Funny poems
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The List of Famous Hats
© James Tate
Napoleon's hat is an obvious choice I guess to list as a famous
hat, but that's not the hat I have in mind. That was his hat for
The Rose that Grew from Concrete
© Tupac Shakur
Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Paula Becker to Clara Westhoff
© Adrienne Rich
The autumn feels slowed down,
summer still holds on here, even the light
Pack up your Troubles in your Old Kit-bag
© Powell George Henry
Private Perks is a funny little codger With a smile, a funny smile
Nocturne
© Guiterman Arthur
The three-toed tree-toadSings his sweet ode To the moon;The funny bunnyAnd his honey Trip in tune
How Polly Paid for her Keep
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Do I know Polly Brown? Do I know her? Why, damme!You might as well ask if I know my own name!It's a wonder you never heard tell of old Sammy,Her father, my mate in the Crackenback claim.
Indoor Games near Newbury
© John Betjeman
In among the silver birches winding ways of tarmac wander And the signs to Bussock Bottom, Tussock Wood and Windy Brake,Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches, catch the lights of our Lagonda As we drive to Wendy's party, lemon curd and Christmas cake
At Breakfast Time
© Edgar Albert Guest
My Pa he eats his breakfast
in a funny sort of way:
We hardly ever see him
at the first meal of the day.
The Secret Whisky Cure
© Henry Lawson
Twas a common sordid marriage, and theres little new to tell
Save the pub to him was Heaven and his own home was a hell:
With the office in between thempurgatory to be sure
And, as far as Jones could make outwell, there wasnt any cure.
Variations At Home And Abroad
© Kenneth Koch
It takes a lot of a person's life
To be French, or English, or American
A Christmas Memory
© James Whitcomb Riley
Pa he bringed me here to stay
'Til my Ma she's well.--An' nen
He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day,
An' come take me back again
Wher' my Ma's at! Won't I be
Tickled when he comes fer me!
Eclogue:--The Times
© William Barnes
Aye, John, I have, John; an' I ben't afeärd
To own it. Why, who woulden do the seäme?
We shant goo on lik' this long, I can tell ye.
Bread is so high an' wages be so low,
That, after workèn lik' a hoss, you know,
A man can't eärn enough to vill his belly.
