Funny Poems

Beautiful Soup a funny poem by Lewis Carroll Daddy Fell into the Pond a funny poem by Alfred Noyes
BEAUTIFUL Soup, so rich and green, 
Waiting in a hot tureen! 
Who for such dainties would not stoop? 
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup! 
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, 
Beautiful, beautiful Soup!

Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish, 
Game, or any other dish? 
Who would not give all else for two 
Pennyworth only of Beautiful Soup? 
Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, 
Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP! 
Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Daddy fell into the pond!

And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed! Click!

Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
Daddy Fell into the pond!
How doth the little crocodile...a funny poem by Lewis Carroll Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest a funny poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
How doth the little crocodile 
Improve his shining tail, 
And pour the waters of the Nile 
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin 
How neatly spreads his claws, 
And welcomes little fishes in, 
With gently smiling jaws! 
Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest 
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Our Little Ghost a funny poem by Louisa May Alcott To a Mouse a funny poem by Robert Burns
Oft in the silence of the night, 
When the lonely moon rides high, 
When wintry winds are whistling, 
And we hear the owl's shrill cry, 
In the quiet, dusky chamber, 
By the flickering firelight, 
Rising up between two sleepers, 
Comes a spirit all in white. 

A winsome little ghost it is, 
Rosy-cheeked, and bright of eye; 
With yellow curls all breaking loose 
From the small cap pushed awry. 
Up it climbs among the pillows, 
For the big dark brings no dread, 
And a baby's boundless fancy 
Makes a kingdom of a bed. 

A fearless little ghost it is; 
Safe the night seems as the day; 
The moon is but a gentle face, 
And the sighing winds are gay. 
The solitude is full of friends, 
And the hour brings no regrets; 
For, in this happy little soul, 
Shines a sun that never sets. 

A merry little ghost it is, 
Dancing gayly by itself, 
On the flowery counterpane, 
Like a tricksy household elf; 
Nodding to the fitful shadows, 
As they flicker on the wall; 
Talking to familiar pictures, 
Mimicking the owl's shrill call. 

A thoughtful little ghost if is; 
And, when lonely gambols tire, 
With chubby hands on chubby knees, 
It sits winking at the fire. 
Fancies innocent and lovely 
Shine before those baby-eyes, 
Endless fields of dandelions, 
Brooks, and birds, and butterflies. 

A loving little ghost it is: 
When crept into its nest, 
Its hand on father's shoulder laid, 
Its head on mother's breast, 
It watches each familiar face, 
With a tranquil, trusting eye; 
And, like a sleepy little bird, 
Sings its own soft lullaby. 

Then those who feigned to sleep before, 
Lest baby play till dawn, 
Wake and watch their folded flower 
Little rose without a thorn. 
And, in the silence of the night, 
The hearts that love it most 
Pray tenderly above its sleep, 
God bless our little ghost! 
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin':
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin'
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An' weary winter comin' fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!
The Song of Quoodle a funny poem by G.K.Chesterton How pleasant to know Mr. Lear a funny poem by Edward Lear
They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.

They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even tell
When door and darkness closes
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of Moses
Will let you steal a smell.

The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they blunder
And err, if left alone.

The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours

* * *

And Quoodle here discloses
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only knowses
The Noselessness of Man.
How pleasant to know Mr. Lear, 
Who has written such volumes of stuff. 
Some think him ill-tempered and queer, 
But a few find him pleasant enough. 

His mind is concrete and fastidious, 
His nose is remarkably big; 
His visage is more or less hideous, 
His beard it resembles a wig. 

He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers, 
(Leastways if you reckon two thumbs); 
He used to be one of the singers, 
But now he is one of the dumbs. 

He sits in a beautiful parlour, 
With hundreds of books on the wall; 
He drinks a great deal of marsala, 
But never gets tipsy at all. 

He has many friends, laymen and clerical, 
Old Foss is the name of his cat; 
His body is perfectly spherical, 
He weareth a runcible hat. 

When he walks in waterproof white, 
The children run after him so! 
Calling out, He's gone out in his night- 
Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh! 

He weeps by the side of the ocean, 
He weeps on the top of the hill; 
He purchases pancakes and lotion, 
And chocolate shrimps from the mill. 

He reads, but he does not speak, Spanish, 
He cannot abide ginger beer; 
Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish, 
How pleasant to know Mr. Lear! 
Oh Susana! A funny poem by Stephen Foster Stellas Birthday a funny poem by Jonathan Swift
Stella this day is thirty-four, 
(We shan't dispute a year or more:) 
However, Stella, be not troubled, 
Although thy size and years are doubled, 
Since first I saw thee at sixteen, 
The brightest virgin on the green; 
So little is thy form declin'd; 
Made up so largely in thy mind. 

Oh, would it please the gods to split 
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit; 
No age could furnish out a pair 
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair; 
With half the lustre of your eyes, 
With half your wit, your years, and size. 
And then, before it grew too late, 
How should I beg of gentle Fate, 
(That either nymph might have her swain,) 
To split my worship too in twain
I came from Alabama
wid my banjo on my knee, 
I'm g'wan to Louisiana, 
My true love for to see, 
It raind all night the day I left 
The weather it was dry, 
The sun so hot I frose to death
Susana dont you cry. 
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me
I've come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.
[Solo] I jumped aboard de telegraph, 
And trabbelled down de riber, 
De Lectric fluid magnified, 
And Killed five Hundred Nigger 
De bullgine buste, de horse run off,
I realy thought I'd die; 
I shut my eyes to hold my breath,
Susana, dont you cry. 
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me 
I've come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.
[Solo] I had a dream de odder night, 
When ebery ting was still; 
I thought I saw Susana, 
A coming down de hill. 
The buckwheat cake war in her mouth,
The tear was in her eye, 
Says I, im coming from de South,
Susana, dont you cry. 
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me 
I've come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.
[Solo] I soon will be in New Orleans, 
And den I'll look all round, 
And when I find Susana, 
I'll fall upon the ground. 
But if I do not find her, 
Dis darkie 'l surely die, 
And when I'm dead and buried, 
Susana, dont you cry. 
[Chorus] Oh! Susana Oh! dont you cry for me
I've come from Alabama wid mi ban jo on my knee.