Humorous Poems - Page 2

When somebody dies, folks hardly ever say "dead."
   They prefer "expired" or "departed" instead.
Most of the euphemisms don't do any harm,
   Like "biting the dust" or "buying the farm."

There are "fallen off the perch" and "given up the ghost."
   "Taking a dirt nap" is one I like most.
"Kicked the oxygen habit" and "gone offline"
   Are a couple favorites of mine.

How about "at room temperature" or "fell off the twig,"
   "Wearing a toe tag" or "played his last gig"?
"Bought a pine condo" and "six feet under,"
   "Became a root inspector" makes one wonder.

Try "went belly up" and "bit the biscuit."
   "Laid down his burden" and never missed it.
"Gone to his maker" and "out of print,"
   "In a horizontal phone booth" for a permanent stint.

"Defunct," "extinct," and "in the crisper."
   Most say 'em no louder than a whisper.
"Gone to sleep city" and "passed his sell by date,"
   "Cashed in his chips at the pearly gate."

Now we could go on, but you get the point.
   Have a fun in life before "checking out of this joint,"
And should you come to my funeral, don't bring a thing.
   Just sit back and listen to the fat lady sing.

Willis the cowpoke rode into town
On his Old Jugs, just horsing around.
Down highway 26 he rode Old Jugs
To the local saloon for a few chug-a-lugs.

Tying to a flag pole, Old Jugs he did hitch.
Into the saloon, a thirst he did quench.
An officer steps up and warns with a frown,
"Get on your horse and ride out of town!"

The sheriff is coming not far behind.
Old Jugs to the shelter and Willis a fine,
So Willis, he jumps on Old Jugs and replies,
“Not my horse to the shelter, you will not take.
I'll ride him on home; no law will I break."

The sheriff steps up and says to dismount.
A test of sobriety we must have the count.
The charge was drunk driving while riding on Jugs.
A steep fine to pay for a few chug-a-lugs.

A riled up Willis spent the night in the tank
To pay for a charge he claimed not to make.
Down to the courthouse he'll saddle up and ride
To face his accusers with Old Jugs by his side.

But we all know when it's all said and done,
He'll saddle Old Jugs and ride into town for
       
A few chug-a-lugs.

I lived my life, I tried my best to follow all my dreams.
My great endeavors were forever bursting at the seams.
And though I tried to love what's mine, I failed and I confess
My bony knees made pants like these suffer much distress

I heard a tearing sound, and I thought it was my heart
When I looked down with a frown, my pants did fall apart.
The ripping sound was not around at the greatest time
For when my knee skin felt cold air, it was less than sublime

And now I live my life, knee bare against the world alone.
Now everyone can plainly see my pale skin, joint, and bone.
My ripped up pants, like Frankenstein, I may just sew together
Or perhaps make my pants shorts to wear in warmer weather.

My pants are done, I have moved on. They've done their master well.
And pants don't live forever, not as far as I can tell.
But there's one problem I can't solve, and it I truly hate.
Does one bury their old dead pants, or do they just cremate?

I was heading south to the city's biggest shopping center
To get a steak and other things that I could eat for dinner.
Then I noticed, luckily, I was nearly out of gas.
So, I headed for the Stall-Mart store out near the overpass.
Just as I pulled up, the engine somehow died.
I couldn't get it started, no matter how I tried.
At that moment I noticed an old man walking with a cane.
He cringed each time he stepped as if he were in pain.
With a toothless smile, he asked me, "Fella, what's the problem?"
I told him that my car just died and problems, man, I got 'em.
He said, "Give me a few minutes to find out why it's dead."
He opened the hood and in just thirty seconds he turned to me and said,
"Hmmmmmm......Well........
You have a blasticated unicellular caustic tad malfunction.
The generator pottsigraft has lost most of its suction.
You have tubular antispiral mispopulated slippage.
And the plastic-nozzeled harpsitube needs a brand new tippage.
The lesser of all your problems that I find you got
Is that the double crypted intake valve really squeaks a lot.
And my professional assessment that I've done thus far,
Tells me that this heap is crap and you need another car.
I can sell you a slightly used cream-puff if you want to take her.
It's a 19 and 43 fully loaded Studebaker.
It runs real good and looks real sharp and has only a few small dents.
I'll let you have it for 600 dollars and 37 cents,
Plus my complete diagnostic examination that I've done today.
So can we make a gentleman's deal? What do you have to say?"
Hmmmm....
As I was walking home I noticed a shiny bicycle for sale...

They looked good, at first, together,
tight laced and polished smart,
but wear and tear destroyed them:
A tale to break your heart!

They cannot speak,
for their tongues are torn,
yet leathery wrinkles convey
that treatment is rough
and times are tough,
being trod on, day after day.

Down at heel,
scuffed at toe
and moving
'mongst the low,
their soles both left their bodies
'cause the stitches all did go.

Soil, not socks, now fills them
and hollow are their eyes
within a peaceful garden
each flower atop them sighs.

I did not wish to write this poem,
But it would not leave me be.
Throughout the night,
Throughout the day,
No matter what, it would not go away.

I did not wish to write this poem,
But it took over me.
Forced my hand to pen it down,
My brain to think of nothing else,
Until it was done, I knew no rest.

I did not wish to write this poem,
But here it is before me.
The ghost that possessed me laid to rest.
These last lines are the final rites,
For the poem I did not wish to write.

As I lay cozy, all snug in my bed,
I enjoy the imagination inside my head
Until I hear racket beside my bed.
It's my 5:00 alarm!

I quickly silent you, you annoying alarm.
Then we SNOOZE together and let dreams carry on.
Enjoying the peace, then I'll be darned;
It's my 5:15 reminder!

Now I hush the ringing of my reminder.
Ok Alarm, let's put that behind us.
Eyes just shut, but here goes that timer
It's 7:20. I'm late!!!

I'm resting here quite regally,
The feature of the table.
Surrounded by potatoes that
I'd taste if I were able.

My subjects, scrubbed and beaming,
Circle round the royal platter.
They seem to be adoring me,
But something is the matter.

See me basking in the candlelight,
My skin so nicely tanned.
The reason for this treatment,
I do not understand.

While I'd love to peck that dish of corn
And gobble down a berry,
I find this jolly atmosphere
To be a trifle scary.

These human creatures were my friends.
They filled me up with bread,
But now I have suspicions that
They're cannibals instead!

Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of booze.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I'd search the honky tonks and bars and kill
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the dirty,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin',
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if
a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's
that name that helped to make you strong."

Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've
got the right to kill me now and I wouldn't blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I'm the guy that named you Sue."
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George - anything but Sue.