Best Chortles Poems
I know a scamp who chortles frabjously
as in the springtime galumphing he goes.
And just to show how wacky he can be,
he makes his tongue point up to touch his nose!
He has no wicked claws or eyes with flame
to match those of the manxome Jabberwock.
But just beware his jaws. Although he’s tame,
he can’t be stopped once he begins to talk!
I vouch that he can jabber endlessly
and have me at the end of my short rope.
My ears just might fall off one day, for he
gyres gibberish just like a gyroscope.
I dub my beamish grandson “Jabberwack”
for how he acts and how he loves to yak!
For Debbie Guzzi's "Go Ask Alice" Contest
Laughter soothes the soul
Giggling makes my day,
Chortles will improve
My mood, so they say,
Smiles are so groovy!
Silliness beams
Grin big, my friends
Chuckling at memes
Snickering trends
Guffawing
Gleefully
Mimicking
Joking
Funny
MIRTH
THIRD PLACE WINNER
written June 7, 2022
submitted to "Diminished Hexaverse - Your Choice" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Rain, I adore, I impatiently wait for,
Like a wife awaits her husband from war.
Sloshing, splashing scintillating drops,
Soothing my skin with hopes
along with my smudged heart,
Rain, my first love, my sweetheart.
Laying on the gullible grass,
Staring at the sublime sky,
Thinking of life's dreams made of glass,
As the drops fall, lifting me to fly.
After the sky is clear,
Leaving the earthy smell
That to my heart is so dear.
Freesias, nasturtiums and bluebells.
The sun, masquerading behind creamy clouds,
Willows are not weeping, rain swept away their doubts.
Wisterias are waltzing with the wind,
Gardenias and Geraniums grinned.
What a joy it is to be a mortal!
Life, a mix of smiles, beauty and chortles.
A magic elixir for the heart,
belly laughs are like Nature's high-five.
For once the titters and snickers start,
humor keeps dreams and wishes alive.
A contagious, outrageous feeling,
laughter begins with grunts and hisses.
And then, ameliorates dealing,
like a bouquet of hugs and kisses.
It's a panacea for the blues
as the chortles and chuckles snort out.
And a must for folks with a short fuse,
releasing tensions with every bout.
Tickling your funny bone sets the mood,
but once you start, it's, stopping that's hard.
For, giggles aren't easily subdued;
and laughter oft catches you off guard.
A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar,
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea. A girl child resplendent in
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake,
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes.
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.
*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)
(Part 3 of Trilogy for My Father)
I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?
"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.
"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.
"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."
I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.
"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring.
Loved you like she never loved me.
I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.
There will be no flowers today.
Old Mr. Nicholson
totters across the town square
to the barbershop where
Clive has cut his hair
for the last forty years or so
Not hardly needing
even a trim
but pretending
he has a reason besides
the gossip waiting within
Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic
shaving cream and old leather
and the only noticeable things
that Clive's changed
in the last forty years
are the calendar, magazines
and gumball machine
Tall and gaunt, Clive stoops and
shuffles around the shop
a bit slow and shaky, but still
the cheapest and best around
as he drawls out the latest
scuttlebutt from all over town
Harry Van Hoorn leans
sideways in the old barber chair
hanging on every word like an old hound
ears flapping in the breeze
making an odd squinchy face as he
holds back a sneeze
bits of loose hair tickling his nose
While old Arnie Bruner
broods in the corner
his usual sour-faced self
like an old prune
all wrinkled and dried up
without a single good thing to say
“Well, hello Ed!” Clive stops and says
as Mr. Nicholson sidles in
he amiably waves his comb in the air
continuing to work on Harry's hair
thoroughly ignored as he
continues to speak
“Long time, no see!” Harry sings out
even though they were both
in here just last week
“Hiya Harry!” Mr. Nicholson says
in his high-pitched little whine
“Have you heard about-”
“Oh wait, lemme guess-” Arnie breaks in
in his growly bass
“...it's about that place... next door to-”
“Jim and Grace” Harry cuts in
“No, I was going to say-”
Mr. Nicholson chirps
a bit snappily
“It must be about Jenny Mae...”
Harry chortles gleefully
“No, it's gotta be about Faye!-”
Arnie belts out grumpily
Meanwhile, they're missing
all the scorching details
of the greatest scandal
as Clive croons on
amid the din
of his gabby, blabby customers
each desperate
to get a word in
Back and forth, in and out
with bickers and shouts
hums, warbles, trills, groans
solos and accidental duets
their crazy cacophony has become
a funny (albeit gossipy) kind
of barbershop quartet!
Beauty chortles forth a frabjous,
interrupting static sanity,
Misheard through ears abstruse.
Boojums guised as proper
Cast labels fathoming blind vanity --
Yet, beauty chortles forth a frabjous.
They are the true Doctor
Jekyll’s -- hiding the reality
Misheard through ears abstruse.
Bolt nothing into the locker
Of recycled, rusted normality;
For within beauty lies a frabjous.
Wear robes of bold laughter,
Sing out of men's obscurity
Misheard through ears abstruse.
Disregard these pyrite-crusted beggars,
To true ordinary, simply fools & jesters.
In beauty there lies a frabjous
Misheard through ears most abstruse.
