Poetry to make you smile and maybe laugh

The secret of writing comedy.

The secret of writing comedy
is known by every clown;
first you think up comedy
then you write it down.

Halloween.

The witch cackled
her crackling voice
snapping the cold twigged silence
leaving it forever sullied.

Ghosts willowed past
smoky wraiths pale
despondent dreaming of the days
when feelings were warm and tactile.

A cat sung low
its mating call
ignoring the ghosts and the witch
only wanting to find a wife.

Dark night, bright stars
spirits present
cats call:
Halloween,
Halloween,
Halloween.

A truly awful shocking dreadful poem, recited in a way to bring out the full Vogonity of the underlying metaphors and dichotomies.

Paula Nancy Millhouse Jennings eat your heart out!

Save the Planet.

Crash!
Out of the night the huge tree wanders
its bleeding wounds dripping while roots
dragging from it leave trails that slugs
envy in their silvery slime.

Bang!
The lightning bolt sunders the lamb from the shepherd
the sheep dog whimpers and licks its paws
remembering the meaty chunks
it ate for tea.

Wallop!
The thunder rolls across the mountains ironing
the wrinkles from the aged landscape
as if Botox was a freebie from the Gods.

What a Picture!
I watch and wait and listen as the shoots become
saplings and the tree groans still wandering
searching for the ditch it calls mother.

Incomparable meaning is the truth of eternal veritatious wisdom.

A bird flies so high up in the sky
your lips are red as a red red rose
My heart will break if you die
I will cry and cry and get a red nose.

I saw in your eyes a look of surprise
it seemed as if your heart was true
but you broke my heart when you said we had to part
and now I'm left alone and blue.

Darkness overcomes me like a thief in the night
because you did me wrong and that wasn't right
So I'll do my crying in the rain
so nobody can see that I'm in pain.

I'll trust my guardian angel to bring me light
wrap her wings around me when I have a fright
her silver goodness shines on me and keeps away the dark
like a dog with a bone that is trying to bark.

You did me favour when you done me wrong
my heart is singing like a song
One day I will learn to love again
and trust my heart to a man among men.

Written in response to the Writers Digest prompt - write a really horrible, bad poem.

This poem uses cliches, nonsense lines, and just about every wince making poetry fault there is! It was strangely fun to write

Bad Taste - Period!

So Vampires are the very latest teenage girly fad
they are attracted to the brooding dark looks of the bad
but am I the only one on earth to think this thought I had -
why don't vampires just ask a menstruating girl
if they can use their pad?

Words from the wizened.

I thought I'd offer this point of view
though it sounds a little smug;
but this article made me glad at last
to be ugly as a pug.

For if you (like me) have always
been thought of as quite plain
then as you grow older and wiser
your looks can only gain.

Or if they don't improve with age
take heart from my short verse,
if you start out really ugly -
at least things can't get worse!

Inspired by an article in the Daily Mail about a beautiful 38 year old mother who resents her daughter's beauty because it makes her feel old! I shall ask hubby if my teenage son has the same effect on him. I suspect the answer will be a snort of laughter. I regret nothing about my 'lost' youth and neither does he. We didn't 'lose' it we learned through it and to be honest we are both having much more fun in our forties and expect (barring unforeseen and beyond our control health problems or family disasters) to have even more fun in our fifties.

Age is just a number. EQ - not so much

Ooh - I just got smug again LOL

A crap poem about dogs.

When I go to heaven
I hope Fluffy'll be there too.
She's my closest friend
we're like Shaggy and Scooby Doo.

Her big brown doggy eyes
make me happy through and through.
But when Fluffy gets to heaven
what will happen to her poo?

For heaven should be lovely
clean and fun and super.
It won't be all those things
if I need a pooper scooper.

And it won't be heaven for Fluffy
if she doesn't get to eat.
It's her top favourite pleasure
after licking people's feet.

We all know that a side effect
of eating must be poo,
so I'm hoping that in heaven
dogs will learn to use the loo.

