Humour poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of humour poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on humour are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
It isn’t easy living on the nose of a moose. Especially, if the big brute is charging Through the spruce. You must think quick,when Mr. Moose decides to Drink. “Mr Moose,” tries to drown me each time. “Mr Moose”Forces his
I’ve become aware I can time-travel, particle-physics has long posited this, Stephen Hawking admits it’s possible, even likely. It starts out this way, drowsing on my front room sofa TV tuned down, & in just a moment an hour and
Hail the messiah of the downtrodden soldiers of the heart and mind, Grief, chaos, anger and their friends need some counselling. So the Superman arrives with tickling serpentine fingers and darty snooker eyeballs; The cavalry of shenanigans on his nosey,
Chanrashekhar working in an Advocate’s chamber One room insufficient, two are in possession there He jumps from one room to another for nothing Starts talk to clients in one wing, completes in other wing There where the very client is
Flicking through the paper an advert caught my eye, I hesitated slightly as I almost read right by, “Space Cadets required all across the nation” The job was made for me so I sent off my application. “Experience required” I
I’m seeking my immortal foe He must mosh hard and enjoy Edgar Allen Poe You should have a secret identity that nobody can know … Be a secret sexy super-villain, be my, John Doe! I’m now hiring, inquire within! Don’t
Once upon a day I encountered a machine capable of the most exquisite, subtle and profound expression of feeling, While its cogs and wheels turned coldly and mutely, with no heart, thought or feeling of their own. A sign on
Didn’t realize when the heart swelled, a tear rolled down, then, another…. …and so on……….. What a charming guy with blue twinkling eyes! Santa spreading laughter and cheer; giving away endless memories and smiles! Immense pain wears the garb of
Solo, I am clock maker born September 22nd, a Virgo/Libra mix insane, look at my moving parts, apart yet together, holes in air, artistic perfection, mechanical misfits everywhere, life is a brass lever, a wordsmith, an artist at his craft.
Unimpressed by your lack of ambition I want to control, dictate your small mind Exploited, but fine with your position While our heads are foreign, our hearts combined Your mother, your dad grew up in this town Your father served
Dear readers, Reader’s Digests denote That readers read and clearly emote Their feelings out and try to devote Their money and time for this rowboat. The mind that reads it will surely vote Their success that is sure to roam
About the book – Ray Mootrey, first time author and poet has captured elements of new-age spirituality in an exciting post-apocalyptic science fiction fantasy. HARRY THE MOLE is an epic poem; the story of a reluctant hero who overcomes his
You went blank on the line between sand and water, between seizure and assault. The tribes have unwrapped their torches, they are coming in numbers. Who was going on trial? Fierce fidelity is demanding vendetta. The drummer announces the fight.
In a loveless patch the seed was sown A barren field of thorn Then tears rained down from Heaven’s face Where heavy hearts have scorn If harvest time is near for us Why are we afraid? Fruits of joy were
Honeybee Our love is like the soft breeze carried by a whistling tree It never stops but flies high and strong Where birds soar and flock for so long They finally stop at their resting place Mine is when I
The dark circles may have been privy to your succumbence before an inorderly resonance.. you might have longed for his nights to brush your eye lids darker.. every morning was a story sketched in your eyes, every day were you
I think of this sunthundered afternoon when spiderling superheroes in sandwich boards “6.99 Any Pizza” at crossroads wave at transport as it passes. Sunlight is too bright for you like that redhead in black gladiator sandals and little grey dress
It was inheritance of pain. I should have known. Incontinent, she was scared to hug me: the child, after the rape. Shepherding the lacerations: petrified, a body of lad floating in a sewage tank; a short circuit in an incubator,
So I’m a couple months clean. Is this all it really means? Suffocating with these urges. Seeing things I’ve never seen. People start to care. Some just like to stare. I used to be invisible. Thought it wasn’t fair. “Hey,
Day comes and night follows Night goes and day comes Hours turn into days, days into months Every day that goes by Increases our age by days, months and years. From babies, we grow into young kids Then teens, followed
By mid month I won’t even tell them that this is is last month’s issue The election calendar has not changed since then Prioritize our distribution with a few hundred a couple hundred more to develop the readership on the
Damned thoughts keeping me confined Enter inside lets see what you can find Plenty of negativity always haunts my mind Repressed memories about mistakes Emotions I can’t express because of the stakes Sexual thoughts roam amuck with no breaks Starting
Cold stars reflected in the water Abyss beckons us his dark distance. Our world, only one of hundreds, In which we can not see the sun. In this world, I am uneasy, I want to touch other planets. Because there
As a society, we have reached the point where vanity has overwhelmed sanity Where we prefer big beds instead of big hearts Where we aim to live in big cardboard boxes, hollow ones Where we choose to take shelter alone
Imagine a world of love and laughter; of fun filled days and freedom till after the tea time call or the playtime bell, get back into line or you’ll catch some hell. Imagine a world of wonder and jest; of
Somewhere in a cottage down by the lake lands hidden out of sight…superstition is like a religion no one understands… well and in the darkness of the night Lightning strikes the water parting the rain as I sit here by
Every minute from dawn until dusk, I watch a screen, waste my life away. It’s not a good life But it is my life now. The television is my headstone, Marking in the electronic earth The coffin of my bedroom.
Don’t torment yourself with questions whether, why, when, where… And the reply sweet-tempered will come to you by itself. Any sense in the efforts will evaporate, spirits like. You know who the wise are: those who in peace abide. And
Nobody ever saw her break She carried around an awful ache A smile that could warm your heart Slowly frowned at she fell apart Nobody knew of her silent struggles Not one person knew of her troubles Her inner demons
I can still remember, some of how it felt. The newness of things. Each day being a sunny day of newness. Exploration of what’s all around you. Exciting! I can still remember the thrill of it all. The thrill fades
Brambly winds has shaken the buds of your may And may be your coral is much more red And in the blue Mediterranean where she has lay The dreams of a crystalline streams by her bed Past her garden where