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February 05 , 2009

Poems That Make You Laugh


A collection of funny poems collected from various literary publication.

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How a doctor's glimpses of eternity confirmed everything he believed about God, suffering, life on earth, and what happens after death. Dr. Chauncey Crandall knows his patients well. When they are dying, he sits at the bedside with them and holds their hands. He prays with them. Sometimes he can feel what they feel and see what they…

IReading in a Used Bookstore

What lies beneath shimmers up
and grasps the eye like a fish
and tosses it into the sea.
The cold wind blows
and lifts a page.
The ship rocks to and fro, teetering in my hand.
The swells, the surge,
the sunlit undulating
waves roll and roll,
beat against my brow.
The white majestic sails billow
and pop in my soul.
A tremor strolls along the deck,
spies inside me a spot of land.

Love You If... you eat swiss cheese,
if you comb your hair with an apple,
you do a little dance in your local bank,
if you can hear the sparrows sing in your liver
or pancreas or spleen,
if you own a cuckoo clock,
if you ride a bicyle and vanish into the wind,
if you think cheese cake is an entree,
this is important, like the ghost that haunts
the little house at the end of a well-written sentence.
Welcome. There's room for another.


Lighting's omen.
Thunder's din.
The sky has lost its marbles!
May the tournament begin!


Short-horned colossus
It's perfectly obvious.
You're one part spindly legs,
Nine parts esophagus.

Lightning Bugs

In my backyard
They burn peepholes in the night
And take snapshots of my house.


How blissful to note –
How at childbirth
A world catches
In a throat.

Little Piggy Everything

Oh, now there secretly
once stuffed a black kerchief
down can't tell you's mouth –
and who'll ever guess
watched little piggy everything,
in waistcoat and trousers,
lug that heavy I tell you,
with Love's dead body
snug in a bag of why nots,
upstairs where can't tell you
waited in the long, thin dark
of a last believe what you wish.

I'm Baggy In Because

I'm baggy in because
and snug in why,
all bundled
in my warm goodbye –
and smug in my now,
my Oh my some-how
come honey me with moon-gleam,
till I'm wild in my anyhow,
and every if's dream
a revolution of whys,
and humble never-was
slay mighty always-been
with surprise.


After Socrates drank hemlock,
He closed his baby blues
and dreamed the seven o'clock
Sunday news.


After a rain storm,
People stand and stare
At that stretch of Heaven
They always knew was there.

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