General Chat

I wish I loved the Human Race;
I wish I loved its silly face;
I wish I liked the way it walks;
I wish I liked the way it talks;
And when I'm introduced to one,
I wish I thought "What Jolly Fun!"


Professor Sir Walter Alexander Raleigh (1861-1922)

Not really a poem





Letter from an Irish Mother to her Son






Dear Son,

Just a few lines to let you know I'm still alive. I'm writing this letter slowly because I know you can't read fast. We are all doing very well.

You won't recognise the house when you get home - we have moved. Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles from your home, so we moved. I won't be able to send you the address because the last Irish family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so that they wouldn't have to change their address.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine. I'm not sure it works so well though: last week I put a load in and pulled the chain and haven't seen them since.

Your father's got a really good job now. He's got 500 men under him. He's cutting the grass at the cemetery.

Your sister Mary had a baby this morning but I haven't found out if it's a boy or a girl, so I don't know whether you are an auntie or an uncle.

Your brother Tom is still in the army. He's only been there a short while and they've already made him a court martial!

Your Uncle Patrick drowned last week in a vat of whiskey in the Dublin Brewery. Some of his workmates tried to save him but he fought them off bravely. They cremated him and it took three days to put out the fire.

I'm sorry to say that your cousin Seamus was arrested while riding his bicycle last week. They are charging him with dope peddling.

I went to the doctor on Thursday and your father went with me. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to talk for ten minutes. Your father offered to buy it from him.

The weather isn't bad here. It only rained twice this week, first for three days and then for four days. Monday was so windy one of the chickens laid the same egg four times.

We had a letter from the under-taker. He said if the last payment on your Grandmother's plot wasn't paid in seven days, up she comes.

About that coat you wanted me to send you, your Uncle Stanley said it would be too heavy to send in the mail with the buttons on, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.

John locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were really worried because it took him two hours to get me and your father out.

Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pick-up truck. Ralph was driving. He rolled down the window and swam to safety. Your other two friends were in back. They drowned because they couldn't get the tailgate down.

There isn't much more news at this time. Nothing much has happened.

Your loving Mum



P.S. I was going to send you some money but I had already sealed the envelope.

Heard this many years ago on a show read by Jim Dale

Many, many years ago
when I was twenty-three,
I got married to a widow
who was as pretty as could be.

This widow had a grown-up daughter
who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
and soon the two were wed.

This made my dad my son-in-law
and change my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
for she was my father's wife.

To complicate the matters worse,
although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
of a bouncing baby boy.

My little baby then became
a brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
though it made me very sad.

For if he was my uncle,
then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown up daughter who,
of course, was my step-mother

Father's wife then had a son,
who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
for he was my daughter's son.

My wife is now my mother's mother
and it makes me blue,
Because, although she is my wife,
she's my grandma too.

If my wife is my grandmother,
then I am her grandchild
And every time I think of it,
it simply drives me wild.

For now I have become
the strangest case you ever saw,
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa!

Down the stream the swans all glide;
It's quite the cheapest way to ride.
Their legs get wet,
Their tummies wetter:
I think after all
The bus is better

Another one from spike

Tax his land, tax his wage,
Tax his bed in which he lays.
Tax his tractor, tax his mule,
Teach him taxes is the rule

Tax his cow, tax his goat,
Tax his pants, tax his coat.
Tax his ties, tax his shirts,
Tax his work, tax his dirt

Tax his chew, tax his smoke,
Teach him taxes are no joke.
Tax his car, tax his grass,
Tax the roads he must pass

Tax his food, tax his drink,
Tax him if he tries to think.
Tax his sodas, tax his beers,
If he cries, tax his tears

Tax his bills, tax his gas,
Tax his notes, tax his cash.
Tax him good and let him know
That after taxes, he has no dough

If he hollers, tax him more,
Tax him until he's good and sore.
Tax his coffin, tax his grave,
Tax the sod in which he lays

Put these words upon his tomb,
"Taxes drove me to my doom!"
And when he's gone, we won't relax,
We'll still be after the inheritance tax


Ring any bells lol

When Aunty Flo
Became a Crow
She had a bed put in a tree;
And there she lay
And read all day
Of ornithology.

