Best Guffawing Poems
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
Categories:
guffawing, fun, humorous, smile,
Form:
Diminished Hexaverse
Health got you down?
Blood pressure's up?
Can't sleep at night?
Nothing left in your cup?
Hey! Take it easy!
Kick back! Settle down!
You take life too seriously!
Go find your inner clown!
Kid around! Tell a joke!
Think of a funny riddle!
Come on, Jack:
Pick up your fiddle.
Hey diddle-diddle!
Don't be a crank. Play a prank!
Give yourself some room.
The best Rx for you
Is to cast off your gloom!
Don't believe me?
Think it's all hoo-ey?
Ready to stick out your tongue
And go PHOO-EY?
Well, I'll tell you what happened
To my friend at the doc's;
When they read him his blood pressure,
His knees 'gan to knock;
It was up there so high,
He was sure he'd soon die...
Then the doc came in,
Flashed a silly grin,
His fingers stroking
The imaginary Beard on his chin,
My friend thought this so funny,
He laughted his nose runny,
Til Doc gave him more news:
He had the 'urine test blues.'
Well, that really did it,
My friend couldn't quit
Laughing and guffawing
Til his sides nearly split.
When he fin'lly calmed down,
Doc said, "Sit back and rest.
It's time to retake that silly
Blood pressure test."
And what do you know?
Lo and behold,
When the reading was taken,
My friend's heart no longer was achin,'
And his pulse had stopped racin.'
"Good Heavens!" cried Doc,
"We musta been mistaken!
Either that or all these yuks musta
Fixed ye:
Your blood pressure's down to
110 over 60!"
Categories:
guffawing, health, humorous, light,
Form:
Rhyme
I
long for
the days of
my teenage years.
Me, Debbie, Nancy,
and my best friend Shellie
and those slumber parties when
we did everything BUT slumber!
Laughing, snacking, playing our records,
and talking - always talking about guys!
We were not wild girls who drank or did pot,
and I don't recall who thought of it,
but one night, very late, we staggered -
arm in arm - down streets, loudly
pretending to be drunk
while slurring our speech
and guffawing!
Four friends JUST
HIGH on
YOUTH!
Feb. 7, 2017 for Frank Herrera's LETTING YOUR HAIR DOWN Contest
Categories:
guffawing, best friend, youth,
Form:
Etheree
Party seemed dull
Music was boring
Nothing was happening
I was new to this group
I did not know what to expect
I heard someone say “wait until Carrie and Selena get here!
I asked who they were.
“you’ll see,” everyone told me.
An attractive couple of young women came in.
“is that?” No they kept saying over and over.
Carrie and Selena finally arrived.
They are the best! just wait!
I expected dancing elephants, and a six ring circus.
They were simple every day ordinary women
Until they began telling their tales.
They had all of us laughing and guffawing.
I never get tired of their stories.
I could barely wait until their next party.
Two women in their nineties turned the whole party around.
I have to go. They are now dancing on the kitchen counters
Categories:
guffawing, age,
Form:
Free verse
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
“She” likes me using spontaneity.
When my inhibitions I let go,
a litte bit audacious I can be.
In ESL, I act out words with ease.
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
In front of students, on my hands and knees
I’ve demonstrated push-ups from high to low!
At sixty-six on water slides I’ll go.
My grandkids were surprised when I did zip line.
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
The rides at carnivals I fine divine!
Giggling or guffawing, I love to laugh.
Short skirts I'll wear, and long my hair does grow.
I don’t even mind if I make a gaffe.
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
Sept. 4, 2021
For Chantelle Anne Cooke's Your Inner Child Poetry Contest
Categories:
guffawing, character,
Form:
Quatern
Jack and John
went up the hill
to make us all a'giggle
They won't calm down
and when they clown
Our bellies are a'jiggle
A lim-er-ick
will do the trick
to get us all a'laughing
they write so well
each rhyme...a spell
That gets us all guffawing
They write of "wind",
they write of poop,
Each one a silly ditty
but here's the deal
These two are real
Their writes are really witty
Now Jack and John
just banter on
and comment to each other
They like to please
Oh, how they tease
As "funnies" they uncover!!
~~~~~~The END!!!!~~~~~
For Casarah Nance's 101 contest
September 9, 2015
Yes....The END is part of the word count! ;)
Categories:
guffawing, humorous, song, tribute,
Form:
Lyric
There was a little girl I knew
Whose smile so brightly grew
She listened to her Mom and Dad
Was always good and never bad
Once, she cleaned the oven interior
But, soon was feeling quite inferior
Her scrubbing and rubbing concluded
With her so sure she had been deluded
Nothing she did made the oven clean
Bringing its heart to such a great sheen
Finally, she asked her Mom for advice
Sure she’d take it no matter the price
Mom said, “Put some elbow grease in it”
So off she went to find the grime grit
It was only moments before she discovered
Her parents guffawing until they’d recovered
Make Me Laugh with Some Humor - Any Form - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
November 23, 2020
This story happened back in the 70’s before there was any knowledge of a product called Elbow Grease
Categories:
guffawing, child, cute, funny, humor,
Form:
Couplet
Sand flows much too quickly in that goldarn hour glass
I'm no spring chicken, but I'll have to take a pass
If a guy thinks he rocks
Wearing fuzzy socks and crocs
That nerdy look is just too dorky for this lass
I've had lots of men flirt with me throughout the years
But one dressed like that and I'd be laughing with tears
He'd make an impression
And from my expression
He'd be very embarrassed by guffawing jeers
There's a rumor about Batman going around
When he saw Robin wearing socks and crocs in town
He swatted him with a "ZONK!"
