|
Poems about Humor
|
Fruit without a stone, its shiny
pulp is clear green. Inside, tiny
Most chivalrous fish of the ocean
To ladies forbearing and mild,
It induces a sensation
Of irritation
When I was a lad
No more than a nipper
Ten thousand trippers took twenty three trains
To take them to Trincomalee.
“When this ‘ere war’s finished,” Bill said,
“If we ain’t all dead,
When as I hear my Julia play
Upon the oboe, oft I say
Gather Kittens while you may,
Time brings only Sorrow;
I spied John Mouldy in his celler,
Deep down twenty steps of stone;
Signing on in the Emerald Isle
Up comes a bloke in shellback style,
"Three friends once, in the course of conversation,
Touch'd upon honesty: 'No virtue better,'
BEN GREEN was a New-Hampshire boy,
Who stood full six feet two:
It's funny,
But I can never understand about
"Man may be happy, if he will:"
I've said it often, and I think so still;
I have been looking at a hovel
At the back o’ behind;
Spaniels are all very well,
But they smell.
“If I was a bloke as could paint,”
Bill said, “which I ain’t,
Why — can anybody say? —
Has upon my natal day
I have taken to cycling again after a lapse of a generation,
How long I hardly care to tell,
You can use it with great pleasure and ease
Without wasting any elbow grease;
I will not go to tea with you, Mrs Arden,
Yourself, your house, your tea,
Why, where erstwhile I sowed my choicest seeds,
Come up but weeds?
Bundy and son
In days that are done
(A manuscript found in a bottle)
I'm mad about music,
As mad as can be;
What ho! sickly people of high and low degree
I pray ye all be warned by me;
Prologue
Wouldn't it jar you, wouldn't it make you sore
Avaunt, acerbid Brat of Death, that sours
The Milk of Life and blasts the nascent Flowers!
"I hates to think of dyin'," says the skipper to the mate;
"Starvation, shipwrecks, heart disease, I loathe to contemplate.
|
|
| |