3 result(s) for Short Humorous Poems About Guests.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
The Three-Week Cousin
My cousin called to say, 'Hey, cuz,
I'm stopping by - just overnight, because...'
He arrived at dawn, before the coffee,
with duffel bags and a snore so loud and toffee.
He said, 'I'll only stay a day or two,'
then unpacked socks in every drawer for you.
By week one, he'd claimed the couch as his,
and taught the dog to fetch his favorite quiz.
Week two arrived; he'd eaten all our snacks,
and started calling me 'the house's haunted tracks.'
Now week three, he's learned the thermostat's knack,
and cooks his famous pancakes, flipped on the back.
I asked him kindly, 'When will you be leaving?'
He grinned and said, 'Soon... once I've finished grieving
for the guest room bed I'd never sleep upon -
it's fine, I'll hide my suitcase till the lawn is gone.'
The Great Sofa Migration
We'd barely offered tea and cake,
When Uncle Ray began to shake
The armchair left, the lamp to right,
He shoved the sofa out of sight.
He measured walls with squinting eye,
And dragged the rug with a mighty sigh,
"Feng shui!" he cried, "Your room's a mess!"
We watched our living room undress.
The piano sulked beside the door,
The bookshelf wedged against the floor,
The plants were moved to windowsill,
The clock now hung up by the grill.
When finally he took a seat,
He found that he could hardlyreach his feet,
So now we're rearranging back,
And Uncle Ray? He's on our rack.
The Sock Inheritance
When Aunt Mabel packed her bags and went,
With hugs and kisses, cake and scent,
She left behind, I'm sad to say,
Her woolen socks in disarray.
One striped, one spotted, both too wide,
One hangs from the lamp, one by the fridge's side.
They've multiplied in every drawer,
And peek from places I'd ignore.
My uncle's pair, all thick and gray,
Have snuggled in my sofa's bay.
My cousin's blue ones, bright and loud,
Are tangled in the vacuum's shroud.
I've searched for weeks, but cannot find
A single soul to claim this kind
Of odd and lonesome, footless lot,
That Christmas guests have dumped and forgot.
So now I wear them, one by one,
And think of guests when day is done.
Though they've departed, I'll confess,
Their socks still keep me warm, I guess.
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