Another poem – this one’s about laughter itself.

Laugh Out Loud 2

Laughs Like Potato Chips

Laughs are like
potato chips
you can’t eat just one

Ha is not as infections as haha
or hahahahaha…
You can’t have tee without the hee
or teeheeheehee

It’s harder to grin
from one side of the mouth
easier with both

If you laugh without sound
you’re in very much danger
so wheeze, grunt, snort or chuckle
laugh until your weak in the knees

If the belly stopped after one shake
when it shakes with laughter
you would die

lots of laughs
are better than one
and laughing out loud
is better than death

LOL 2

There is a long proud history of bawdy humor in literature of all types including poetry.  I’ve decided it’s time I give it a go at low brow humor.
Laugh Out Loud

Body Music

Farting is the sound
of the body’s marching band.
Its trumpeting brass,
thunderous drums, and
the delicate squeak of the clarinet.

Gaseous humors
released from within,
expelled with force or
slipping out through the cracks
in a hissing wind.

Grand multi-sensory experience –
whether earthquaking, embarrassingly obvious
or silent and deadly;
a bowel-shaking satisfaction
will always make you smile.

Polite society is no place for me.
Let the face bunch up in laughter
and let the ears tingle.
LET IT RIP! (and of course)
pass the nose-plugs please.

for more laughs….
http://mentalfloss.com/article/52419/11-literary-fart-jokes

LOL

Temple of Industry 2009

My ears tingle from
the klatter and klang
Sturm und Drang…..
orchestra of rust
….. in…..

A concert hall of corrugated steel
over block walls
under a steel frame roof
blown by the wind
in a symphony of sound,
a joyful noise unto the Lord

The abandoned temple of industry
a holy shroud
baptized by peeling paint
once wet… shiny… new…
now cracked and broken
hardened by life
dry… damaged…
decay from neglect
a slow discard of memories
….. soon forgotten…..

Now the doors are thrown open
“Free Admission!”
“Welcoming All Worshipers!”
a gathering of misfits, undesirables and homeless,
insects, rodents and birds…
the garden within.

The heart finds redemption
in this arcane recital,
hallowed and profane
within the unsuspecting shell
… of shadows and shades.

Sturm und Drang

Inspiration In Unlikely Places

THE FORGOTTEN VALENTINE

Hearts and candy
Baked goods, cards and flowers
A saints holiday,
… the saint would not recognize.

Pagan cupids,
fleshy child-like innocents
with winking mischief,
ready with arrows and bow
to slay the expectant heart.

…… while other hearts
go unfulfilled
longing for companionship
like dry ground longs for rain.

… and winged cupid’s
in their flawed judgement
fly by… mocking
… saving their arrows
for the select few
and not the ones in need.

the forgotten valentine

LAUNDROMAT

Chattering women
gossip pretentiously
each is right… each is self-assured of her rightness
even if they do speak in the tongues of angels
ignorance and distance.

I, huddled in the far corner by the door
recently propped open by a newcomer
transporting her laundry from car to machine
unaware of her effect on others

Cold winter air flooding around me
chilled to the bone
impatiently waiting
unable to escape
trapped in my domestic duty.

In 07minutes I will be able to carry
the cold, damp, freshly-washed garments and
deposit them into a warm dryer
to tumble and fluff then fold
and afterwards,
finally, leaving for the quiet solitude of home.

Laundromat

WINTERS COLD

Winters cold lunges
clasping onto the unwary passerby
winters icy grip claws furiously
looking for any weakness

The traveler, wrapped in soft cloth
armor of futility
shuddering and struggling to keep out
the frigid beast

Winters cold, unrelenting in its search
finding exposed skin
like a wild animal, shakes it’s prey
tearing and biting the blood-filled shell of life

The traveler….. gasping, heart beating rapidly
slowly stiffening as the last vestiges
of warmth reluctantly flee
the beast boldly triumphant

….. until…..

The traveler ducks into an open door
homes welcoming hearth & warm familial remedy
the winter beast rears up wounded and repelled by warmth,
releases its hold then roars into the night
searching for a new victim

 

[in memory of the bitter cold of almost two weeks ago when temperatures here in Akron, Ohio literally rivaled those of Antarctica especially when factoring in windchill]

How cold is it?

Award-winning writer and photographer Teju Cole talks about – and reads from – his work of photography and texts, ‘Blind Spot’, which sprung from a period of semi-blindness: “So this is a book about the limitations of vision… when we’re looking at the world, there’s so much that we’re missing.”

a wonderful video

(untitled) 1/29/19 1AM

… with bigoted clam-shelled-shut heart
pinched accusation and fervent digit all gesticulation…
… their unctuous moral fortitude, no reverence for creation
razes the standard none can achieve
happy to fail, happy to fall
into the boiling cauldron of righteousness…
… reason lost.

Who will avail the good, decent, compassionate
and forgiving soil?
… planting seeds to each grow its own kind
fruit bearing and fruitless
watered by streams of untethered acceptance.

Virtues are best left in deep shadows
where they are not exposed to the light of…
… haughty self-aggrandizement,
bleached by self-promotion or discolored by false humility…
… left in the heavy darkness when eyes close
and sound fades to sleep…
… perchance to dream.

 Anatomies of Pain #2

new untitled poem