Puns Are The Problem

by James Story

Today I did something I have not done in quite some time and that is finish something the same day I started it. Recently I’ve been rummaging around the internet trying to find some writing competitions to enter as I’ve found myself working much better to a brief rather than completely from scratch. Many competitions have specific subjects and criteria, so I thought it would be a good place to start! I’m especially interested in flash fiction and poetry as I think if I can tell a story on a much smaller scale (a hundred words, five hundred words, a page etc) then I’ll be much better at making them on a bigger one.

Today I also spied something on Twitter. A joke made by a friend of mine and I’m going to save you the long, drawn out conversation by surmising it like this:

She loves puns. I hate them.

I quite often try to inject some humour into my writing so I thought this would be a good subject to make my first attempt at writing something quite small. A poem, to be precise (if nothing else to practice before I actually start entering writing competitions). I literally wrote it while on lunch at work, so it’s hardly the most polished but I thought I’d put it up anyway.

So, this intro has gone on too long. Below is Puns Are The Problem. I hope you enjoy.

 

It seems to me we should address
that source of stress
you seem incessant to bless me with
every chance that we meet.
It’s no major crime, but as you can see
I’ve taken the time to express
(via rhyme)
that your simply sublime but challenging sense of humour
is growing on me.
Much like a tumour.

Now don’t get me wrong, it isn’t all bad,
if anything I’m glad to see you spread laughter.
To brighten the mood come dismay or disaster
and yet I still think there’s more fun to be had.
It’s the puns that you make,
they’re driving me mad.

It seems every time, you’re exceptionally eager
even when your jokes are rather quite meagre
to agitate me, plain and straight.
To leave me in a beleaguered state.
Your puns? They grate,
they bother and break me.
They madden and sadden and aggravate me.
To put it politely,
they drive me doolally.

So I’m down on my knees, and I don’t do this much
but I find puns a problem (you can figure as such).
I beg you, I plead, put an end to the hoax.
Puns are not funny.
They’re barely even jokes.

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