They'll need their own facilities
with special lowered sinks
to keep their paws hygienic
and give them somewhere clean to drink.

So like all canine owners
I expect heaven to take my dog.
I think that's why they die first
so they can learn to use the bog.

If you want to read a brilliantly amusing funny poem today go here

http://bunnybunbunbun.blog.co.uk/2009/10/21/the-story-of-fred-a-moth-who-was-much-too-clever-for-his-own-good-7214925/comment_ID/11265346/comment_level/1/#c11265346

to bunnybunbunbun's blog to read The Story of Fred a moth who was too clever for his own good.

It is much better funny poetry than anything I could ever come up with.

You will love it! And it's a true story - which makes it even better.

Here's a rule - The Comma Splice;
To use one is a dreadful vice.
Some other method must be found
or one's grammar will be deemed unsound.

Yet we shouldn't pick on those who famous
use it lest our ignorance shame us.
Apparently it's ok for those
that everybody loves and knows.

If a poet splices in a poem,
it's also allowed,
though nobody knows 'em.

Otherwise think once, think twice,
before you commit the dreaded splice!

I think I like to think of:
Humming birds in green and pink;
Iridescent feathery down;
Wearing silk clothes and a golden crown;
Marching through the town to the roar of the crowd;
Winning something wonderful and being proud;
Being so cool and sweatless I never need use roll-on;
Being confident I know the right way to use a semi-colon.

Whenever I feel my heart begin to sink
I can woosh it right back up - if I only think.

My Dad used to say to me, "You think too much."
He had a point because I used to over-analyse everything and then not do anything.
These days when I get a brain fog - I think fun things to clear it and it works
Sort of a nerdy way of fighting fire with fire I suppose.
Poetry as a mental cleanser works well for me - so I will stick with it.

Ode to Liz Jones

Liz Jones is really very nice and has a heart of gold,
She bakes fresh bread goes on long walks
and visits the lonely and old.

She loves all things including you and is immensely kind
and writes so darn inspiringly
when she shares her piece of mind.

She doesn't care about how things look
she values what's inside
Her sunny nature shines for all to see
it's something she can't hide.

Now you may think I've lost the plot
gone bonkers or even worse
But please don't worry the Liz Jones I describe
is from an alternate universe!

Liz Jones is a columnist in the Daily Mail who specialises in being grumpy and unpleasant in order to stimulate response - fair does to her it seems to work a treat

Heroes/Heroines

For all the men who walk in heels
and brave the funny looks
I'd like to say I like your style
you're OK in my book!

Stand tall and proud in frills and curls
spring loaded underwear,
make-up applied with varying skill
as brave as any bear.

Those who jeer have no idea
the strength of will it takes
to be different in a scary world
such strength a hero makes.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1218957/Meet-Lionheart-Lights-Out-The-cross-dressing-cage-fighters-hit-drunken-thugs.html

Article about two Swansea cage fighters Lionheart and Lights Out who were part inspiration for this poem. I will be including this in my next published Pink edition of Alternative Poetry Books and dedicating it to them - so many thanks for the inspiration to Daniel 'Lionheart' Lerwell and James 'Lights Out' Lilley - makes me proud to be from Swansea

God knows science.

It was an experiment but something went wrong,
he had intended just to let it run for an hour or two
watch to see what happened and then write up his findings.

But he got caught up in the drama of it all.

He had thought he knew all there was to know about
just about everything - that this experiment would be
another confirmation yet again, of all he knew.

The experiment took on a life of its own.

He couldn't stop watching, interfering now and then
immersed beyond his imaginings in what unfolded below
in the experimental chamber he had created on a whim.

How could he tear himself away now?

He felt an affection for his experiments, watched as they
developed, laughed as they tried to be scientists,
just like Him.

So cute I blogged it twice!

Ode to a tiny hungry hippo

Oh teeny tiny hippo you are so sweet,
smaller than the lettuce leaf you're trying to eat
You are the cutest thing I've seen yet
I wish I could keep you as a pet.