can anyone plz suggest a long english narrative preferably funny poem for recitation competition?

Three minutes is a long time, but this might come close. This is a great poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti and it certainly fills the humorous component.

My guess is that lots of people will pick Jabberwocky or Lewis Carroll.

UNDER WEAR

I didn’t get much sleep last night

thinking about underwear

Have you ever stopped to consider

underwear in the abstract

When you really dig into it

some shocking problems are raised

Underwear is something we all have to deal with

Everyone wears

some kind of underwear

Even Indians wear underwear

Even Cubans

wear underwear

The Pope wears underwear I hope

The Governor of Louisiana wears underwear

I saw him on TV

He must have had tight underwear

He squirmed a lot

Underwear can really get you in a bind

You have seen the underwear ads for men and women

so alike but so different

Women’s underwear holds things up

Men’s underwear holds things down

Underwear is one thing

men and women do have in common

Underwear is all we have between us

You have seen the three-color pictures

with crotches encircled

to show the areas of extra strength

with three-way stretch

promising full freedom of action

Don’t be deceived

It’s all based on the two-party system

which doesn’t allow much freedom of choice

the way things are set up

America in its Underwear

struggles thru the night

Underwear controls everything in the end

Take foundation garments for instance

They are really fascist forms

of underground government

making people believe

something but the truth

telling you what you can of can’t do

Did you ever try to get around a girdle

Perhaps Non-Violent Action

is the only answer

Did Gandhi wear a girdle?

Did Lady Macbeth wear a girdle?

Was that why Macbeth murdered sleep?

And the spot she was always rubbing -

Was it really her underwear?

Modern anglosaxon ladies

must have huge guilt complexes

always washing and washing and washing

Out damned spot

Underwear with spots very suspicious

Underwear with bulges very shocking

Underwear on clothesline a great flag of freedom

Someone has escaped his Underwear

May be naked somewhere

Help!

But don’t worry

Everybody’s still hung up in it

There won’t be no real revolution

And poetry still the underwear of the soul

And underwear still covering

a multitude of faults

in the geological sense -

strange sedimentary stones, inscrutable cracks!

If I were you I’d keep aside

an oversize pair of winter underwear

Do not go naked into that good night

And in the meantime

keep calm and warm and dry

No use stirring ourselves up prematurely

‘over Nothing’

Move forward with dignity

hand in vest

Don’t get emotional

And death shall have no dominion

There’s plenty of time my darling

Are we not still young and easy?

Don’t shout.

Funny Narrative Poems

This Site Might Help You.

RE:

can anyone plz suggest a long english narrative preferably funny poem for recitation competition?

i need an english poem , for a recitation competition, high school level. it should preferably be funny, though other good ones would also do.plz, specify the name of the poet also , if possible.it should be of at least three minutes when recited.Help Me plzzzzzz!

Read the original from the link below. I just noticed that one word was **** out, but it is not really a bad word. Break a leg!

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,

And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,

And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,

And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;

O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,

With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,

As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere

When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—

Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,

And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;

But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze

Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days

Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,

And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;

The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still

A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;

The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;

The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—

O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps

Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;

And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through

With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...

I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be

As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—

I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Twas the night after Katrina!!!

When down on Canal St. the looters dey came

The po-lice had seen dem and called dem by name

STOP! Melvin, Shaneekwa, Chantel and Joe Brown

Leroy and Rickita, put dem shoes down.

Da baskets dey loaded as fast as dey could

While big screens was rollin on back to da hood

Shoes, electronics, fur coats and rings.

All de essential survival things.

From de east and de west da levees seperated

An da peoples had wished dey evacuated.

Da water poured in like Dixie beer foam

And da hood emptied in to da Superdome.

Dey crapped an dey pillaged an da Dome went to hell

It'll take 10 years to get rid of da smell.

But it's not like cleaning da dome affects us

Since dem Saints is gone to San Antonio, Texas.

Soon after Arron Broussard clearly started to drink

An Kathleen Blanco needed her time to think,

Da forces finally came to help out da cops

Wit dere M-16's up on da roof tops.

Dey were poppin da ganstas like da hooka's pop gum

An tossin dem into the river like chum.

St. Gabriel was not dere eternal slumber.

An dey never made da body count number.

No longer to walk among civilization,

Dey now a part of coastal restoration.

So When ya open up oysters, instead of pearls

You'll find little gold teeth and black Geri curls.

An da ones dat was bussed to other states

An places where da Red Cross facilitates

Are waitin around for dere FEMA checks

An demandin everything else dey expects.

