Humor poems
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To -----
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Fair Nature's priestesses! to whom,
In hieroglyph of bud and bloom,
Her mysteries are told;
Who, wise in lore of wood and mead,
The seasons' pictured scrolls can read,
In lessons manifold!
The Appeal Of The Chorus
© Aristophanes
But now for the gentle reproaches he bore
On the part of his friends, for refraining before
To embrace the profession, embarking for life
In theatrical storms and poetical strife.
The Emperor's Bird's-Nest. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,
With his swarthy, grave commanders,
I forget in what campaign,
Long besieged, in mud and rain,
Some old frontier town of Flanders.
The Cathedral
© James Russell Lowell
Far through the memory shines a happy day,
Cloudless of care, down-shod to every sense,
The Boy Mind
© Edgar Albert Guest
WISH I was only as bright as my boy,
Wish I could think of the things that he springs;
My Study
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THIS is my world! within these narrow walls,
I own a princely service. The hot care
Dickens
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
METHINKS the air
Throbs with the tolling of harmonious bells,
Rung by the bands of spirits; everywhere
We feel the presence of a soft despair
And thrill to voices of divine farewells.
How Are You Doing? by Rick Snyder: American Life in Poetry #103 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-
© Ted Kooser
One of the ways a poet makes art from his or her experience is through the use of unique, specific and particular detail. This poem by Rick Snyder thrives on such details. It's not just baseball caps, it's Tasmanian Devil caps; it's not just music on the intercom, it's James Taylor. And Snyder's poem also caught my interest with the humor of its flat, sardonic tone.
How Are You Doing?
The Dying Adrian To His Soul
© Matthew Prior
Poor, little, pretty, fluttering thing,
Must we no longer live together?
Nomenclature
© Stephen Vincent Benet
Some people have names like pitchforks, some people have names like cakes,
Names full of sizzling esses like a family quarrel of snakes,
Names black as a cat, vermilion as the cockscomb-hat of a fool
But your name is a green, small garden, a rush asleep in a pool.
The True-Blue American
© Delmore Schwartz
Jeremiah Dickson was a true-blue American,
For he was a little boy who understood America, for he felt that he must
When Nobody Listens
© Franklin Pierce Adams
_At not at all infrequent spells
I hear--and so do you--
The tales that everybody tells
And no one listens to._
Sonnet VIII.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
You were not born to hide such gifts as yours
'Neath dreary law-books, nor amid the dust
And dry routine of desks to sit and rust
Where clerks plod through their tasks on office-floors.
Prologue To A Charade.--"Damn-Ages"
© Horace Smith
In olden time--in great Eliza's age,
When rare Ben Jonson ruled the humorous stage,
Ode on Intimations of Immortality
© William Wordsworth
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight
The Four Bridges
© Jean Ingelow
I love this gray old church, the low, long nave,
The ivied chancel and the slender spire;
No less its shadow on each heaving grave,
With growing osier bound, or living brier;
I love those yew-tree trunks, where stand arrayed
So many deep-cut names of youth and maid.
