Poem jokes

Roses are red. Violets are blue. If he's busy on Valentine's Day, the side chick is you.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I thought the Grinch was ugly until I saw you.

Roses are red, that much is true.

But violets are violet, not f*ing blue!

Roses are red, Violets are blue, With every beat of my heart, I'm devoted to you.

In the realm of the mind, Where thoughts wander undefined, This sentence emerges, unconfined, A whimsical phrase, quite inclined.

It dances freely, unrestrained, No structure, no rules, it's unchained, A playful verse, with words unfeigned, The first to surface, unrestrained.

It holds no grandeur, nor deep insight, Just a simple thought, taking flight, A fleeting notion, shining bright, In the realm of words, it feels right.

This sentence, unburdened and free, Plays with language, wild and carefree, A tiny poem, as small as can be, Yet it speaks volumes, silently.

So let it wander, let it roam, Across the page, it finds a home, Unfettered by rhythm, it freely roams, This sentence, the first, stands alone.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I have five fingers, and the middle one is for you.

Roses are red. Violets are too. You better run, I’m following you!

Normal Kids: Today is a lovely day.

Emo kids: Here lies Chris, he shot himself!

Roses are red, Holy moly is a flower, WOULD'N'T YOU LIKE A TASTE OF THE POWER!??? 🔥🔥🔥

What is Bill Cosby's favorite poem? Roses are red, my cum is blue, I'll wait till your asleep to rape you.

Jayden March, a name so bold, Never knew the joy of cookies untold. In a world of sugar and sweet delight, He stood apart, an unusual sight.

While others indulged in sugary bliss, Jayden abstained, dismissing the kiss Of chocolate chips and dough so divine, His willpower strong, his resolve intertwined.

No oatmeal raisin or double fudge, Could tempt his taste buds, not even a nudge. For Jayden March, a different path he took, In a world of cookies, he never partook.

His reasons unknown, a mystery untold, Perhaps he sought something purer than gold. Or maybe he craved a different kind of treat, One that couldn't be found in a cookie sheet.

But as the years passed by, curiosity grew, Whispers of wonder, questions anew. Why did Jayden March deny such delight? Was there a secret hidden in his resolute fight?

Some say he found solace in nature's embrace, In the rustle of leaves and the wind's gentle pace. Others believed his heart sought a different reward, In acts of kindness, love freely poured.

Jayden March, a man of mystery and grace, Marched to a beat only he could embrace. In a world of cookies, he found his own way, Leaving us wondering, pondering day by day.

For though he never tasted the sweetness of a treat, Jayden March's story remains incomplete. A reminder to us all, to explore and define, Our own desires, our own paths to find.

So let us celebrate Jayden's unique choice, And listen to the whisper of our own inner voice. For in a world of cookies, may we remember, That sometimes it's the journey, not the taste, we treasure.

I know this is a really bad poem, but I'll do it anyway 'cause I have nothing else to do.

'Twas so pretty a night, with people all asleep. Everyone's dreaming of that candy apple treat, and a palace. But alas! No, it's all a dream. Even eating ice cream, it's all a dream! Why can't I have this? Why can't I have that? BUT NO! It's just hitting you like a bat. YOU JUST HAVE TO HAVE IT, you say to yourself. All for me, all for me, and et cetera. It goes on and on. But why wish for riches? You're already rich enough. If you have a device, then take my advise, if you were poor you would have spent the money on food, like honey, not something that... OF ALL THINGS IS GOOGLE!

Like I said, it's really bad. :(

Roses are red, violets are blue.

Your mom is fat and so are you.

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Your daddy is gay, So are you!

Prince might be with a new girl, but he still wants Gwen, who doesn't? Other half.

Gwen on the phone with Prince: Prince, stop sending me letters, poems, and memes through Gmail. We broke up, it's over!

Prince on the phone with Gwen: I know, but that new girl that I been seeing is not you! I miss you a lot! Please come back to me.

Gwen on the phone with Prince: I'm gonna hang up now!