You can call em moochas. You can call em no good.

But dey ain't comin back to your neighborhood.

To all you evacuees and your plight

Hope you like TEXAS...

An to all a good night.

Long Humorous Poems

If we didn't have to eat :

life would be an easy matter

If we didn't have to eat.

If we never had to utter ,

"won't you pass the bread and butter ,

likewise push along that platter full of meat ?"

Yes ,if food was absolete life would be a jolly treat ,

If we didn't -shine or shower ,

old or young ,about every hour -

Have to eat,eat ,eat ,eat -

It would be jolly if we didn't have to eat .

We could save a lot of money

If we didn't have to eat.

Could we cease our busy buying ,

Baking ,broiling ,brewing ,frying ,

Life would then be oh,so sunny

and complete ;

And we wouldn't fear to greet

Every grocer in the street

If we didn't-man and woman,

Every hungry,helpless human -

Have to eat ,eat, eat, eat, eat, -

We'd save money if we didn't have to eat .

All our worry would be over

If we didn't have to eat.

Would the butcher ,baker,grocer ,

get our hard-earned dollars ? No sir ,

We would then be right in clover

cool and sweet .

Want and hunger we could cheat ,

And we'd get there with both feet,

If we didn't -poor or wealthy ,

Halt or nimble ,sick or healthy -

Have to eat ,eat , eat, eat, eat,

We could get there if we didn't have to eat .

The one who wrote this poem is called : Nixon Waterman ,He is not a well known poet but it was a good try anyway .

Good luck .

Twas the night after Katrina!!!

When down on Canal St. the looters dey came

The po-lice had seen dem and called dem by name

STOP! Melvin, Shaneekwa, Chantel and Joe Brown

Leroy and Rickita, put dem shoes down.

Da baskets dey loaded as fast as dey could

While big screens was rollin on back to da hood

Shoes, electronics, fur coats and rings.

All de essential survival things.

From de east and de west da levees seperated

An da peoples had wished dey evacuated.

Da water poured in like Dixie beer foam

And da hood emptied in to da Superdome.

Dey crapped an dey pillaged an da Dome went to hell

It'll take 10 years to get rid of da smell.

But it's not like cleaning da dome affects us

Since dem Saints is gone to San Antonio, Texas.

Soon after Arron Broussard clearly started to drink

An Kathleen Blanco needed her time to think,

Da forces finally came to help out da cops

Wit dere M-16's up on da roof tops.

Dey were poppin da ganstas like da hooka's pop gum

An tossin dem into the river like chum.

St. Gabriel was not dere eternal slumber.

An dey never made da body count number.

No longer to walk among civilization,

Dey now a part of coastal restoration.

So When ya open up oysters, instead of pearls

You'll find little gold teeth and black Geri curls.

An da ones dat was bussed to other states

An places where da Red Cross facilitates

Are waitin around for dere FEMA checks

An demandin everything else dey expects.

You can call em moochas. You can call em no good.

But dey ain't comin back to your neighborhood.

To all you evacuees and your plight

Hope you like TEXAS...

An to all a good night.

1

Prologue to "Canterbury Tales" by Geoffrey Chaucer, 1343-1400

Sumer is i-comen in.

Groweth seed and bloweth meed

And springth the wude nu.

Sing cuccu!

Western wind, when wilt thou blow,

The small rain down can rain?

Christ, if my love were in my arms,

And I in my bed again!

When the nightingale singes

The wodes waxen grene,

Leaf and gras and blossom springes

In Averil, I wene,

And love is to min herte gon

With a spere so keen.

That it was May thus dremed me

In time of love and jollite

That al thyng gynneth waxen gay

For there is neither busk nor hay

In May that it nyl shrouded ben,

And it with new leves wryen. cover

These greves eke recoveren grene,

That dry in wynter ben to sen,

And the erthe waxeth proude withal

For swete dewes that on it falle . . .

To make noyse and syngen blythe

Than is blisful many sithe

The chelandre and popinjay

Then yonge folk entended ay

For to ben gay and amorous

And Zephirus and Flora gentilly

Yaf to the floures, softe and ternderly,

Her sweete breeth, and mad hem for to sprede

As god and goddess through the floury mede.

the joly time of May

When that I heard the small foules synge

And that the floures gynne for to springe,

Fareweel my stodies, as lastyng that sesoun.

As I me rode this ender day,

By grene wod to seke play,

Mid herte I thought al on a may,

Sweteste of alle thyng.

Lithe and ich yow telle may

All of that swete thyng.