767 Humor poems

I’m playing with the devil’s cock it’s like a crayon it’s like a fat burnt crayon I’m writing a poem with it I’m writing that down all that rattling heat in this room I’m using that I’m using that tingling rattle that light in the middle of the room it’s my host I’ve always been afraid of you scared you’re god and something else I’m afraid when you’re yellow tawny white it’s okay. Transparent cool you don’t look like home my belly is homeless flopping over the waist of my jeans like an omelette there better be something about feeling fat what there really is is a lack of emptiness I’m aiming for that empty feeling going to get some of that and then I’ll be back

Anyone who begins a sentence with, “In all honesty ... ” is about to tell a lie. Anyone who says, “This is how I feel” had better love form more than disclosure. Same for anyone who thinks he thinks well because he had a thought. If  you say, “You’re ugly” to an ugly person — no credit for honesty, which must always be a discovery, an act that qualifies as an achievement. If  you persist you’re just a cruel bastard, a pig without a mirror, somebody who hasn’t examined himself enough. A hesitation hints at an attempt to be honest, suggests a difficulty is present. A good sentence needs a clause or two, interruptions, set off  by commas, evidence of a slowing down, a rethinking. Before I asked my wife to marry me, I told her I’d never be fully honest. No one, she said, had ever said that to her. I was trying to be radically honest, I said, but in fact had another motive. A claim without a “but” in it is, at best, only half  true. In all honesty, I was asking in advance to be forgiven.

By that he ended had his ghostly sermon, The fox was well induc'd to be a parson, And of the priest eftsoons gan to inquire, How to a benefice he might aspire. "Marry, there" (said the priest) "is art indeed: Much good deep learning one thereout may read; For that the ground-work is, and end of all, How to obtain a beneficial. First, therefore, when ye have in handsome wise Yourself attired, as you can devise, Then to some nobleman yourself apply, Or other great one in the world e s eye, That hath a zealous disposition To God, and so to his religion. There must thou fashion eke a godly zeal, Such as no carpers may contrare reveal; For each thing feigned ought more wary be. There thou must walk in sober gravity, And seem as saint-like as Saint Radegund: Fast much, pray oft, look lowly on the ground, And unto every one do courtesy meek: These looks (nought saying) do a benefice seek, But be thou sure one not to lack or long. And if thee list unto the court to throng, And there to hunt after the hoped prey, Then must thou thee dispose another way: For there thou needs must learn to laugh, to lie, To face, to forge, to scoff, to company, To crouch, to please, to be a beetle-stock Of thy great master's will, to scorn, or mock. So may'st thou chance mock out a benefice, Unless thou canst one conjure by device, Or cast a figure for a bishopric; And if one could, it were but a school trick. These be the ways by which without reward Livings in court be gotten, though full hard; For nothing there is done without a fee: The courtier needs must recompensed be With a benevolence, or have in gage The primitias of your parsonage: Scarce can a bishopric forpass them by, But that it must be gelt in privity. Do not thou therefore seek a living there, But of more private persons seek elsewhere, Whereas thou may'st compound a better penny, Ne let thy learning question'd be of any. For some good gentleman, that hath the right Unto his church for to present a wight, Will cope with thee in reasonable wise; That if the living yearly do arise To forty pound, that then his youngest son Shall twenty have, and twenty thou hast won: Thou hast it won, for it is of frank gift, And he will care for all the rest to shift, Both that the bishop may admit of thee, And that therein thou may'st maintained be. This is the way for one that is unlearn'd Living to get, and not to be discern'd. But they that are great clerks, have nearer ways, For learning sake to living them to raise; Yet many eke of them (God wot) are driven T' accept a benefice in pieces riven. How say'st thou (friend), have I not well discourst Upon this common-place (though plain, not worst)? Better a short tale than a bad long shriving. Needs any more to learn to get a living?" "Now sure, and by my halidom," (quoth he) "Ye a great master are in your degree: Great thanks I yield you for your discipline, And do not doubt but duly to incline My wits thereto, as ye shall shortly hear." The priest him wish'd good speed, and well to fare: So parted they, as either's way them led. But th' ape and fox ere long so well them sped, Through the priest's wholesome counsel lately taught, And through their own fair handling wisely wrought, That they a benefice 'twixt them obtained; And crafty Reynold was a priest ordained, And th' ape his parish clerk procur'd to be. Then made they revel rout and goodly glee; But, ere long time had passed, they so ill Did order their affairs, that th' evil will Of all their parish'ners they had constrain'd; Who to the Ordinary of them complain'd, How foully they their offices abus'd, And them of crimes and heresies accus'd, That pursuivants he often for them sent; But they neglected his command e ment. So long persisted obstinate and bold, Till at the length he published to hold A visitation, and them cited thether: Then was high time their wits about to geather. What did they then, but made a composition With their next neighbour priest, for light condition, To whom their living they resigned quite For a few pence, and ran away by night.

