Father's Day is a fun filled experience for both father and his kids. It is a special holiday wherein families take part in enthralling parties and get-together to commemorate the supreme responsibility of fatherhood. There are a number of ways to spend the glorious occasion with your father and to convey your deep felt feelings and emotions to your father, one of the most common ways being recital of poems. If you want to bring in an element of humor, then dedicate funny poetry to your dad. Here in this article, we have provided some of the most popular funny poems.
Funny Poetry For Father Day
My dirty little hand print
I've left on every wall
And on the drawers and table tops
I've really marked them all.
But here is one that won't rub off,
I'm giving it to you…
Do you know why??
Well, I'm so thankful
to have a father like you.
When I was just a tiny kid,
Do you remember when,
The time you kissed my bruises,
Or cleaned by soiled chin?
You scrambled for the balls I hit,
(Short-winded more than not,)
Yet, every time we'd play a game,
You praised the "outs" I caught.
It seems like only yesterday,
You wiped away my tears,
And late at night I called your name,
To chase away my fears.
My Fathers Day Will Be Spent
Fathers day is here.
Time for me to get a beer.
I get sad and down on this day.
I have to drink my pain away.
I have never had any children.
I get alot of grief from my kin.
I have wanted kids since I was eighteen.
Everyone I know had kids when they were a teen.
Once that became my dream,
I couldn't find the other half of my team.
I have seen from others, if I beat,
or even cheat
I'll have them lining up to get with me.
I'm almost thirty but I can clearly see,
my dream is stupid.
I hate Cupid.
Tonight I'll be so drunk I'll have to sleep in my car.
I'm spending my fathers day in the bar
Bedtime came, we were settling down,
I was holding one of my lads.
As I grasped him so tight, I saw a strange sight:
My hands. . .they looked like my dad's!
I remember them well, those old gnarled hooks,
there was always a cracked nail or two.
And thanks to a hammer that strayed from its mark,
his thumb was a beautiful blue!
They were rough, I remember, incredibly tough,
as strong as a carpenter's vice.
But holding a scared little boy at night,
they seemed to me awfully nice!
The sight of those hands - how impressive it was
in the eyes of his little boy.
Other dads' hands were cleaner, it seemed
(the effects of their office employ).
I gave little thought in my formative years
of the reason for Dad's raspy mitts:
The love in the toil, the dirt and the oil,
rusty plumbing that gave those hands fits!
Thinking back, misty-eyed, and thinking ahead,
when one day my time is done.
The torch of love in my own wrinkled hands
will pass on to the hands of my son.
I don't mind the bruises, the scars here and there
or the hammer that just seemed to slip.
I want most of all when my son takes my hand,
to feel that love lies in the grip
- David Kettler