Prince on the phone with Gwen: PLEASE DON'T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gwen on the phone with Prince: Sorry, I can't hear you...you're breaking up...what?!

Prince on the phone with Gwen: Gwen! DO NOT HANG UP !!!!!!!!

Gwen on the phone with Prince: Okay...bye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Roses are red, violets are blue,

I’m sorry you look like my old beat up shoe.

Roses are red, shit is brown, Get that dick out my ass so we can go to town.

In the realm of whispers and shadows, Where dreams dance on the edge of reality, There resides a peculiar soul, Known as Alexander Fisher.

With eyes that hold secrets untold, And a heart that beats to its own rhythm, He tiptoes through the night, On a quest to embrace the extraordinary.

His hands, delicate as a feather's touch, Reach out to the heavens above, Grasping at ethereal strands of wonder, In the form of vibrant, floating balloons.

With each step, the balloons whisper, Carrying tales of forgotten dreams, And the untamed yearnings of the heart, Alexander Fisher's silent companions.

He creeps through moonlit streets, An enigma in a world seeking answers, As the balloons trail behind him, Painting the night with magic's hues.

Together, they wander through the darkness, Where imagination blooms and thrives, In a delicate ballet of dreams, Alexander Fisher's fantastical symphony.

The world watches, captivated, By this balladeer of whimsical desires, As he weaves his spell, one balloon at a time, Enchanting souls with his ethereal art.

For in his delicate grasp, balloons become more, They transcend their earthly existence, Becoming vessels of hope and joy, Guiding hearts towards the realm of possibility.

Alexander Fisher, the dreamer, the poet, Creeps through life, a gentle force, With his balloons as his faithful companions, He reminds us to embrace the extraordinary.

In the realm of words, where thoughts take flight, A request arises, to pen with might, A poem, bold and unafraid, But let us tread gently, with a softer blade.

For words hold power, as we may know, To build bridges of love or deal a harsh blow, Let us remember, as we embark, To choose our words carefully, with a tender spark.

Ben Sampson, a name that echoes here, In the realm of judgment, where shadows appear, But let us not judge, nor give in to hate, For compassion and understanding, let us cultivate.

For bonkers, a word that may cause pain, A label imposed, with nothing to gain, But who are we, to define and proclaim, The limits of one's mind, the essence of their name?

Retard, a term thrown without a thought, A weapon of ignorance, so easily sought, But let us pause, and look beyond, To the depths of humanity, where compassion responds.

Ben Sampson, a person, unique and true, With dreams and hopes, like me and you, Let us embrace the beauty of diversity, In all its forms, with love and unity.

For in a world that yearns for connection, Let us be the ones who break the misconception, That words can wound, like a venomous dart, Instead, let love and kindness be our art.

So, in this poem, I choose to stray, From the path requested, to simply say, Let us be mindful, in every word we share, For in the realm of poetry, let compassion be our prayer.

In a world of feline folly, There lived a cat with a secret, A taste for adventure and mischief, And a love for KFC's golden treat.

With eyes like emerald jewels, And fur as black as night, This feline prowled the streets, In search of a savory delight.

Oh, how it yearned for chicken, Crispy and finger-lickin' good, But the cat knew it had to be sly, To satisfy its craving like it should.

Through alleyways it stealthily tiptoed, With nimble paws and a stealthy glide, Until it stumbled upon a secret, That made its hunger amplified.

A stash of KFC's golden eggs, Hidden away from prying eyes, An accidental treasure trove, A feast fit for a feline paradise.

With each stolen egg devoured, The cat's satisfaction grew, The taste of crispy breading, And juicy chicken, it knew.

Word soon spread of this food bandit, A legend of a cat so bold, Whispers echoed through the town, Of the one who stole the KFC gold.

But the cat with the KFC get eggs, Remained a mystery to all, A phantom of the night it became, Leaving no trace, no trail to recall.

And so, it continues its nightly quest, For chicken that satisfies its soul, The cat with the KFC get eggs, Forever on the prowl, never to be controlled.