Browsing Category Humorous Poetry

Welcome to the humorous poetry archive at Adam’s Poems Etc, an opportunity to scroll back through some of the funny and quirky poems that Adam Taylor has written and performed over the years!

A poem about Jewish dating

This poem harks back to a time before dating algorithms and user attribute matching, to an era when romance was left to pure chance.  I remember the world of the Jewish singles event painfully well. 

The Jewish Singles Do

He said hi 
She said hello

He said some grape juice?
         There’s red or white
She said no thank you
He said do you know Simon Levy?
She said just to say hello to
He said me too
         So did you go to the Young Friendship do
         at the Spiro?
She said the tomato tasting?
He said yes
She said no
He said it was so so
         Simon Levy was there
She said oh
He said Michelle Cantor was there too
         I took her on a blind date once
She said so?
He said not great
         She brought her mate.
         Anyway what do you do?
She said I specialise in 16th century art at Sotheby’s.
He said I’m in computers.
         So is Simon Levy
She said really
He said I like art
         You know the ones of the dripping clocks?
She said yes
He said maybe we could discuss them over dinner?
She said maybe
He said my name is Jeremy
She said I know
He said oh?
She said we met a year ago
         I was the mate on that date
         Don’t you remember?
He said uh oh
         Anyway what’s your number?
She said I’ve no phone
He said well
         What the hell
         Let’s elope
She said nope.

A poem about the dark side of the hill

It’s time to explore the mystery at the heart of Jack and Jill. What really happened that day out on the hill?

Where was Jill?

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
but then Jack fell.
What the hell?
Was it a trip?
Was it a slip?
Where was Jill?
Why did she only
come tumbling after?
A strange disaster.

Up Jack got
and home did trot
though in nursery rhymes
you never get up
after a fall
like Humpty Dumpty
who drank ten green bottles
and fell off a wall
and think of baby,
cradle and all.
Yes up Jack got
and that was brill.
But still,
where was Jill?

Jack went to bed
but in nursery rhymes,
you never get up
when you go to bed
after banging your head
like the old man snoring
who never saw morning.
Jack wrapped his head
but he’d internally bled
and soon he was dead
leaving only questions
like who was the beneficiary
under his will?
And where oh where
oh where was Jill?

A somewhat circular poem II

When I was growing up, many many witty children probably asked people named Eve: “Hey Eve, where’s Adam?”

Hey Eve, Where’s Adam?

Hey Eve, where’s Adam?
Hey Adam, where’s Ant?
Hey Ant, where’s Arctic?
Hey Arctic, where’s Chill?
Hey Chill, where’s E?
Hey E, where’s Sun?
Hey Sun, where’s Day?
Hey Day, where’s New Year’s?
Hey New Year’s, where’s Eve?
Hey Eve, where’s Adam?

A somewhat circular poem

When I was growing up, many many witty children asked me: “Hey Adam, where’s Eve?”.

Hey Adam, Where’s Eve?

Hey Adam, where’s Eve?
Hey Eve, where’s Christmas?
Hey Christmas, where’s Happy?
Hey Happy, where’s Ness?
Hey Ness, where’s Loch?
Hey Loch, where’s Smith?
Hey Smith, where’s Adam?
Hey Adam, where’s Eve?

A poem about partial clownery

On 7 February 2022, the PM’s new spin doctor confirmed that the PM is “not a complete clown”‘. 

Half a Clown

So what’s with the frown?
said the circus god.
You’re our first ever clown in
Downing Street.
Yet it’s going around
that you’re just half a clown.

Conduct yourself
as 100% loon,
a total buffoon.
Sit on a balloon.
Put on a red nose
and your harlequin clothes.
Go party with cake.

Or people may think
that you’re not a true clown,
that you’re only a fake.

A poem about bricklaying

To shore up its vote in the northern “red wall” seats captured from Labour, the government this week issued its levelling up white paper.

This poem is designed to provide some helpful guidance to those tasked with levelling up.

Instructions for Levelling Up

Take a red wall
that’s rather small.
Announce it will soon
be ten foot tall.
Add some bricks.
Paint them blue.
You’ve got no cement
so stick them with goo.

Throw cheers and hugs
and the kitchen sink in.
You’ve got no money,
just turbo-charged thinking.
Make speeches. Write papers.
Try nodding and winking.

Hope nobody sees
that beneath the wall


the ground is sinking.

A poem about a man in a hurry

They say that your name can affect your personality… 

They Called Me Adam

All my life I’ve
felt the urge to be
first in line, to
barge the queue, to
not waste time, to
rush towards the paradise I’m trying to find. 

On and on through the
universe and the
metaverse and
God-knows-where. So
long as I’m breathing, I’ll
do what it takes to get back to Eden.

On and on until too late, I
turn around but

no one’s there. It’s
all about Adam. I’ve
forgotten Eve. Did she
fall in a chasm? I
feel a bit peeved but
also relieved.

At last I reach the
Garden of Eden.
Heavily breathing, I
open the gate. It’s
rusty and creaking. I
doff my figleaf and
prance around but it’s
not the same. The garden needs weeding and

would you believe, I’m missing Eve. I
nibble an apple and
decide to leave but I’m
low on funds so I
stand in front and scream out:
Ultimate Magical Venue For Hire.’

Then off I jet
on the trail of yet
another messiah.

A poem about politics ‘n rock ‘n roll

This poem was inspired by the title of the Rock N Roll Politics podcast. 

Politics is Rock N Roll

Politics is Hendrix and Jagger.

Politics is swagger and crash. 

Politics is going to the moon
in a hot air balloon.

Politics is getting punched by trolls
and battered by polls.

Politics is being thrown off the rodeo
and scrambling on again. 

Politics is cocaine. 

Politics is propane. 

Politics is Buster Keaton 
on a runaway train.

Politics is Super Mario,
falling down mountains,
climbing up holes. 

Politics is swinging from high to low,
from yo to yo,
‘til they tell you to go. 

Politics is rock n roll
but it’s the audience who smash the guitar
if they don’t like the show.

A poem about an unlikely saviour

This poem is dedicated to anyone desperately hoping for a reprieve, including the PM Boris Johnson who, at the time of writing, is relying on an unlikely form of salvation from “partygate”. 

The Last Resort

When I’m in the dock
of the heavenly court

When the indictment’s been read
and it’s not at all short

When my praying and begging
have all come to nought

When judgment is nigh
and the demons are brought

When the final sentence
is virtually wrought

When the time has come
for the last resort

I’ll beseech the Lord
to hold the thought

and await the outcome
of Sue Gray’s report.