Pitching a leg across the nether
Of a pretty appaloosa or possibly
A chestnut bay who needs to know
That she’s being ridden by someone
Who will take her through the paces,
Strides both gentle and regulated
By a walk, a canter, a gallop, a sprint
Where she feels all her steps
Light, loose and limber as liquid love
That rains down from a heart who
Gives this mare the greatest rides
Through meadows, across hills
Into the kindness of life filled with
Delights, pleasures, sweetest bliss
Brought to life on the back end
Of a horse who listens to the kindness
Whispered through laughter, light
Chortles felt by the spirit who believes
“cowgirl up” brings plenty of dreams
To life on the back of a mount who needs
Only to be ridden without restriction
By a rider who knows the key to any heart
Is found at the end of a set of reins
Where equine love trots into command
Poetry In Motion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
December 23, 2022
I am so screaming bloody MURDERrrrr!!!!!!!!
catch that Poet Destroyer!! (grr, grr, grrrrrr)
She took my turtle sweetie
then said he tasted salty
Well what did she expect?
She is now my prime suspect!
Gone now is my turtle lovey-poo...
and I'm left crying boo-hoo-hoo
I'm plotting now my sweet revenge
for my love's death I will avenge
Watch out, pd I'm watching you
oh! the pain--your turn to stew!!
Did you know sea turtles shed tears?
Were you not moved when they appeared?
What did you do to the shell?
Did you sell it, do pray tell...
my heart is really breaking, b-r-e-a-k-i-n-g
were you the one who did the chopping??
Did his bones go crunch, crunch, crunch?
who else did the munch, munch, munch?
Thanks to you I shall never see him smile,
never see him again swim in style.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Huh? Who is this crawling towards me??
none other than my turtle honey!?!
What? You mean turtle news got it wrong?
You mean, they messed up all along?
pd wasn't cooking you at all? and not Soup?
So you're telling me I've been duped??
But I know they said she was eating turtles!!
Devouring them in between chortles!!
popping them in her mouth like candy
then chasing them down with shandy!
Oh. OH. OHhhhhhhh.
well why didn't anybody tell me earlier?
now I have to say sorry to p. destroyer??
Ok, ok, I'll be the bigger turtle and apologize.
Sorry so sorry pd, I didn't realize...
You were eating Chocolate turtles, the pecan kind
*blush* *blush* teeheehee, spare me some, if you don't mind??
August 3, 2010 written for pd's turtle soup contest
ahaha a bit long-winded sorry I didn't know
where this would take me, had fun though,,,,
+ Linda-Marie I hope you don't mind, I just had to
take from your honey poo & use "poo" as well
for my own turtle-poo ;) lol too cute
see how he chortles?
his merry grin s p l i t s his face
as if cut across with a dagger
and he has g o n e and dissipated
long before his Laughter.
Laughter's healthy, contagious, and brightens your day.
It's pun that's a groaner or joke that's risque.
It's a belly laugh, horse laugh, or laugh like a loon
At a comic strip. slapstick or clown or cartoon.
Laughter's chuckles and chortles, a snicker or snort.
It's a humorist's quip or a jester at court.
It's amusement that's droll or the last laugh that's best
Or a rib-tickler, knee-slapper, jape, or a jest.
Laughter's mirth and hilarity, wisecracks or wags.
It's a yuk or a cackle and zingers and gags.
You can giggle, guffaw, or can laugh up your sleeve,
Bust a gut, or with levity tension relieve.
Laughter's wit that's impromptu or monologue planned.
Its a sitcom with punchlines and laughter that's canned.
It's a pie in the face or a pratfall or prank
And comedian's laugh all the way to the bank.
Smooth, mapped roads
intersected with red-eyed
nights, quivering
nerves, fists pounding air.
A nightmare
descended as a phantom
snaking black shadows into
ebullient corridors
of light.
A hulking foe crowded his way in
uninvited.
Sun rose with belly chuckles,
banners, and presents,
touched the earth dipping
below the horizon like a
balloon leaking helium.
Chortles rang like bells.
Hero’s cape waved on
the back of a boy
like a flag snapping in the wind.
Legs pumped air, feet
thumped linoleum.
Birthday wishes tied up in
dime-store bows.
Red, yellow, and blue paper with
comic book heroes
piled in a corner.
Balloons, streamers, confetti
flew.
Family, friends,
and bouncing children
flashed white
teeth and upturned
lips gushing
unbridled
mirth.
The birthday song belted as
clashing keys rippled
flames on five
wax-woven cords.
A cake—
vanilla with strawberry
slathered with buttercream.
Superman soared above
candied skyscrapers and
whipped clouds.
A brackish, biting drink
drenched lips and tongue,
gorged up from the inner dark throb—
of marrow and bone.
A river of vomit like scarlet ribbons
out of a swollen, six-year-old gut,
He gagged— spewed.
Wide-eyed gasps and screams
of guests filled the room.
A foamy stream christened
the cake dousing burning candles.
Plunged into a crepuscular abyss,
a blank page filled
with scans, chemo, needle
pricks, caps topping
a hairless head.
A devouring tumor
inside a child— hiding,
savagely growing, slowly killing.
Each new baby, at the moment of birth,
is weighed, measured, and gauged for worth.
Grandparents, their happiness cannot hide,
while parents beam and swell with pride.
Our Father sanctions each new creation,
smiling at the joy, joining the celebration.
Lucifer, also, smiles and claps with glee,
chortles with evil intent, This one's for me.
I heard the magpie chortle
On a blue sky sunny day
She must be so pleased
In the Australian native way
Then smiling she looks at me
And chortles again – will she stay?
Black and white proud you see
Spreads her wings and flies away
The queen of what she sees
Do you wish it was you today?
© Paul Warren Poetry