Category Archives: Poems

The Funny Bone (Danger: Puns)

It was the annual pickup game

At the Summer Camp for bones,

And the kids paid rapt attention

To a spine named Mr. Jones.

 

“I’d like to introduce you,”

They heard Mr. Jones declare,

“To a new bone.  His name’s humerus.”

Applause caressed the air.

 

“So are you funny?” Ulna asked,

Always one for the obvious question.

Humerus told the only joke he knew

About a small intestine.

 

Radius laughed politely

But the jawbone din’t move,

And the ribs agreed that joking

Did not his personality behoove.

 

And so the game began,

And balls were thrown and kicked,

And when it came to choosing teams

Humerus was the last bone to be picked.

 

It turned out that poor Humerus

Came off as much too smarmy,

So he hired some local muscle

And left to join the army.

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Orange is the Old Black

It’s hard to write a poem

About the color orange

Without the introduction

Of the convenient rhyme of “door hinge.”

 

But orange is not a color

So much as a happy time

When it shines with gold as a sunset

Over fields of orange and lime.

 

Orange is every childhood

When you bought the collared shirt

In a pumpkin shade with a purple sweater

As you rolled amidst the dirt.

 

But as you ran between the Autumn trees

With the citrus sun burning your feet

And your fashion clashing, you realized

Being a kid is pretty neat.

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Prophecy, Inc.

Sometime after the time of stress

When the world seems like a mess

An average person will appear

To speak of things the world will hear.

He or she will sound to some

Quite well informed; to others, dumb.

Thus are the words of Earth and Sky.

That’ll be $50. Thanks, buh-bye.

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When the Music Left the Elevator

The melody took to the sky

Carrying passengers as it soared.

It sang with all its passionate grace,

Yet the busy humans snored.

 

Later, the song descended.

Its calming chord still blares

Throughout the box for people

Uninclined to take the stairs.

 

The saxophones and drum set

Make monotony so sweetly

But the elevator’s patrons

Tune out its song completely.

 

So the melody went sideways

To where the unsmelled flowers go

And lived its quiet style of life

Under the uncounted stars aglow.

 

And those that rode that metal box

Just heard the elevator’s hissing

And they stared at the lights, unspeaking,

Unaware what they were missing.

 

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If you say “I’d save it,” you’re lying.

If I had a million bucks

I might buy a million ducks

Who would have a million ducklings

And I could watch them grow.

 

If I had a million bucks

I’d load them in a million trucks

And bring them around the country

To find their perfect doe.

 

If I had a million bucks

I’d wear a pair of diamond chucks

And a platinum pillow

For when I need to snore.

 

If I had a million bucks

In cash or deer or even ducks

I wouldn’t spend it prudently.

Perhaps that’s why I’m poor.

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The Fisherman’s Dilemna

They say I’m a workaholic

‘Cause I spend twelve hours a day

Away from Mabbs (my wife) and kids.

It’s the commercial fishing way.

 

Truth is, work gives me joy

That I just don’t get from Mabbs.

At work I catch the lobsters,

But with her I catch the crabs.

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The Crew Cut

The crew cut is a true cut

And a proper “do” for men.

I’ve been known to sport one

Every now and then.

It’s classic and low-maintenance,

Both manly and refined.

Yes, the crew cut is a true cut

But no one pays it much mind.

 

The crew cut is a true cut

Because long hair is a pain.

What woman wants a guy

Whose hair can clog the drain?

It lends style to a balding head,

It’s tough as well as cute.

Yes, the crew cut is a true cut,

But people prefer to be hirsute.

 

The crew cut is a true cut,

Or so you’ve probably heard.

It gives you social status

Equivalent to a flightless bird*.

I rock one as I write this,

‘Cause I’ve got nothing better to do.

The crew cut is a true cut,

But who calls layoffs “cutting crew?”

 

*If you don’t know about the flightless bird trend sweeping the nation like the ice bucket challenge**:

 https://thedailytravesty.com/2014/08/20/i-try-to-be-social/

 

** If you don’t know about the ice bucket challenge, I envy your resistance to the internet’s pull.

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I Try To Be Social

If I had a pet penguin
I’d be a cooler guy,
‘Cause nothing impresses people
Like a bird that doesn’t fly.

I know this as a fact,
Having garnered my first clue
When my neighbor had a party
After buying an emu.

So I went into the pet store,
But no penguin could be found.
I couldn’t even find one
In the wild or the pound.

That’s why I bought this parrot
Who says such funny things.
It’s not flightless, but hey,
At my party I’ll serve wings.

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It Was So Amazing Though!

I’m not the kind to kiss and tell,
Which is why this poem is short.

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Conversion Tactics

I was visited last afternoon
By friendly Mr. Levin
Who stopped by, presumably,
To get me into Heaven.

He handed me a pamphlet
About discovering Jehovah,
But being an ad exec myself
It didn’t win me ovah.

So I came up with a new campaign
For the door-to-door believers
To double their conversion rate
And make them high achievers:

They could give out bottles of water
In tribute to the divine,
But if you come to hear a sermon
You can trade for a bottle of wine.

They could host some seminars
On days when it is raining
Giving a new-agey mix
Of spiritual sales training.

If you want to walk on water
A witness has a deal for you:
Free water skiing lessons
If you’ll sing hallelu’.

By now you will have realized
I didn’t read their stuff,
But I tried to help as best I could.
I hope that was enough.

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