Jan always likes a good pun.
She can take any topic and run.
What she writes on a fart
May not make us swoon: "Art!",
But we'll LAUGH,'cause her poems are FUN!
For Jan who reminds me that writing should first and foremost be fun!
Humble Olive Eloisa
Went one day to work in Pisa
She posed for awhile
Behind flashy smile
She stood in for Mona Lisa.
My sister likes to doodle
I thought she drew a noodle
She gave me a glare
And tugged at my hair
And told me t'was a poodle.
When I was a teen, I would munch
My way through the whole Sunday brunch.
I'd destroy that buffet,
Then as we walked away,
I'd ask my poor mother, "When's lunch?"
Behold, in life's self-portrait I daresay
how youth and beauty alas fade away.
But as my time so increase
I will paint my masterpiece
and not age a picture of Dorian Gray!
All little boys like to master the fart
Among their peers its considered an art
It must be loud
To make them proud
If stinky, a winner right from the start
You perfected your lies to an art.
You succeeded in breaking my heart.
I shed not one tear,
for the hour is near,
when arsenic will keep us apart.
Smiles on the faces of the poor
Equality before the law
Land of freedom
Land of great dreams
There once was an owl named Argonne
That read a lot of King Arthur and Avalon
Of Merlin & the sword of Power
Of Camelot, and all the square
Knights, who sat 'round when Art call'd upon!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Have you tried suppressing a big fart -
Clenching your buttocks is a fine art
You hope your windy gas
Doesn’t shoot out your ass
and from the room you quickly depart
7th March 2015
Inspired by BL Devnath’s Please don’t laugh poem
Sometimes my work is the pits -
Teenagers popping their zits
With consummate art
They burp and they fart …
I still love my job to bits!
17th November 2015
When worked up and yelling a sight to behold
She was an expert on the art of the scold
But she was good in bed
And kept him well fed
And he was quite deaf if the truth be told
Once there was an intellect called Muster Magic
They say,” fellow has an art of his own- white Magic”
“we couldn’t comprehend” they say
“we couldn’t hear his voice” they say
bloody just a language of mind is white Magic!
There once was a man named Art
Who was thrifty and shopped at WalMart
He was happy with life
As he rode on his bike
Till the bearings fell apart..
By: Kyle Ezra Kriticos
Limerick: Once Academic got into panic
Once Academic got into panic
Asked to make rival’s panegyric
He copied article
Sans def’nite article:
Learned art he was trained to mimic.
© TWignesan – Paris, 2013
This idol, this man holds a place in my heart
He speaks of Ziggy Star Dust and Major Tom, so I don't know were to start
He played as a king of a goblin land
Watching and listening to him makes me crumble like sand
David Bowie s melodies and performances are genuinely an art.
My mum thinks I'm so smart,
She puts me in the shopping cart,
I always point out what to buy,
Sometimes my mum gives me a sigh,
Good shopping is an art.
Long ago in Booville lived a Doo
Doo had a friend named Rue-Foo
Rue-Foo was obsessed with candy
But he was never handy
Then Rue-Foo found a mooing Phu-boo
Once there was a man called Jenish “for objectivism”
Fascinated by the philosophy of rational individualism
With moral integrity and respect for right for -
others create art, ideas, technologies, more…
Bloody this philosophy of Rand surely motivates the meek!
My notion at its most masochistic
The crowd, laughs, quite the kick.
I've never enjoyed anything more
The art is my greatest lore.
It's the only life I'd ever pick.
There once was a child from Canada
Who loved eating bananas,
He went to the zoo
Gave one to the roo,
Now the roo has a banana colored bandana
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Think I'll get back to sketching famous people
When they autograph my drawings it's a really big deal
My success rate's way up there
Much more than my share
Twelve hundred last time, that was totally surreal
© Jack Ellison 2015
Calli the drunken zombie cub
can often be found in the pub
for this is why
she's so often high
and passed out drunk in the tub!
dusty was the scale, under the bathroom sink
all it needed to work, were two bare feet
and it would tell the tale
and tell the tale true
a bit portly, bending over just to see
Venus de Milo sought high and low
for her arms akimbo Long ago
I offered to look too
for those two lost ampu-
tated limbs, but naught said that bimbo.