh no! oh no! I've just got hit,
and I'm by myself in the pit.
Gotta move fast, theres no time to lose!
and the later on I be in the booze.

What's that you say, what is it now?
I'll bring the dishes, don't have a cow!
I bring the dishes, stacked row by row.
I'm getting tired, and moving slow.

Well some people think that I'm a saint,
because I do the dishes with no complaint.
but if they only knew the truth, you see,
If I had my way I'd be His- tor -Y!

Well the rush is over, the cooks are gone.
And here I am to carry on.
Tho' I"m almost finished, I have no joy but sorrow,
because I have to be back again tommow!

[mono]

*bump*

I happened to stumble across this one earlier today - a true gem!

Hate Poem

I hate you truly. Truly I do.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped
in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.

Look out! Fore! I hate you.

The blue-green jewel of sock lint I'm digging from
under by third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you pick out the cashews hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.

A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious
symbol of how I hate you.

My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant "good morning": hate.
You know how when I'm sleepy I nuzzle my head under your
arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning to night hate
you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity of
my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.

Julie Sheehan

[glitterandtwang]

Oh how sad I'll be

when I'm an old man
and can't jump around my apartment
to all those funky
guitar riffs

Someone
please tell me
old men can jump
Tell me there is a secret society
of mad moon jumpers
who have abandoned this planet
for a thinner atmosphere
and less
gravitational bring-
down

Tell me there are
old men
floating
across and above
the moon's surface, singing

We don't need no hundred dollar sneakers
Alls I need is a bigger pair of speakers!

—David Cameron

[Jabberwocky]

My friend e-mailed me this poem awhile ago. I'm not really sure if the words are too explicit for this site. If they are, let me know, and I'll take it down.


I shave my legs,
I sit down to pee.
And I can justify
any shopping spree.

Don't go to a barber,
but a beauty salon.
I can get a massage
without a hard-on.

I can balance the checkbook,
I can pump my own gas.
Can talk to my friends,
about the size of my ***.

My beauty's a masterpiece,
and yes, it takes long.
At least I can admit,
to others when I'm wrong.

I don't drive in circles,
at any cost.
And I don't have a problem,
admitting I'm lost.

I never forget,
an important date.
You just gotta deal with it,
I'm usually late.

I don't watch movies,
with lots of gore.
Don't need instant replay,
to remember the score.

I won't lose my hair,
I don't get jock itch.
And just cause I'm assertive,
Don't call me a *****.

Don't say to your friends,
Oh yeah, I can get her.
In your dreams, my dear,
I can do better!

Flowers are okay,
But jewelry's best.
Look at me you idiot...
Not at my chest????

I don't have a problem,
With expressing my feelings.
I know when you're lying,
You look at the ceiling.

DON'T call me a GIRL,
a BABE or a CHICK.
I am a WOMAN.
Get it?, you DICK!?!