Posts Tagged ‘comic poetry’

I do believe in Santa,

That old Fool Santa-

I did yell for as a child and 

so would I now

As Old as I am.

It was a scream when he did 

In a bellow of ho,ho ho as some 

vocal mishap got o’er his windpipe.

Of Ho-Ho-Ho’s I skip over

Now the question is 

Isn’t time he gave the old also

Some presents? In this age of coupons

Why this age distinction?

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Lianah is king of dem beasts

I breed them in lab and I like it.

I like to cross them with hianah:

I got my match at last- a laffing lianah.

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This I believe: a poet’s pen must flow

Through thick and thin; but then it is hard

With a nose running,-flu got this bard ;

All I can think is King Lear,- Blow! blow! 

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Mail me your best offer

You will never find

A better deal than I append

In such doublespeak

As attachment, it shall blow your mind.


Profits you seek, profits

I have laid shovelsful

Like a sack of spuds,

You shall take my offer

And the bait is in what you miss, in fine print.



 Now for the original

Ode to A Skylark, (…It can’t Tweet)

Note: the byline is mine. b.




         Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

                Bird thou never wert,

         That from Heaven, or near it,

                Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.


         Higher still and higher

                From the earth thou springest

         Like a cloud of fire;

                The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.


         In the golden lightning

                Of the sunken sun,

         O’er which clouds are bright’ning,

                Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.


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God must have had many things

In mind- this I can only guess:

His divine will

He left for Man to figure out:

He did it without much success.

So what good Lord do, but a woman

to share Man’s work side by side.

He worked his head off

While she twerked her butt off.

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She is Rubenesque and collect change while I play Dvorak,-

Had you heard me at the fair playing Humoresque

You might think there is something fine about my help:

She is the woman with beard and from the county Cork.

Despite her girth she is nothing more than Rubenesque. 


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The other day I traipsed my way to the bank and said

‘I made my first million with you ,Why am I then in the red?’

‘Oh sir, dear sir,’ cried the banker red in the face, ’The villain

Isn’t the color but long over dues, Oh sir, you owe us billion’.

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