Humorous Poems - Page 2

Stepping into the boardroom meeting,
Stepped out of character too.
Put a red slipper on one foot,
On the other, a bright blue shoe.

Stress at work was at a peak.
I could hardly contain my grin,
At the shock on each and every face
The moment their boss walked in.

Eyes moved slowly from my feet
To capture my innocent stare.
Each one of them convinced I think,
I was totally unaware.

Unable to contain myself.
My laughter bubbled free.
At my release, they followed suit
Relief conjoined with glee.

Our memorable meeting followed with
Coffee and doughnuts for the staff.
Office policy now includes
Time every day to laugh!

After hours of extensive research
And following many a clue,
I've finally discovered the source
Of the new pandemic flu.

It was concocted by our pets,
Forcing us to stay at home.
Always at their beck and call,
Never free to roam.

No room in the house is safe,
For they follow you about.
They are a constant shadow.
They think you can't do without.

They look at you with greedy eyes,
Imploring you for a treat,
And though you try, you can't avoid it,
So just admit defeat.

Alas, until the cure is found,
The master has become slave.
Our pets are now teaching us
How we should behave.

Spring has sprung, the time has come, for the greening of the trees
A time of change, renewal and growth for my allergies
Like everything else in this great world, Spring has its pluses and minuses
But its features are quite singular when it comes to my poor sinuses
A beautiful time of blossoms and buds, new branches and blue skies
But I can't enjoy them one little bit through my oozing, watery eyes
A neti pot, a nasal rinse, I'll try them, yes I will
I'll even take a 24-hour non-drowsy worthless pill
So listen cheerleaders of flowers and sun, to you I must disclose
Spring is not great for all of us, especially my nose

Back in October a Christmas wish I made.
A brand new set of golf clubs before next year I played.
Then on Christmas morn, with my eyes I spied
An oblong box under the tree, with ribbon wrapped and tied.

I looked out the window and saw the ice and snow.
But in my heart I knew, a golfing I would go.
Now I'd need some special gear to play in these conditions.
So I loaded up my golf bag to start a new tradition.

A broom to sweep the greens and a hammer for the tees
And different colored balls for white I wouldn't see.
Arriving at the course, the ground was glistening white.
I wouldn't have to wait, a tee time was no plight.

I swept away a pile of snow and pounded in a tee.
Placed a colored ball atop it and swung away with glee.
My ball went soaring down the fairway and landed with a flop
Into a two foot snow drift (unplayable), take a drop.

My next shot went into the sand, a shot to truly dread.
Then all at once I spotted him, a man all dressed in red.
As I'm lining up my shot, it's Santa Claus I think,
When my ball flew in the hole, He looked at me and winked.

I knew these clubs were going to work, I'd just made a par.
Let's play one hole together before heading for your car.
To believe in Santa at sixteen, you might think it queer,
But it isn't very often you get to see reindeer.

A long par par three lay next, as we walked upon the tee.
There was no flag to aim for and the green I couldn't see
Don't worry said the man in red, I know what lies ahead.
Use your trusty five iron and aim it for my sled.

I'd like to thank you for these clubs, I wasn't sure that I would get.
He said your welcome son, but Christmas isn't over yet
I kept my head nice and still checked my stance and grip.
"Nice shot" said the bearded one, it's hanging on the lip.

It seems a shame, he must be blind, there's no ball upon the green
And I was disappointed because I stuck it crisp and clean
And now you know my story and know one would believe.
How I made my first hole in one with Santa there to see.

There once was a girl named Sue.
She came down with the case of the flu.
She let out a sigh,
"My temperature is high,
what ever shall I do?
Oh my! Oh my!
I think I will die.
What ever shall I do?"

So, she stumbled out of bed.
"I know I'll take some meds.
If this the flu,
I take an aspirin or two.
Then I'll drink some broth and some juice.
Oh my! Oh my!"
she began to cry.
"I think this is acute."

So, she grumbled back to bed
and pulled the covers over her head.
She let out a sneeze,
a cough and a wheeze.
"Won't someone help me, please?
Oh my! Oh my!
Will I survive
the case of the crazy flu?"

So, she finally fell asleep.
She slept and slept for a week.
She tossed and turned,
her symptoms have passed.
Her temperature normal at last.
"Oh my! Oh my!
I think I survived
this case of the crazy flu."

My dear wife studies Calculus.
She says it's fun; I think she's nuts.
She's solving x and y and z.
I struggle with just 1, 2, 3.
She's got these weird and strange equations,
Mathematical madness machinations,
Exponents and integers.
Not many brains are wired like hers.
She can do it, get solutions.
For me, page one is mass confusion.
Words are my thing, heaven knows,
And I can fling some witty prose.
I rhyme without the slightest reason.
Poems penned for every season,
But give me numbers? Oh, I'm lost!
My brain becomes a salad tossed!
So I'll just stick to poetry
And not advance past 1, 2, 3.
While Sweetie does her sums and graphs
And antiderivatives...just for laughs.

