Ear wax was invented
by the brain – that clever chap!
As a barrier to absorbing
other people’s verbal crap.
Tag Archives: humor
My Recorder (funny poem)
What’s wrong with my recorder?
No matter what I play
their words say “oh how lovely!”
But their expressions: “go away.”
It started so well (funny poem)
God bless the man
who makes my ice cream.
God bless logistics
(chocolate from bean!)
God bless my brother
who is so fun to hit
God bless my allowance
(real and counterfeit)
God bless Gran’s amnesia
(two birthdays a year!)
God bless the bad guy
(my future career)
Humpty Dumpty: the final verse (funny poem)
So they souffled his whites
and scrambled his yolk.
Humpty was served piping hot
with a side of artichoke.
Middle Age (funny poem)
Middle age is a perplexity.
Only God knows the number.
It might be 40, maybe 65
til I’m half way to six feet under
Evil brewing, stewing (funny poem)
There’s a chance I may be evil
(I’m testing the theory.)
The laugh in my head is now deep dark and baritone
instead of light and cheery.
To do (funny poem)
Hold your head up high
(your neck will do the work)
Deep breath in,
flash a smile.
Now get to work!
School notebook (funny poem)
“Teacher I’ve lost my notebook
so this Zebra will take its place.
I’ll stay within the lines
I’m just not sure how to erase.”
Bedtime routine (funny poem)
Beachy cheeks
Dewy lips
Enough powder
for apocalypse
Pigmented lids
Smokey eyes
Back to lips
now glossified
Quick inspection
“Damn” I said
Wink to reflection
Now off to bed
Santa’s waistline (funny poem)
Chimneys may look brick
but me thinks its brick looking rubber.
How else does Santa and his girth
descend with all that blubber?
ABC’s of Singapore
After 7 years in Singapore my family and I are onto new adventures in Perth, WA. As a tribute here is my rendition of Singapore’s ABCs. This is a draft with notes for illustration.
A for Aww! An Oriole! (Who sings admist the green)
B for Bay, Sands that is, a cote de the Marine.
C for chicken rice
D for Dempsy twice (pic of both Demspy Hill and Demspy Road).
E for easylink
F for flower in a flower
G for gasp! Gecko that is! Darting up a tower!
H for hawker center (rating a-c)
I for ice cream uncle (1 dollar durian ice cream).
J for Jalan Kingru, Jalan Besar (which means street)
K for kaya, kopi O, K for kopi C.
L for la
M for monsoon
N for night shopping opportune (picture of pasar malam).
O for orchid blooming in garden botanic
P for people – Singapore – a true multi-cultured fabric.
Q for Qoo10
R for the one and only Raffles
S for Singlish (ok lah? every expatriate baffled).
T for Tanjong Beach Club, T for taste it from a wok
U for umbrella (picture of carrying umbrella in the sun)
V for….hmm, unsure (while you wait here’s a Macaque).
W for wet market
Y for you (Singaporean through and through)
Z for zzz (a blue eyed white Tiger dozing at the Zoo).
Math (funny poem)
Before the talk taboo
1 plus 1 is 2.
After “the Birds and Bees”
1 plus 1 makes 3.
Have you ever thought? (inspirational poem)
Have you ever thought
the crack of thunder
the babbling streams
the bobbling glaciers
aquamarine?
The Starling’s dance
spring anew
Have you ever thought
…it’s all for you?
Life Potpourri (funny poem)
There ain’t no Book of Life
at the Pearly Gates.
Instead, God sniffs your life potpourri
and (Bam!) He knows your fate.
You see, all your thoughts and actions
from the kind to oh-so-evil
dry into life potpourri
ready for Divine retrieval.
Angels flank him at His sides
(with espresso beans in hand),
cleansing his nasal palate
prevents a misreading of “bland!”
If God wrinkles his nose at your bowl
(or worse!) recoils in disgust:
your plans for everlasting bliss
perchance are a bit robust.
And if God should have a cold that day
and his olfactory sense is missing.
You’ll join the queue in Purgatory
till His nose has had some fixing.
His Saints potpourri is in His sock drawer.
His Angels in sachets.
His do-gooders are on His mantel.
His devotees by His ashtray.
Your go-go-ness (inspirational poem)
If you wanna-wanna be it
take-a take-a look inside.
The courage and go-go-ness
already in you reside.
Instead of: “I can’t-ta, can’t-ta.”
Try: “I can-a, I will try!”
The pruning shears are in your hands,
life is your very own bonsai.
Oh the Humility (funny poem)
I’m the flagship store.
I’m the grand debut.
I’m the gasps, the clicks,
the points, the stares.
Did you know that I’m HQ?
