Category: Humour

Categories
Humour Poetry

A Malaprop Poem

By Sudeshna Mukherjee

Panda Meek Thyme

These err panda meek thyme

Wee err told two men ten distancing

They halve named eat sow shall distancing

On top of that ewe halve two ware a masque

Cove erring ewer knows and moth

They don’t no eat ease so stuffy

Bee sides how doe ewe speak

Eat ease an air borne vile us

Eye tail ewe the men problem is vile us

Any dis ease ease bee cause of vile us

Awl medical journals will tale ewe

How problematic these err

However cumming back two these panda mow nium panda meek

Please ewe halve two bee care fool

Ewe halve two continuously wash ewer hinds

Do ewe no the vile us stays on the sir faces for men ee ours

Eat ease con stuntly mutating

Such terrible thymes

Won knaver thought won wood sea

Total lock stock barrel down

Echo nomy ease bearish

The curve deeping down

Peepal are beeing layed off

Eye mean given the pink sleep

Busy Ness has gone bust

My grants halve faced sow many problems

Eff this ease knot bio illogical war fair

Then tail me what ease

There err men ee phases toe eat

Eye bee leave wee err entering the third stage

Sum err saying there ease come new tea spread

Oh God ! How dose won pro text won self

Eye really prey that wee can go back two hour olden daze

Fool off fun and fro lick vacay shunning

Butt eye no wee halve two leave width this vile us 

The knead of the our ease two re men qualm

Buoy oh buoy then halve the bottle ease one

The other halve ease two stay positive

Eye yam sure we can concur this thyme and say ” This two shall passé

.

Sudeshna Mukherjee‘s poems and stories deal with varied human nature. A keen observer she chronicles the happenings around her and writes with a tinge of humour. “Meanderings of the Mind “and “Mélange” are her published collections of poems. Her works have been published in many national and international anthologies and e-zines. She is the recipient of the “Golden Vase ” award for her humorous/satirical writings.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.

Categories
Humour Poetry

The Naughty Monkey

By Sutanuka Ghosh Roy

The naughty monkey

Drank beer which tasted skunky

Jumped a wall his jump quite spunky

Played the game of hunky punky.

The naughty monkey

His tail looked clunky

Was always busy with his creativity

Left no opportunity to

Drive the  neighbours to insanity.

The naughty monkey

Drank beer which tasted skunky

He acted just like an old junkie

His beats were excellently funky!

.

Dr Sutanuka Ghosh Roy is Assistant Professor and Head Department of English in Tarakeswar Degree College, The University of Burdwan. She did her doctoral dissertation on Two Eighteen Century British Women Poets: Hannah More and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. She has been teaching at the undergraduate and postgraduate level for years. She is currently engaged in active research and her areas of interest include Eighteenth Century literature, Indian English literature, Canadian Studies, Post colonial Literature, Australian Studies, Dalit Literature, Gender Studies etc. She has published widely and presented papers at National and International Seminars. She is a regular contributor of research articles and papers to anthologies, national and international journals of repute like The Statesman, Muse India, Lapis lazuli, Setu etc. She is also a reviewer, a poet and a critic.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.

Categories
Humour Poetry

The Confession of a Bibliophile

    

By Palak Tyagi

With foggy glasses and a throbbing pulsation,
Curling beneath her blanket
As she yonderly revels in her sanctuary tonight
Her aspectabound visage becomes a canvas
Of the erratic sinking and brightening of her eyes
And of precipitous manoeuvring of her jaunty eyebrows
As she dives into the final chapter, leafing through which
When her last words arrive,
A tear rolls down her eye.
Tugging on her blanket on the cold wintry night
Latching onto her book tightly, holding it by the spine
She ingests the wooden chocolate scent
As she runs her frail soft fingers through the pages one last time,
Another tear rolls down her eye.
She sits there gaping at the cover for cover for a while
And this spell is broken when she takes notice of her mother.
All choked up, she looks at her and yelps — “Hi!”
Tugging on to her, she says, “You know I didn’t want it to end tonight”
And her mother ensconces her on her lap and says,
“Don’t worry, I’ll stop by the library to fetch some more for the fortnight”

Palak Tyagi is from New Delhi, pursuing her major in Economics from University of Delhi. A flamboyant personality and an avid admirer of beautiful cotton candy clouds and azure hues of sky, she’s an absolute bibliophile who likes to pen down her musings and has a love for learning different languages.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.

Categories
Humour Poetry

Two Boons and one Bender

By Saranyan BV

Two boons and one bender Although in a situation where most people living on earth die en-masse Blown by pandemic or by bacterial catastrophe, Or by freak accidents like trail of large meteoric rocks crashing, Or the ocean fed by melting of snow in North pole come bashing (Like when Arctic begins to look like Sahara and my continent like archipelago, I happen to be in foothills of Mont Blanc that eventful day (For logic’s sake I say this to explain why I don’t die) Bargaining with the Italian store owner there with cutting edge aquiline nose Trying to rent low-cost ski-board and other skiing tackles), Or by evolution of new species more intelligent than mankind, More robust and more disciplined and more tech savvy (the funny type which doesn’t tell lies and looks for rationality in all the things they do), Either by mutation or by unfortunate leak of synthetic embryo From some secret lab in Basel or in Rio-de-Janeiro. Or the landing of aliens using satellites which look like Harley Davidson Whose lethal weapons kill in unison, Alien species which have eyes located on their bums and can’t see when seated, (Any incubator company want to design chairs for seating arrangements In movie theatre or chaise lounge or bistro, or for suntan under orange-colored parasol?) Although most people living on earth die like this (After natural life gets over that is - How boring! How disastrous!) And earth has enough 6/3 space left to bury I wouldn’t like to be interned, for who would want to be unearthed, Discovered long after dead by some disparate archaeologist of random genus And be smeared with some new chemical which doesn’t let me disintegrate Either by sound-bite or by light or toxic smell of some obnoxious substance. I ask God for two boons, one - give me two minutes of life after death; To narrate and record events that lead to my death and the causes thereof, So that no one spreads rumors how I died, that my wife doesn’t say I was reckless (God, kill me two minutes before my time and lend me those two minutes for post-mortem!) I like my remains to feed leg-less organisms in sea, (this the second boon request) My ankles tied to three-inch nylon rope saddled with fifty kg Hematite rock-horse Slid where the depth is more than four thousand eight hundred and ten meters Which is the altitude of Mont Blanc. (we need planned coincidences, right?) If I can complete the narration in less than two minutes, I have time to dangle and watch the fishes tugging at me, Carrying bits of me to crevices where turtles live and twaddle, I like to comb the oceanic floor with my hair, Watch fishes mating like there’s no tomorrow And not fear bad breath because down under the sea bad smell doesn’t carry.

Saranyan BV is poet and short-story writer, now based out of Bangalore. He came into the realm of literature by mistake, but he loves being there. His works have been published in many Indian and Asian journals. He loves works of Raymond Carver.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.