Tag Archives: Funny



“What’s the point?” you ask,


I move on;

and, when I’ve gone

far enough

away from you,

I recite a quick Haiku

or two;

maybe a villanelle –

who can tell? –

and I shall then end

with a considerable flourish,

on a rhyming couplet

your soul to nourish.

100m Butterfly

I went to the Olympics,

in search of this very long (and rare) species;

but, like all the other Lepidopterists there,

was sadly disappointed to find

that I had been blind

to the reality of the term.

Anyway, I’m off now to guess

the age of the dress event.

‘Our Church is Haunted’

Our local church is haunted,

and there are cats in the belfry,

the font has a leek,

and the cleaner managed

(with some difficulty)

to get the stain…

out of the windows –

it only took a week.


On Sunday, when it’s raining,

the congregation sing,

about the whiskers of kittens

of the cats in the belfry,

all creatures great

and small mercies

that appear like birds,

suddenly, and without priory invitation.


Our local church is full of ghosts

holy, and unholy,

and one who boasts

about having had a conversation

upon the road to Damascus

with the separated head of Anne Boleyn –


if you have any questions,

about the above;

kindly go

in peace and love,

and if in doubt please ask us.

Three Lines (it’s one dry scone)

Crowd Anthem: It’s better than none,

it’s better,

it’s better than none,

it’s better…


Three lines on my shirt,

who’s to say I’m dreaming?

Nearly 60 years of Burt-

-(‘s son)

my poetic licence screaming,


I’ll chew on my scone

until it is gone!


Three lines on my shirt,

poetry lies teeming;

Three lines on my shirt,

my scone should have had some cream in;

Three lines on my shirt,

using a semi-permanent marker;

Three lines on my shirt,

the white wash will get darker;

Three lines on my shirt,

and that’s why I’m a poet;

‘it’s not a real shirt!’

someone told me, so I know it.


Three lines… (repeat until the very end)


On my shirt (add and repeat until the very end


… and one dry scone –

it’s better than none,

it’s better!

SD Repeat Ad Nauseum

The Multipack Song

The Multipack Song

Sometimes you just see words written down somewhere and they jump out at you in a perfectly formed song…. this is one example of that:

G. C. D

“Not to be sold separately,

G. C. G. C

Multipack, multipack;

G. C. D

Not to be sold separately,

G. C. G. C

Multipack, multipack,

D. C. G

Multi, multi, pack!!!”

Dr Wholittle and the Planet of Verbeaux Sanimaux.

Dr Wholittle and the Planet of Verbeaux Sanimaux.

It was a quiet day on Verbeaux Sanimaux when the Doctor arrived – the Tardis causing some unexpected excitement, that nobody was expecting.

The dust had barely settled around the (time and relative dimension in space) craft, before the planet’s welcoming committee (of three ducks and a black and white cow) had arranged themselves to greet the visitor (or visitors).

The Doctor opened the door of the strange blue spaceship, and leapt from within, to without.

“Hi, and hello!” he carolled.

The ducks and the cow – observing Verbeaux Sanimaux’s quaint, and old-fashioned, tradition – launched into the three-hour long spiel, that was designed to test the fettle and the mettle of newcomers to their planet.

“Oh, what a night!”

“Oh, what a night!”

There’s, a, seagull on me head,

and a pasty in me bed,

and I can’t remember what I did,

or said, last night –

and nothing seems to be, quite right.

There’s an anchor on the wall,

and a lobster in the hall,

and I can’t remember where I was,

or who with, last night –

and nothing seems to be, quite right.

I’ve a lifeboat in me drive,

and me oilskins number five,

and I can’t remember how I got them;

it must have been a night, last night –

and nothing seems to be, quite right.

The boat upon my lawn,

seems lonely and forlorn,

and I can’t remember if it’s mine,

it seems to have a Falmouth number

It must have been such a night, last night –

and nothing seems to be,

in any way,

quite right.

Knock! Knock!

Knock! Knock!

Knock! Knock!

Who’s there?

Cerys! Now hurry up and open this door or I shall kick the uggin’ thing in!

Cerys who?

Cerys Mattick! Now come on and open up this froggin’ door!

Ogden Nash’s ‘The Termite’

Ogden Nash’s ‘The Termite’

Ogden Nash’s ‘The Termite’ with audio

Some primal termite knocked on wood 
And tasted it, and found it good! 
And that is why your Cousin May 
Fell through the parlor floor today.

by Ogden Nash

Taken from PoemHunter.com

“One Pun Too Few?”

“One Pun Too Few?”

“We live in the “Duchy”not the “Ducky’” i said.

But, he was still chortling over “The Duckys!” comment that he had overused to the point of distraction.

That’s the thing about Grae, he never quite knows when a joke has gone past it’s ‘Best by…’ date. And ‘Use before…’ also, makes little sense to him.

No wonder he is often greeted by the blank stares of incomprehension, and then had to climb up them, reaching the very top, only to find, that at the bottom of the stares had been the place to stop.

And on with the next pun, please.

“Man goes, in a fruit shop….”