It’s always darkest before the leopard’s kiss. Where there’s smoke there is emphasis. A bird in the hand is bound for the stove. The pen is no mightier than the soul. Never underestimate the nib of corruption. Better late than suffer the long introduction. All work and no play is the way of  the sloth. If  you can dream it bring the child the moth. He is not wise that parrots the wise. All that glitters has been revised. An idle mind is a sign of  the time. The less things change the more we doubt design.

It was déjà vu all over again. I know this town like the back of my head. People who live in glass houses are worth two in the bush. One hand scratches the other. A friend in need is worth two in the bush. A bird in the hand makes waste. Life isn’t all it’s crapped up to be. It’s like finding a needle in the eye of the beholder. It’s like killing one bird with two stones. My motto in life has always been:Get It Over With. Two heads are better than none. A rolling stone deserves another. All things wait for those who come. A friend in need deserves another. I’d trust him as long as I could throw him. He smokes like a fish. He’s just a chip off the old tooth. I’ll have him eating out of my lap. A friend in need opens a can of worms. Too many cooks spoil the child. An ill wind keeps the doctor away. The wolf at the door keeps the doctor away. People who live in glass houses keep the doctor away. A friend in need shouldn’t throw stones. A friend in need washes the other. A friend in need keeps the doctor away. A stitch in time is only skin deep. A verbal agreement isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. A cat may look like a king. Know which side of the bed your butter is on. Nothing is cut and dried in stone. You can eat more flies with honey than with vinegar. Don’t let the cat out of the barn. Let’s burn that bridge when we get to it. When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Don’t cross your chickens before they hatch. DO NOT READ THIS SIGN. Throw discretion to the wolves. After the twig is bent, the barn door is locked. After the barn door is locked, you can come in out of the rain. A friend in need locks the barn door. There’s no fool like a friend in need. We’ve passed a lot of water since then. At least we got home in two pieces. All’s well that ends. It ain’t over till it’s over. There’s always one step further down you can go. It’s a milestone hanging around my neck. Include me out. It was déjà vu all over again.

Tell me not in mormonful numbers “Life is but an empty dream!” To a student of the slumbers Things are never what they seem. Life is yearning and suppression; Life is that to be enjoyed; Puritanical discretion Was not spoke by Dr. Freud. Deep enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to dream, that each to-morrow Finds us Freudier than to-day. Sleep is long, and dreams are straying, And our hearts, though they may falter, Still, like sexiphones, are playing Wedding marches to the altar. In the universal battle, In the seraglio of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle— Beat your husband—or your wife. Trust no dame, however pleasant! Leave the dead ones on the shelf! Act—act in the living present! Nothing matters but Yourself. Wives of great men all remind us We can make our lives a serial, And, departing, leave behind us Biographical material. Stories that perhaps another Sailing o’er life’s Freudian sea— A forlorn and dream-racked brother— Reading, might say, “How like me!” Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any mate; Now eluding, nor pursuing, Learn to individuate.

Pumberly Pott’s unpredictable niece declared with her usual zeal that she would devour, by piece after piece, her uncle’s new automobile. She set to her task very early one morn by consuming the whole carburetor; then she swallowed the windshield, the headlights and horn, and the steering wheel just a bit later. She chomped on the doors, on the handles and locks, on the valves and the pistons and rings; on the air pump and fuel pump and spark plugs and shocks, on the brakes and the axles and springs. When her uncle arrived she was chewing a hash made of leftover hoses and wires (she’d just finished eating the clutch and the dash and the steel-belted radial tires). “Oh, what have you done to my auto,” he cried, “you strange unpredictable lass?” “The thing won’t work, Uncle Pott,” she replied, and he wept, “It was just out of gas.”

Stella this Day is thirty four, (We won'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 of 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 gracefull, Wise and fair With half the Lustre of Your Eyes, With half thy Wit, thy 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.

In Normandy, at Point Du Hoc, where some Rangers died, Dad pointed to an old man 20 feet closer to the edge than us, asking if I could see the medal the man held like a rosary. As we approached the cliff the man’s swearing, each bulleted syllable, sifted back toward us in the ocean wind. I turned away, but my shoulder was held still by my father’s hand, and I looked up at him as he looked at the man.

Before the sixth day of the next new year, Strange wonders in this kingdom shall appear: Four kings shall be assembled in this isle, Where they shall keep great tumult for awhile. Many men then shall have an end of crosses, And many likewise shall sustain great losses; Many that now full joyful are and glad, Shall at that time be sorrowful and sad; Full many a Christian's heart shall quake for fear, The dreadful sound of trump when he shall hear. Dead bones shall then be tumbled up and down, In every city and in every town. By day or night this tumult shall not cease, Until an herald shall proclaim a peace; An herald strong, the like was never born, Whose very beard is flesh and mouth is horn.