Poems - Humour
‘The Smile’
often attributed to Spike Milligan but actually by Jez Alborough
Smiling is infectious,
you catch it like the flu,
When someone smiled at me today,
I started smiling too.
I passed around the corner
and someone saw my grin.
When he smiled, I realized
I'd passed it on to him.
I thought about that smile,
then I realized its worth.
A single smile, just like mine
could travel round the earth.
So, if you feel a smile begin,
don't leave it undetected.
Let's start an epidemic quick,
and get the world infected!
‘A serious poem’ by Roger McGough
This is a serious poem
It wears a serious face
It will not fritter away the words
It knows its place.
Perfectly balanced
Neither too long nor to short
It gazes solemnly heavenwards
Like a real poem ought.
Familiar with the classics
It drops names with ease.
Here comes Plato with Lycidas
And look, there’s Demosthenes!
A serious poem will often end
With two words that rhyme.
But not always.
‘Rules for my funeral’ adapted from Susan Stutzky
At my funeral laughter should reign
And chuckle comfort
There’s humour in my flaws
So tell amusing tales with gusto…
No hypocrites may come to my funeral
Make no room for the self-righteous and judgemental
I’d rather have strangers or no one at all
So come if you loved me. Hated me? Welcome
Make sure I’m gone.
At my funeral, platitudes and panaceas are banned
I am dead. There is no silver lining
Except for those I leave money to
Let there be just a few flowers
Then feed the hungry or cure a disease in my name
Play joyous music at my funeral
Songs with rising crescendos or haunting melodies,
Refrains that stick in your head repeating endlessly
Apologies for time you have done me wrong. I forgive you
Forgive me. Now go and live better than before.
‘My funeral’ by Wendy Cope
I hope I can trust you, friends, not to use our relationship
As an excuse for an unsolicited ego-trip.
I have seen enough of them at funerals and they make me cross.
At this one, though deceased, I aim to be the boss.
If you are asked to talk about me for five minutes, please do not go on for eight.
There is a strict timetable at the crematorium and nobody wants to be late.
If invited to read a poem, just read the bloody poem. If requested
To sing a song, just sing it, as suggested,
And don’t say anything. Though I will not be there,
Glancing pointedly at my watch and fixing the speaker with a malevolent stare.
Remember that this was how I always reacted
When I felt that anybody’s speech, sermon or poetry reading was becoming too protracted.
Yes, I was intolerant, and not always polite
And if there aren’t many people at my funeral, it will serve me right.
‘Dust If You Must’ by Rose Milligan
Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?
Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.
Dust if you must, but the world’s out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.
Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.
‘A Long Cup of Tea’ by Michael Ashby
Death is too negative for me
So I'll be popping off for a long cup of tea
Do splash out on two bags in the pot
And for my god's sake keep the water hot
Please pick the biggest mug you can find
Size really does matter at this time
I'll pass on the lapsang with that souchong
And that stuff with bergamot
And stick with my favourite friend
You know the English breakfast blend
Breakfast! thanks for reminding me
There's just time before I fail
To stand on ceremony
Two rashers of best back, Should keep me
Smelling sweet up the smokestack
So, mother, put the kettle on for me
It's time, mother, for my long cup of tea
‘Play Jolly Music at My Funeral’ by Richard Greene
I’ve taken in recent years to thinking about my funeral
and have decided to make one paramount request:
Play jolly music at that ritual.
What good does it do to heap on dirges
or other mournful melodies?
I won’t be there to be gratified by the grieving
and if I could tune in
I’d be happier to see those present have some relief.
Dixieland would be nice.
Joplin would be fine.
Something by Fats Waller would certainly do.
Those early jazzmen knew what they were up to
when they set about making funeral marches swing.
So swing me away, please, with a rousing tune.
'The house is not the Same since you left' by Henry Normal
The house is not the same since you left
The cooker is angry – it blames me
The TV tries desperately to stay busy
But occasionally I catch it staring out of the window
The washing-up’s feeling sorry for itself again
It just sits there saying “What’s the point, what’s the point?
The curtains count the days
Nothing in the house will talk to me
I think your armchair’s dead
The kettle tried to comfort me at first
But you know what its attention span is like
I’ve not told the plants yet
They think you’re still on holiday
The bathroom misses you
I hardly see it these days
It still can’t believe you didn’t take it with you
The bedroom won’t even look at me
Since you left it, it keeps its eyes closed
All it wants to do is sleep
Remembering better times
Trying to lose itself in dreams
It seems like it’s taken the easy way out
But at night I hear the pillows weeping into the sheets.
'Bob is Dead' by Humanist Celebrant Bob Kiddle
('A rant of linguistic prejudice’ or ‘Euphemism to Death’)
At my funeral please don’t say
That your friend Bob has “passed away”
Nor, with life completely gone,
Should you mutter “He’s passed on”
“Expired”, “departed”, “bitten the dust”
I might accept but only just.
“Defunct”, “extinct”, “beneath the soil”
“Shuffled off his mortal coil”
If you must; but do be certain
Bob’s “rung down his final curtain”.
Not one of my associates
Should say he’s “at the pearly gates”
Don’t even let the undertaker
Say he’s “gone to meet his maker!”
“Slipped away” or “kicked the bucket”
Means I’ve gone, “Snuffed it”. F**k it!
“In a better place” I’m really not
I’ve “croaked”, “pegged out”, “I’ve had my lot”
I’ve “popped my clogs”, “turned up my toes”,
“Gone belly up” that’s how it goes!
“Pushing daisies up” might do
But I’m not buried so that’s not true
“Six foot under”’s also wrong
“Departed” means that I am gone.
“Fallen off his perch” and “late”
Now he’s “passed his sell-by date”
“Downed his last pint” is really sad,
“Given up the ghost” that’s just bad!
If you want me to “rest in peace”
Then you might use the word “deceased”
But absolutely not the sound
Of Bob was “lost but now is found”
It would be just a silly story
To say he’s “entered into glory”
I’ve not “gone to the other side”
I’m “done for”, “wasted”, “nullified”
He’s “breathed his last”
His “time has passed”
Or say that Bob has gone on by
“To that great brewery in the sky”
“Laid down his burden”, oh dear no!
“Acquired a name tag on his toe?”.
“Bereft of life” and “ceased to be”
I’m “an ex-Bob”, now that’s me.
So stay in tune with humanism
Don’t resort to euphemism
When I’m “no more” let it be said
That Bob has died so Bob is dead