Category Archives: Humour

Almost – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“I thought I was promiscuous, but it turns out I was just thorough.” Russell Brand


There was a young man from Augusta,
whose amore was all front and a bluster,
a girl on each arm
would do him no harm,
but his aplomb he just couldn't muster.

Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️


Filed under Humour, limerick

A Grave Situation – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

#2022 November PAD Chapbook Challenge

Day 18 18.11.22

Prompt: Write a funny poem.

A Grave Situation

Umbrellas for the funeral,
dress shoes clogged in mud,
the reverend stepped forward,
kept going,
collecting the coffin along the way,
down they went with a splosh and thud,
a grave situation you must admit,
came the JCB,
came the ambulance,
came the funeral director,
life belts in a flood.
Seems the hole was too small,
the coffin wedged,
the pump had failed and
the whiskey priest flailed
to the bottom with dear mama.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 


Filed under Free Verse, Humour, November 2022 PAD Chapbook Challenge, poem, quote

Clothesline Blues – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Anna Shvets:

“I make instruments from found objects and common objects, and I search for the sounds that are hidden in them and release them into the world.” Jay Kreimer

Clothesline Blues

How do your hear your washing line,
the sounds that evolve with every 
score that is hung on those staff lines,
small to medium, to large, noting
treble, bass, then picking up the pace,
as sheets sit beside jeans,
it could be four-four, or even more,
are blue clothes g or e, are orange 
clothes f, and what of grey, there's no
limit to the improv as feet tap and pegs
click, could be Gillespie, could be Coltrane, 
I love this washing jazz, I love these
clothesline blues.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️


Filed under Free Verse, Humour, life, music, poem, quote

Don’t Mess With Red – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found on

“Many bowdlerised versions indicated a Victorian-minded censorship, which feared that Little Red Riding Hood might some day break out, become a bohemian, and live in the wood with the wolf.” Jack D. Zipes

Don’t Mess With Red

As the wolf, that teddy-boy with slicked back quiff and leather jacket, so rugged, so volatile, disclosed his true nature with the flick of his switch-blade, Red took to him with a broom handle forcing him from her house. As she chased the wolf out through the front gate she noticed a woodsman with a clip board , all suited up and frowning.

Exasperated, Red asked him why he hadn’t intervened, to which he replied, with an air of arrogance, “I’m here to effect your detention before the committee.” “O! Really, on what charge?” Asked Red. “On several charges in fact” said the woodsman. “Name them” said Red, annoyed and gripping the broom handle tightly. “Well, you’re so young and you were out after curfew, you were unchaperoned, you entered the woods alone, your clothes, they are inappropriate and provocative, you also beat an animal, and you’re a girl. What do you have to say for yourself?” With a snarl she hit him hard.

There’s a fruit tree in her yard that is thriving, and once a week she takes tea with the wolf.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

All Rights Reserved ®️


Filed under Fiction, Humour, passion, politics, prose, quote

Holiday Runners – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Chander R on Unsplash

“Showing off is the fool’s idea of glory.” Bruce Lee

Holiday Runners

There's a certain breed who descend 
on our coastal town every public holiday,
they appear late and only in fair weather,
smelling of soap and deodorant , carrying 
pristine hair (for those who have hair),
slicked in sun block, ear buds in, 
they're wrapped in all the brands that
make you lookable, I often wonder if
they run down their home street, 
holiday runners, they're the best
one show only in town.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 


Filed under Free Verse, Humour, poem, quote

Of Course – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: grutka at

“A bottle of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the world.” Louis Pasteur

Of Course

The wine played cunning tricks,
game on me it proposed,
look at your cookbooks, it said,
you cannot eat a single one of them,
and then I got to thinking, I couldn't
read the music score book either, 
nor could I fathom the manual for the
garage door remote, nor the schedule 
for the reticulation system, but I 
steadied myself, of course, and I 
fought back, retorting that, well, I'd
lived this long, and then the coup de gras,
I drank that insufferable wine and had 
another, just to make my point, of course.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®


Filed under Free Verse, Humour, poem, quote

Is That Why? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon


“You cannot dig a hole in a different place by digging the same one deeper.” Edward de Bono

Is That Why?

Why are holes always so difficult,
resisting the heaviest of sweats,
the greatest intentions of thrust,
the clay is stubborn and felt everywhere,
the sand exhausts as it slides in and in,
removing the turf is never that  simple,
while the tree roots are always attrition,
getting in to dig down is easy enough,
but getting out is another story,
is that why it's called a drain?

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®


Filed under Free Verse, Gardening, Humour, life

The Bureaucratic Wet Dream – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Gianandrea Villa on Unsplash

“Red tape will often get in your way. It’s one of the reasons I carry scissors.” Richard Branson

The Bureaucratic  Wet Dream

Be careful,
have you checked,
where's your detailed plan,
are you sure you know what
you're doing, have you been
given approval, show me the 
triplicates, show me your 
qualifications, are you 
trained for this, is it safe,
should it be only indoors,
you can get training for this
but you'll need prerequisites,
and insurance, what's your
policy number, you must have 
a first aid certificate, and 
you'll have to provide us with
some references and referees,
don't sigh like that, it's the way 
we do things now, we're protecting 
you, for a fee, for a cut, for all your 
time, then we'll take your will to 
live and choke your aspiration,
and if we don't validate you,
you'll be shovelling shit for years,
so, play along, smile as if you 
really mean it, we do, it's a beautiful 
game, so long as you follow the 
hollow rules that help the trains
to run on time.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®


Filed under Free Verse, Humour, injustice, life, poem, politics, quote

Wood Would be Good – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: caouic at

“A craftsman knows in advance what the finished result will be, while the artist knows only what it will be when he has finished.” WH Auden. (I would say person and they as replacements)

Wood Would Be Good

The tree would wood if it could,
but it needs to be downed to the ground,
it's cellular ready and now well you are able,
its rigor mortis now mortised and cased,
after the lop with a chisel and chop
by that circular saw in line perpendicular,
no cringe for the perfect fit hinge,
all excited, so tidy and mitred,
the fumes from the stain filling my brain
as I hang, hammer, bang to the wall.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®


Filed under Free Verse, Humour, poem, quote

My Coquette – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sarah is hosting poetics with an invitation to write about valentines that didn’t happen.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – After St. Valentine Left The Building

Photo: nastya_gepp at

“Never pretend to a love that you do not actually feel ….” Alan Watts

My Coquette

Your badge said Altamisa,
I'm sure you've fevered a few,
your smile jellied me right through,
and the crook of your finger
stumbled thoughts in my head.

The way you played your hair,
tell-tale sign of coy regard,
as fly to trout, down is my guard,
in vein my temples burst,
I'm hooked and baited.

I glance your ankles,
you catch my look,
reading me as if a book,
shifting your legs you show some more,
I love your plot, while losing mine.

Wanting to hold you,
longing to graze your lips,
he pushes past and the spell slips,
somehow I misread the lie,
but at the door you turn and wink.


Filed under Free Verse, Humour, love, poem, quote