I’m the reason for confetti.
The cheers, the “hip hip hoorays!”
I am the Honoree,
the Mother-ship,
the encore at the ballet.
I’m the ceremony.
The Laureate.
I take the cake.
In this little thing called life
did you know I raise the stakes?
Success: ini’s vs. axi’s (funny poem)
Sucess-ini’s are small sucesses:
successes of the smallest.
Success-axi’s are on the bigger side:
successes of the tallest.
Late Bloomer
If they call you a late bloomer
just say “hip hip hooray.”
One day you’ll start-a-bloomin’
while they’ll be darning their crochet.
Broccoli covered Vermin
When your plug is pulled
and your life whirlpool starts a twirling,
just remember things can get much worse:
think of broccoli covered vermin!
To-done list
My “to-do” list is overflowing
(some over-clocking is my hunch).
My but “to-done” list is empty as can be
so I’m off for lunch.
Bulls, crepes and swagger.
Your life’s not a chore.
Stop tallying score.
We all have a bull
who is chasing our cape.
We’ve all missed the mark
when flipping our crepe.
Just hold your head high
and walk with some swagger.
Tickle your pain
and you’ll surely get laughter.
God’s to do list
Beat in hearts.
Gestate baby.
Hatch a chick.
Bloom a daisy.
Orbit Earth.
Whisper through fear:
“Courage, you.
I’m always here.”
Tickle conscience.
Spark “Eureka!”
Let it happen
(free will + tequila).
Design snowflake.
Intuit life mission.
What else?
Spontaneous remission.
Little Alphabeta
There was once a little girl
named a-b-c-d-e-f-g-h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p-q-r-s-t-u-v-w-x-y-zed.
No one could pronounce her name
so they’d spell it out instead.
Poor little a-b-c-d-e-f-g-h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p-q-r-s-t-u-v-w-x-y-zed
(let’s call her Alphabeta).
Her twenty six lettered name
proved to be an alpha-dilemma!
At school her teacher would call on her
(a task rife with verbal indigestion).
By the time she’d finished she would think:
“now just what was my original question!?”
As she grew (just like her name)
Alphabeta would still point & answer with description.
Insightful commentary it was indeed
for anyone who’d listen.
Pointing to her Aunt Maybelline:
“heart, lungs, liver & spleen”
Pointing to a cake at the baker’s counter:
“egg, vanilla, sugar, & a bit of flour.
Poor little Alphabeta
became quite the subject of town gossip.
“Did you hear what she said to Father Jon?
“Toupee & init for a profit!”
There’s a machine in my stomach
There’s a machine in my stomach
with buttons “burp” and “giggle.”
One is activated by a fizzy drink,
the other by a tickle.
Suspicious Granny
Granny smirking in her chair,
a suspicious Granny sitting.
Oh my dentures!
Have you seen
just what Granny’s knitting!?
An 8 year old’s resume
Snowflake taster.
Recess connoisseur.
Goodie-bag aficionado.
Head lice chauffeur.
Said the night bird
The early bird may get the worm
but the late bird gets them thrice.
(Worms wearing pajamas
taste very, very nice).
A list of complaints
My enemies are gloating.
My expression reads revolting.
My cerebellum’s overdosing
on synapses guilty yet consoling.
My concentration is chaperoning
a tendency for disrobing.
My intuition is foreboding
of an expletive offloading.
My brain is emphatically bemoaning
the state of affairs under my clothing.
My conversation is engrossing
to the dead and always moaning.
A small break
Hi everyone
I will be taking a small break from blogging as I just had my second daughter.
Rhyme again soon!
C
The origin of my mood grim
Lindy Loo? Oh how she’s dim!
Just yesterday said she on a whim:
“goodness gracious me you’re slim!
My oh my, how you look trim!
Have you frequented the gym?”
Aghast was I at this creature prim
with skin of marble porcelain.
Has Lindy Loo been on the Gin?
Before my mood (now grave and grim)
was shattered by a further synonym,
with face chagrin to Lindy dim:
“Ms. Loo…. I’ve lost a limb!!”
Lover of her bodily functions
When you sneeze, oh the rapture!
To be showered post ah-choo.
A night heeding your nasal snores?
Spilleth over my love stew.
With each of your lurching hiccups
Oh how I do love you more.
To count your moles till the end of time?
Bliss, mon amour.
Your backsplash post garggle.
Your molars mid yawn.
With every scratch you satisfy
My world turns right from wrong.
Wanted: Music Teacher
The sound of Monty
on his trombone
is akin to a toenail
deeply ingrown.
Unlikely to get the job
Listed as her top credential:
“proficient in all three utensils.”