Pigheaded Pete was an obstinate fool,
who argued no matter the topic,
shredding opinions with outrageous drool,
and anger that bordered psychotic.

While most folks ignored him or called him a jerk,
and shrugged off his need to be right,
on one night Pete drove Bill O'Reilly berserk,
who challenged our Pete to a fight.

Now Bill was a boxer when he was much younger,
and knew how to throw a good punch.
Outside where he dragged the poor twit with his anger,
young Peter's incisors went crunch.

Bill got real nervous when Pete called the coppers,
and shortly a lawsuit ensued.
He had no money to buy Pete new choppers,
and so Judge Alfredo was shrewd.

Judge sentenced the boxer to ten months of labor
inside Peter's house day and night.
And Bill had to listen to rubbish and blather,
to pigheaded Pete's great delight.

A voyage abroad with my good wife Maude turned into a real mess
In need of some rest in Budapest, about all I got was stress
Then in France I took a chance on some pork a little too rare
I so regret that Monsieur's toilette was very crowded there

We never found out if the rain in Spain falls mainly in the plains
Because in Barcelona and again in Pamplona, I had severe head pains
Many a folk strolled through churches baroque, the greatest in the area
Only I felt blue stretched out on a pew, certain I had malaria

Europe had been tough, really rough, things had gotten out of hand
So we gathered our stuff and left in a huff to visit the holy land
Then I tripped on a boulder and bruised my shoulder; alas, we had to leave
'Cause wearing a sling in the early spring is awkward in Tel Aviv

Maude was irked that nothing had worked; still she said with a smile
"Let's conform and go someplace warm, maybe a tropical isle"
But a ruptured achilles in the Antilles I accomplished with astonishing ease
It laid me low, don't you know, as an intestinal disease in Belize

Clearly time to abort so we cut our trip short and headed to Colorado
To see the Canyon with mules for companions and demonstrate our bravado
No need for applause or an ovation because of anything we did dramatic
Just find me a shrink who doesn't drink and treats problems psychosomatic

Unsubscribe me from your mailing list.
You must think I'm a sap.
I don't even know you,
And I'd never buy your crap.

Unsubscribe me, friend, from e-mails
that want to threaten me
If I don't send them to ten others...
Let it be the death of me

Unsubscribe me please from Facebook.
I find that I don't care,
About the boring conversations
That I'm always finding there.

Unsubscribe me, too, from Twitter.
What a waste of time.
If I put a value on that site
It would be less than a dime.

My mailbox is so cluttered
I beg you on my knees,
Unsubscribe me, unsubscribe me.
Unsubscribe me, PLEEEEZE!

The bulls of Bickerton Lane do graze
Upon my verdant lawn.
I hear them in the morning haze
Mooing to the dawn.

They trample all my flowered shrubs;
They crush the dainty rose.
And then they pee this giant stream
As from a garden hose.

And what's this sticking to my shoe?
'Tis this I truly hate,
For it's the stinking residue
Of what the beasties ate.

So then I say, let's have some fun.
We'll let them eat the grass.
Whilst with my trusty BB gun,
I shoot them in the ass!

The typical skittish behaviour when my body begins t' bustle,
All in the fact that I've fallen in love with the one and only Mr. Muscle:
How his passionate vibe shines when cleaning down my decks,
As his toned, articulate body moves, rhythmical with his pecs!

I absolutely idolize his devotedness to cleaning, the pure dedication.
I never knew in a million years I'd fall at the feet of his fictional animation.
Every time he appears on telly, he sends me into an ultimate lust o' dreaming,
Of his hard grafting work of solving solutions; the Master Scientist of cleaning!

Everyone thinks I'm CRAZY when I tell 'em that someday he'll save my fate,
Because he's the heroic figure that loves the jobs that I certainly hate.
You can rely on his problematic fixtures; you can abide by his terms.
You can depend on his assurance when he says he can kill your unwanted toilet germs!

He assassinates the horrid spiders; he know they drive me insane.
He's the superhero with the professional touch of unclogging my dirty drain.
He knows how to confide in a woman's animosity, when the hygiene's repelling HELL.
He knows how to retrieve the optimism with his magical bathroom gel!

So divorce your apathetic husbands, sisters;
Upgrade to a supreme man that can harbour the pressure and contain a vigorous hygiene.
Experience the typical skittish behaviour when my body begins t' bustle,
All in the fact that I've fallen in love with the one and only Mr. Muscle!