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F u n n y   P o e m s

By Josie Whitehead

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Sad on Couch


By Josie Whitehead

All in the Name of Poetry

Poetry seems a cemetery

     Where people bury grief.

The act of putting it in verse

     Perhaps brings them relief.


It seems a good place to enshrine

      The contents of one's heart;

And here replace one's tears with words

      And inner gloom impart.   


Readers, enter bravely

    When you join a writing group.

The poetry section, I'm afraid,

     Will make your spirits droop.    


Your happy day will melt like snow

     By reading such sad words –

And to entertain oneself this way

     Must surely be absurd!


Your cholesterol will rise and rise!

    We'll hear your heartfelt cries -  

But come, turn that computer off

     And wipe your streaming eyes.


It’s POETRY, my poor dear friend,

     Designed to tear your heart

But not all poems will make you cry –

     And here’s mine for a start . . . . . .


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