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
The sun comes up and the sun goes down. Spring Has turned into autumn and now all the leaves Are falling to the ground. White laced woman When will all your dreams come true? Broken Hearted she cries “I know
Worry not you by water bound Or disturb your sleeping state If words, simple nor profound Mark there your resting place For those who look upon this deep This vast, this treacherous, churning ground Who in the bone your memory
The restless weather curses me, Why not fly back to your nest thee; There where you always belonged, Where thy heart longed. The Lady waiting on the streets in those eager evenings, Those roads are lost in the new beginnings.
Tattered clothes that were barely there Her tortured soul was threadbare too. She mirrored our impotent helplessness In the face of destiny’s dire performance As we watched her bizarre life played out. Every time I saw her writhe and squirm,
A big red box, my suitcase, tucked under my bed. Is the box merely a box? No, I’m afraid. Bearing throws, bearing blows, bearing scratches, sporting patches. Generously forgiving, my wheeled travel companion, emerging to unite with me on the
(Written for my little brother Eric, Feb. ’85, when I was 14). As he cuddled softly in my arms like a helpless young fawn, I could feel his heart race with fear and see his fists clench with every boom
You spoke muted words Of empty togetherness; A divided union through a weak connection signaled through the ruffled air, brought messages to her memory still fresh; Only a few of them spoke to the emptiness lost in the silence and
I am a child Standing on the vast sea shore Collecting sea shells to quench My curiosity I don’t know what an oyster is I know only the shells. The waves sweep high above my height The sea sometimes wails
What is happiness if I don’t feel the plants feeding through my roots and the blooming smile on my lips being their blossom’s smile? What is happiness if I don’t feel the wings of my soul being the bird’s, flying
Nestled high in the Rocky Mountain Range, a mystical valley is uniquely situated. Eloquently encased by snow draped peaks. A breading ground for Hoary Marmots. Continually feeding a high spirited pack of massive wolves, is found. These massive wolves are
The kitchen staff left a slice of cake out. all the while, stacking chairs on tables, scraping the grill, through the ravenous inhale of the vacuum cleaner, it sits like an unscaled peak framed in the lights of the pass-through.
Pendulum strikes as usual One…..Two….Three….. Life span rotates on this formula. Time moves fast- Silent shadow starts to shrink In the form of night. Darkness give way to light Again and again the wheel rotates Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter- Changes
On a neurotic Night I lay in bed Awaiting sleep That never Came….. I closed my eyes To establish An inertia Of dreams… An inner carousel Within me Revolves… Flashing A power point presentation of The precious Moments Spent in
I walked away through the lonely corridors, The light of the mighty tree of my life faded away. Yet there was a hidden spark of beauty in my heart, Waiting under the shadows of loneliness for you, but you ran
In the steadiest motion few dainty butterflies Rose in the air, gave your eyes a big surprise You, enchanted, rubbed your hands to prepare For the hunt, your clever preys were but unaware Of the plans that in your cunning