Lady Baroness & her Artist
Lady Baroness
heir to Baroness State Holdings
has been siting for a portraiture
(her smile slowly decomposing).
I do she hope adores the green I’ve chosen
for the spinach in her teeth
and how I’ve captured her dandruff.
Quel masterpiece!
Oops, a little smudge joining her eyebrows
(I’m sure she’ll hardly notice).
Oh how I wish my brush stroke could capture
her never-ending halitosis.
Mini poems on Motherhood
Sunday best
now a mest.
Baby grabbed spoon!
(Harvard bound!)
Maybe not so soon…
(spoon on ground).
Peek a boo round four
cute beyond belief.
Peek a boo round thirty-five,
mama wants aperitif.
Birth plan devised
(no nurse shall it hinder!)
Contractions start…
plan out the vinder!
In public
baby vocals
sounds great deal like
prepubescent yoddle.
Shooting Star and his rainbow tail
He’s the ether’s most wanted
(all too known is his repertoire).
He streams across the midnight sky
looting colored caviar.
His hydrogen’s laced with evil
(a robber of the cosmic sort).
He’s the peacock of the heavenly realms
with rainbow tail escort.
Clingy Martian Boyfriend
I have a clingy martian boyfriend.
Gone is the mystery.
He always knows what I am thinking
due to telepathy.
If I think of him in orbit
in a beam of light he does appear.
Darn that teleportation!
He’s always lurking near.
He will skip a probing
if he knows I’m in the galaxy.
Sometimes: “Please lose him in the cosmos!”
is my plea to gravity!
His pick up line was classic
“I come in love” (to humans, we say “peace”)
But how can I really date a Martian
who wears a cologne called “Autops-me.”
He writes poetry by the book full
on how I turn his cold blood colder still.
The crop circles of my face however
are a bit of overkill.
Middle Age (and trying to escape it)
I showed up late for youth.
Declined!
(I didn’t know their gestures).
So I showed up early for old age.
Rebuffed!
(I wasn’t wearing dentures).
God and his species maker 9000
On day 7 God has his feet up
but his species maker 9000 continued to work.
That is until the lever got jammed
and the 9000 went berserk.
The Octopus was supposed to have just two tentacles
instead it floats around with eight.
A far too long neck for the giraffe
did it generate.
Readers: let’s take a moment of poetic silence
for those who were 9000-ed from above
(especially for the blobfish who’s face
only a mother could love).
Bodily surprises
There’s an itch lurking up my nostril
waiting to be scratched when it deems fit.
There’s a chuckle in my belly
awaiting a stroke of genius wit.
There’s a tap poised inside my tip toe
a snap in my finger does loom.
Both await the same presence:
the tempo of a catchy tune.
There are two shivers in my spine
standing politely in a queue.
Each is poised to shiv away
in a moment deja vue.
Ready for a handsome stranger
in my left eye does stand a wink.
There’s one sitting in right eye too,
together they do make a blink.
The “what do you do?” inquiry…
The “what do you do?” inquiry
is exactly two words short to me.
Stop not there, add in “and why?”
and learn from who to briskly flee.
Baby Bottle
Gulp gulp gulp
slurp dee slurp
silence, smile
great big burp
Hi friends! I’m back from a long but wonderful pregnancy and maternity leave. Will be posting more poems…both regularly and soon! 🙂
Skinny Santa
Mrs. Clause put Santa on a diet
but now he’s sitting in a cell.
His christmas eve mission this year…well,
did not really go so well.
Section 2 (breaking & entering)
was his Christmas morning crime.
With no rosey cheeks or stomach round
he wasn’t recognized!
Thud! Santa flew down the chimney
(his belly used to provide some friction)
This year presents weren’t on his mind
… cupboard raiding was his mission!
Spotting the milk and cookies
he raced to them in a flash.
Soon only crumbs and drops were left
……but Santa wanted the stash!
He would have gotten away with it
if after the cookies he did scury.
It was the sound of pots and pans that night
that awoke the Jones in a fury.
“At 3am he stood in my kitchen,
a skinny Santa eatting my squid!
He even brought his own apron that said:
“Being naughty saves me a trip!””
So Santa has a mugshot now
But his regrets are zero, null!
His grin has a message clear
“at least my tummy’s nice and full.”
Virus Cure
Oh the virus has infected you!
It’s rampant and you’re teeming!
To cure yourself? Only one way!
Look at life as though your dreaming
The voice of an unpublished writer
I think I’ll write poetry for life
without care of what minds think.
Afterall should you not like it now
…. perhaps you will after a drink.
Refuse to be a side dish in life
Be not the green beans, mash or niblet corn
grab the wheel of life and honk that horn!