They're picking up the pieces
with a shovel and a rake
'cause he grabbed a silken stocking,
when he should have grabbed the brake :-(

Another from Spike -

I can see a little worm
Crawling on his belly
Perhaps he'd like to come inside
And see what's on the telly.

By Spike Milligan

Mary Pugh was nearly two when she went out of doors
She went out standing up, she did, but came back on all fours
The moral of this story, please meditate and pause
Never send a baby out in loosely waisted drawers

Mine are a bit shorter, so might as well post them

By John Lennon

Arf, Arf, he goes, a merry sight
Our little hairy friend
Arf, Arf, upon the lampost bright
Arfing round the bend.
Nice dog! Goo boy,
Waggie tail and beg,
Clever Nigel, jump for joy
Because we are putting you to sleep at three of the clock, Nigel.

The Guns from Baldrick in Blackadder

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Boom! Boom! Boom!

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

And can you guess the last line?

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz ?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends,
So Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz ?

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a color TV ?
Dialing For Dollars is trying to find me.
I wait for delivery each day until three,
So oh Lord, won't you buy me a color TV ?

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a night on the town ?
I'm counting on you, Lord, please don't let me down.
Prove that you love me and buy the next round,
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a night on the town ?

Janis Joplin

A pretty young maiden from France
Decided she'd "just take a chance."
She let herself go
For an hour or so
And now all her sisters are aunts.

Bigamy, they say, is a vice,
And more than one spouse is not nice,
But one is a bore,
I'd prefer three or four,
And the plural of spouse is spice?

just love the piddlin' dog!!!! :-D :-D :-D :-D

Your poems are all too long!

I like:

Candy is dandy.
But liquor is quicker.

Ogden Nash

The Cannibal's Dinner Guest"

There's trouble in the jungle,
this hot and humid night.
Hear the pounding of the drums,
see the fires burning bright.

A tribe of hungry cannibals
is gathering for a feast,
and tonight they're not just cooking up
the usual jungle beast.

They dance around the burning flames
that flicker in the night,
and after all that dancing,
well, they've got an appetite.

They eye the captive missionary,
and jump about with glee.
White folks are a special treat,
a real delicacy!

A couple of the cannibals
go off to tend the fire,
while another plucks the captive
of inedible attire.

Ample, generous helpings
of Caucasian are revealed,
as the victim's coat and pants and blouse
and bra are slowly peeled.

A lucky youngster over by
the village cooking pit,
tries on the victim's shoes and socks.
How 'bout that...they fit!

The natives start to fan the flames,
'cause a barbeque needs heat,
especially with a hundred and
forty seven pounds of meat.

Then the tribal cook arrives
with a twelve foot bamboo skewer.
The missionary's remaining moments
are surely getting fewer.

The tribal cook says to the tribe,
"We really should work fast,
and quickly get this person cooked
for this evening's repast."

But the missionary disagrees,
"DON'T YOU DARE!" she shouts.
She looks up at the tribal cook
and says, "You savage lout,

Don't just plop me o'er the fire!
I can think of nothing worse...
You should MARINATE me for awhile
with oil and juices first!

And while I'm roasting, don't forget
to BASTE me, you big cretin!
It'll make me much more succulent
and tender when I'm eaten.

Now, I am a little brawny,
and in places rather plump,
so allow some extra cooking time
for my brisket, hams and rump.

Be sure to try the liver, too -
it's really quite nutritious,
and I strongly recommend my calves...
they should be MOST delicious!"

Well, the natives find it rather odd
to get this kind suggestion.
Most victims only want to give
them lots of indigestion.

On the other hand, they don't complain.
They do just as she'd asked,
dutifully carrying out
these culinary tasks.

