Cell phone mama

I was watching the sun rise
over Mount Fujiyama,
when the moment was spoiled
by a cell phone mama.

She was all dressed up
in a pretty kimono,
but her voice kinda sounded
like Sonny Bono.

She was yakking 'bout sushi
and some punk rock band
in a lingo
I couldn't even understand.

I went back to bed
in my flannel pajama
'cause my life's being ruined
by a cell phone mama.

Then I flew to Las Vegas,
thought I'd take in a show.
My nerves were all jangled,
from my head to my toe.

A female chimp came out,
I thought "Now that's what I like!"
and she juggled while she rode
on a one-wheeled bike.

But what she did next
surely ruined the drama.
She pulled out a Nokia--
another cell phone mama!

Then I faxed my Senator--
Barack Obama,
"Can't you pass me a bill
against that cell phone mama?"

They debated six months
about a misplaced comma.
So I'm still being plagued
by that cell phone mama.

Well I took off for India
and the Dalai Lama.
I asked "What can I do
about this cell phone mama?"

He smiled very wisely
which calmed all my fears.
Then he pulled wads of cotton
from both of his ears.

He said, "Please to excuse me.
I've had quite a trauma.
My karma's been wrecked
by that cell phone mama!"

Now I've traveled more miles
than Vasco de Gama,
looking for peace
from that cell phone mama.

From the frozen Antarctic
to sunny Bahama,
you just can't get away
from that cell phone mama!

In my neck of the woods

Most of the men in my neck of the woods
like to hunt and fish and snooze.
They're not averse to taking a chaw
or guzzling a bottle of booze.

They all drive pickups as big as a house
'cause that's such a manly thing.
They all love Hank Jr. when played real loud;
that's the only time that they'll sing.

I never see any of them at my church;
they flee from the place it would seem.
'Cause the only gospel that they will believe
is in the pages of Field & Stream.

"What's a single girl to do?" I ask my close friends,
who just shake their poor heads and sigh.
Do I want to get married when all of my choices
are Larry the Cable Guy?

Tick, tock

Tick, tock,
biological clock.
Who invented
that term anyway?

Must have been a man
who was too full of bran.
But it's become
an obnoxious cliche.

Tick, tock,
I keep hearing my doc
say "Your hourglass
is running out of sand."

I say, "I got the word,
but if the world hasn't heard,
do you think
I should hire a brass band?"

Tick, tock,
I've got vapor lock.
and anxiety galore.

The little hand's on twelve
and the big hand's on ten.
I could sure use
a couple hours more.

Tick, tock,
poor Doctor Spock,
won't find a
customer here.

Unless I can find
my prince pretty soon,
and kick his slow...self
into gear.

Clueless Nate

A clueless fellow named Nate,
couldn't get a second date.
He thought that he lacked
the power to attract,
but in truth, 'twas the garlic he ate.

Funny poems relieve dandruff.

Who dat?

Who dat girl witha frownin' face
mopin' and poutin'
all over da place?

Don't she know
no dude will date
a lip he has to navigate?

Long sad mug,
grouchy disposition,
sensa humor
in a state of decomposition.

Get up girl!
What's eatin' you?
You act like you stepped
in doggy doo.

It don't cost you
nuthin' to smile,
'stead a lookin'
like a constipated crocodile.

Hey, dat's better!
I knew you could laugh
even if it sounds
like a yodelin' giraffe.

Girls who smile
all look kinda pretty
and not like the mayor
of Botox City.

Soon all the dudes
all over the place
askin' "Who dat girl
witha happy face?"

Jeepers! I'm eccentric

It snuck up on me gradually
and smacked me from behind.
Jeepers! I'm eccentric.
I hope that you don't mind.

I put sprinkles on my eggs
and hot tabasco in my tea.
Is it odd to butter pickles?
Well, maybe it's just me.

I heat my undies in the microwave,
keep my doorknobs brightly shined.
Jeepers! I'm eccentric.
I hope that you don't mind.

I'm fussy with my clothing,
wear suspenders with my shorts.
Going barefoot is a no-no.
I'm afraid I might get warts.

I wear a mask to keep out germs
encountered on the streets.
Did you know you can get whooping cough
from public toilet seats?

Being single gives me freedom,
to do anything I please,
even barking like a St. Bernard
every time I have to sneeze.

I think my little habits
Make me ever so refined.
Jeepers! I'm eccentric.
I hope that you don't mind.

Reading funny poems every day can make you seem taller.

He's so hip

He's so hip
with his razor-cut hair
gotta mouth fulla Altoids
and head fulla air.

He's got this month's iPod
and next month's shoes.
He don't read the paper
cause that's yesterday's news.

He's got Armani suits
and a GQ pout.
He's so stuck on hisself
that it make you wanta shout.

He loves his face
and he loves his bod.
He got time for the health club
but no time for God.

He's as contented
as a hip guy can be.
He's the pastor and flock
in the First Church of Me.

A tisket a tasket
now he's flat in his casket.
His Porsche was a little too slow.
"No time for Jesus," somebody observes.
"All dressed up and no place to go."

Ain't no knights

I been squintin' out my window
since I can't remember when
and I still ain't seen my rescue
just a crop of sorry men.

I seen every Disney movie--
Cinderella to Snow White
and that square-jawed chump I'm waitin' for
ain't showed up again tonight.

No Beamer, Porsche or Jaguar,
not a mangy old white nag,
just pickup trucks and bearded schmucks
with parts that droop and drag.

I have reached the sad conclusion
that life ain't no fairy tale
Ain't no knights in shining armor,
ridin' hot upon my trail.

Ain't no genie with a lantern
grantin' wishes one-two-three,
If there's any rescuing to be done,
it'll have to be by me!

Supermodels can rarely quote
any funny poems.

Yessirree Bob!

Oh I got big plans
and they'll all come true.
Let me tell ya the things
that I'm fixin' to do.

Gonna talk about politics
with ol' Honest Abe.
Gonna take batting practice
right next to The Babe.

Gonna laugh with Red Skelton
and Milton Berle.
Gonna sing off-key
with Cousin Minnie Pearl.

Gonna dance me a waltz
with Coretta Scott King
while Nat King Cole
and Elvis sing.

Gonna eat what I couldn't,
gonna really go wild.
Gonna fry greasy chicken
with Julia Child.

Gonna meet Dad and Gramp
'cause they left before me;
We'll go fishin' for bass
in the Galilee Sea.

That ain't half of the things
that I'm plannin' to do,
but there's a spot on my dance card
I'm savin' for you.

Tell the folks down here
I don't want 'em to sob.
'Cause I'll be joshin' with Jesus,
Yessirree Bob!

Is rhyme a crime?

"Your poems all rhyme," she said to me.
I asked, "What's wrong with that?"
"Oh nothing," she said, looking down her nose,
"if you're in love with 'The Cat in the Hat.'"

She said, "Life doesn't rhyme,
and events don't happen
in a rhythmic sing-song meter."
I replied, "That's true.
Life's a spilled pot of stew,
but poems are so much neater."

"You're impossible," she said,
"with your grammar school head,
and your 'roses are red' brand of art."
As I skipped away on my dimeter feet,
I said, "I feel sorry for folks who're too smart!"

The funny poems in heaven
will actually be funny.