Last Edited Humor Poems (50)

Sorry the sky isn’t blue
Sorry no hugs for you
Sorry I lied
Sorry had to hide
Sorry you attacked me
Sorry you slapped me
Sorry you ran out of the room
SorryI sprayed you with perfume.
Sorry you're so bizarre
Sorry I wanted to punch you
Sorry you caused a brawl
Sorry you weren’t the fairest of all
Sorry I’m so embarrassed
Sorry my dreams didn’t come through
Sorry you were ever my mother

I talk to the old codger
But he's an old dodger
As sly as a wisp of smoke

In due proportions
Not gross distortions
I now beseech
You old bloke

To present the question
(That's just a suggestion)
In format that's not from Mars

Or have you been reeling
From lack of feeling
And falling down in bars?


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The paradox of root 2,
Pythagoras knew what to do;
The first thing was;-
Not to eat a bean;
The second was:
What the hell,
Does this "pi thing" mean?


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The words of be real
Are smoother than silk
There's very few poets
Who are of his ilk

As the casual observer
Can quite clearly see
There's precious few poets
That are finer than he

His verse and meter's
A fine-tuned Swiss watch
Words flow from his pen
For this bard is top notch!


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The fella's ok, he's just a bit old
A maths geek comes in from the cold
It's not representative
When he's argumentative
But when making maths blogs
He outdoes most the slobs.

These blogs help me relearn
Mathematics I've spurned
When my wild days
Left my mind in a haze.

But now I am sober
(Much like a judge)
Notation is clear
For math, you can't fudge.

Knowledge comes back
I once thought I'd lost
I'm on the right track
I've paid off the cost.

Be real is now here
With a laser-like mind
Soaking up figures
And things of that kind.

Maybe in blog land
Things would be more pleasant
If those would understand
Who act like a peasant

The lady's mostly ok
(She is good too)
So on with this blog
With less hullabaloo!


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She flew her glider off the Blorenge*
For she had a bird-like skill;-
And the flimsy craft was orange;-
('Twas launched from that mighty hill).

It took a long walk to arrange;-
This courageous act of will;-
To first mount this rill (or range);-
(The braveness does impress me still).

Her name was Angela (or 'Ange');-
She lived down by the old stone mill;-
Her surname could be "Gorringe"?**
Yes, I think that fits the bill!


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The cherubic boy, with arrow, will strike;
Let the grog flow, so the self-obsessed;
May each then reel - and perhaps find delight;
(Then forget the way in which they have transgressed);
With each drink, become as high as a kite;
It's all because a young lad, half-undressed;
Decided to join in the bright festivities;-
(Reflecting badly on cherub proclivities).

The cherubic imp's as invisible as air;
Flutt'ring on pinions, with bow, and with arrow;
When you've thought you've seen him, he isn't there;
Though you may hear his wings swish like a sparrow;
Close to your ear, or to ruffle your hair; -
(No need to read your fortune with tarot); -
Of Venus and Mars, he may have been born; -
But tonight, he's an imp - in modern form.

And his work is so tiring in this nightclub;
The heat, the noise, the crowd, and the music;
Cupid needs refreshment - and here's the rub;
He's not meant to drink, or he'll become sick;
Last time, at a dinner party, he fell into a bathtub;-
After drinking a cocktail, he fell like a brick;-
(Before this, he'd used the drink's swizzle stick;-
As an arrow, to shoot at the cat, the dumb prick!)*

Cupid's developed a taste for the booze;
(He thought it gave his flight extra verve);
Romantic liaisons were now his to choose;
(So long as he flies, and can keep his nerve);
And for this reason the grog he would use;
To keep his arrows true - for them not to swerve;
Though he doesn't fly too well when he's liquored;
And on this night, our Cupid
gets shickered!

For the first few drinks, the boy kept his eye;
Steadfastly on a man across the room;
Through angelic peepers, he did espy;
Subversive conduct going on all too soon;
The man with bad thoughts, well now he did try;
To spike a ladies drink - (the bloody goon);
Cupid shoots an arrow (before he is pissed);
A damn good shot! - It hits the man on the wrist!

This "gentleman", well, he lets out a howl;
The drug meant for her, is now on the floor;
And despite being as pissed as an owl;
He feels pain in his arm, like nothing before;
The girl now sees his hideous scowl;
She gathers her things, then bolts for the door;
Well that's quite nice - a crisis averted;
The boy saves a lady who would have been skirted.

Well, being a boy of very high virtue;
Cupid does not hang around for too long;
He's busy tonight, and there is much to do;
On gossamer wings, powered by angel's song;
He flits 'cross the room, (after stopping this snafu);
But stops on the way - to drink some more grog;
As well as cocktails, the imp likes champagne;
(And sadly for him, again, and again).

Though just as a sylph, and angel in flight;
(The baby-faced cherub is pretty far gone);
He's conscious enough, to now find delight;
In promoting the odd drunken liaison;
(If he knows in the morning, at the first light;
Lasting love will come from reckless passion);-
The cherubic rouge's old, despite his young years;
He sees all the girls, through veils of their tears.

The coquettish boy - (harbinger of doom);
Is out of his mind, and in no fit state;
To do much after this, now that the room;
Is spinning and giddy, and the hour late;
The debauchery, and moral vacuum;
Increases; (and all the more insensate;
Grows the cherubic mind, with each drink taken);-
Well, so I despair!;- poor Cupid's forsaken!

And so, our Cupid's really on a bender;
Now all he has left, is but ersatz love;
Then they all say: "the kid's a pretender";
(With flight no more graceful, like a dove);
He loses his gyros, and thus bends a fender;
When he falls like a stone, from his high perch above;
Now, it's an inverted aspect, for Cupid;-
He's stunned, and c*ck eye'd, and lying there stupid.


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Swipe right
My daily rite
(For as a man
I need delight).

Swipe left
I feel bereft
(Although it's quick
As I am deft).

Swipe right
Maybe some night
She will let me
Be her knight.

Well, I'm alone
(And all out of fight)
Today I'm done
With swiping right.

Can this continue?
Well not tonight
(I've writer's block)
And so goodnight.



© lovecanbereal
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It is universally known
(As a de facto theory)
That women judge a man
By his shoes.

(Or so they say) ; however;-
What would the reverse case be?

Are us men to make
Value judgements
About high stilettoes
Or a woman in moccasins?

No! I maintain it's her handbag
That shows her class
(Something elegant need not be expensive).

A tote bag
About the size
Between an A4 and A3
piece of paper.

If it is elegant
An imitation is OK,
(Provided it doesn't look like
A cheap knockoff).

Which of course would give
The game away.



© lovecanbereal
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I have talent - by my own assertion-
And it seems that lately, many more agree;
Though writing chiefly now in the first person-
Is that person I now write of - really me?
Far be it now, for me to cast aspersion -
On many (or even any) of my deeds;
For it is merely all "poetic license"-
" I'm " the poet that the critics cannot silence.



© lovecanbereal
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