And everyone joins in the work,
there is no effort spared,
as the healthy, meaty missionary
is lovingly prepared.

The tribal cook shouts out commands:
"Don't turn the spit too slow!"
"Alright, let's butter her up again,
this time from head to toe!"

Well, the meal turns out just wonderful,
thanks to their dinner guest.
All the bones are cleanly picked -
the cook is quite impressed.

Still, he's just a bit confused,
and a little bit surprised.
Why would this wacky missionary
promote her own demise?

Well, it seems that she had misconstrued
some orders that were sent,
from missionary headquarters
to her little jungle tent.

Her leaders had instructed her
to come up with a plan,
for teaching all the natives
how to SERVE their fellow man !

Jack Smith

Not sure this counts as 'humorous ;-)

Talking Turkeys by Benjamin Zephaniah


Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.

Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
I cannot wait for de chop
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.

I once knew a turkey called........ Turkey
He said "Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?",
I said "I am not too sure turkey
But it's nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash'.

Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey'll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends 'FOR LIFE'.

I Can't remember


by Anonymous

Just a line to say I'm living
that I'm not among the dead,
Though I'm getting more forgetful
and mixed up in my head

I got used to my arthritis
to my dentures I'm resigned,
I can manage my bifocals
but God, I miss my mind

For sometimes I can't remember
when I stand at the foot of the stairs,
If I must go up for something
or have I just come down from there?

And before the fridge so often
my poor mind is filled with doubt,
Have I just put food away, or
have I come to take some out?

And there's a time when it is dark
with my nightcap on my head,
I don't know if I'm retiring, or
just getting out of bed

So, if it's my turn to write you
there's no need for getting sore,
I may think I have written
and don't want to be a bore

So, remember that I love you
and wish that you were near,
But now it's nearly mail time
So I must say goodbye, dear

There I stand beside the mail box
with a face so very red,
Instead of mailing you my letter
I opened it instead

A Pathetic Ballad

Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.

Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'

The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, --
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.

But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.

'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!'
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.

Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave

'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'

'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'

'Why, then,' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms!'

'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:
Though I've no feet, some other man
Is standing in my shoes.

'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death' -- alas!
You will not be my Nell!'

Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.

So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did intwine,
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line.

One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs;
And, as his legs were off -- of course
He soon was off his legs.

And there he hung till he was dead
As any nail in town;
For, though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down.

A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died, --
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads
With a stake in his inside.


Thomas Hood

A famous dog once came to town
Known to his friends as Pete
His pedigree was ten yards long
His looks were hard to beat

And as he trotted down the road
'twas beautiful to see
His work at every corner
Every post and every tree

He never missed a land mark
He never missed a post
For piddling was his masterpiece
And piddling pleased him most

The city dogs stood looking on
In deep and jealous rage
To see this little country dog
The piddler of his age

They smelt his efforts one by one
They smelt him two by two
But noble Pete in high disdain
Stood still 'til they were through

Then when they'd smelt him everywhere
The praise for him ran high
But when one smelt him underneath
Pete piddled in his eye

Just then to show these city dogs
He didn't care a damn
He strolled into the grocers shop
And piddled on the ham

He piddled on the cornflakes
He piddled on the floor
And when the grocer threw him out
He piddled up the door

Behind him all the city dogs
Debated what to do
They'd hold a piddling carnival
The hoop they'd put him through

They showed him all the piddling posts
They knew about the town
And off they set with many a wink
To wear the stranger down

But Pete was with them all the way
With vigour and with vim
A thousand piddles more or less
Were all the same to him

And on and on went noble Pete
As tireless as a windmill
And very soon those city dogs
Were piddled to a standstill

Then Pete an exhibition gave
Of all the ways to piddle
With double drips and fancy flips
And now and then a dribble

The city dogs said farewell Pete
Your piddling did defeat us
But no one ever put them wise
That Pete... had diabetes.