"Why are ya dressed like a punk?"
"Take those hideous things off or you're going down!!"
I've always admired a man who has self respect
One who dresses with class and style, I'd not reject
I'd call him a silver fox
In well-shined shoes, he walks
But in fuzzy socks and crocs, he'd look train wrecked!
Guys, if you want a lady's provocative glance
Invite her to dinner and then share a slow dance
But remember that your shoes
Will give her the helpful clues
She requires to let your flirting lead to romance
June 10th, 2021
Fuzzy Socks and Crocs Contest
Sponsored by: Francine Roberts
***********************'
Categories:
guffawing, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
laugh
comical, hysteric
guffawing, chuckling, snickering
cheerfulness, amusement, squeal, caterwaul,
grieving, whimpering, sniveling,
upset, lachrymose,
cry
Date created: 06/13/2021
Categories:
guffawing, creation, poetry, words,
Form:
Diamante
Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.
I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.
Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
you’re saying.
Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.
Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.
This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.
Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Categories:
guffawing, allegory, confusion, depression, faith,
Form:
Narrative
Moonlight filters through the tree limbs
Leaving silhouettes of night phenomena
Just above the curb of the road there hymns
The guffawing of a nocturnal feathered fauna
Wearing a mask of colorful plumage
With eyes so round and bright they glimmer
Showing the readiness of true courage
The shadow bird is definitely not a bawler
As only a sideways glimpse coincides
I see the beautiful owl take to flight
Avoiding my gaze as it quietly glides
Hooting at a distant friend of the night
Will this beautiful bird be back again?
Or will only the night see it then?
Written on July 29th, 2014
For: Night Owl - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Categories:
guffawing, bird, nature, night,
Form:
Sonnet
Silence...
...Just wait...
Wait a couple seconds...no, really.
Just WAIT...
In the distance,
a tremble of the air itself.
A subtle quiver of it's molecular structure.
A charge, causing your hair to come alive.
*CRACK* A singularity so vivid, so dazzling,
it blinds you,
forming indistinct bubbles in your vision.
Then another, farther away, not as luminous.
Another, and another. Dozens of fractures in the sky,
shining with voltages so high, so powerful;
temperatures blistering hot,
Searing and broiling anything they touch.
Fiercier than the sun's corona.
Vapourisation.
Retorts of thunderous applause,
following seconds behind, build up.
Unsure at first, escalating. Deafening.
Frightening all into submission.
Applause for such grandeur.
Overlooking the dark and forested valley,
we observe nature's perfect opera.
Above us,
angry violet mamma roil,
bubbling over the base of the storm.
Faded flashes,
illuminating the clouds,
casting mauve highlights and indigo shadows.
Far off applause,
the audience of another, higher up show.
The tempest isn't quite done yet,
the show must go on.
Not 10 metres behind us,
a tree explodes, its trunk boiled and charred.
Simultaneously, a roaring, reverberating crackle-snap ignites the air,
blasting our eardrums past their record limits.
A roasting heat wave blows over our heads,
shoving us forward, searing the tips of our hair.
Screaming and shouting, we stumble away,
no longer amazed at this horrifying opera.
Tripping down the slope,
we roll into the thick forest below us,
colliding with trees and shrubbery.
More flashes, tailed by the sky guffawing at us,
as we've become the joke of the show.
Horror surfacing on our faces,
we blunder towards the jeep.
Only thing is...
all that's left of the jeep is a smoldering carcass...
Real fear sets in,
as we discover ourselves
Trapped.
Isolated.
Entirely alone.
And up on the stage of nature's prime opera.
And we're the laughing stock.
The dispensibles.
No way out.
Categories:
guffawing, fear, natural disasters, nature,
Form:
Free verse
I.
Angelina was the first girl hugged
By the shiest boy in the grade above her.
Happenstance.
He didn't even love her
Because at the time
Love was on his mind
And it consumed him
How absent love was
In the teenage realm.
Yet he still imbued that hug with care.
Loneliness schooled him well,
Each night his spirit entered the gutter
In torrents, along with the rest of the city's mire.
Somewhere far from his drying levy,
The 'Rora Borealis played tag in a girl's backyard,
A promise
That they would one day meet and be orange-sweet.
One day.
II.
If our lives had been different
And less tragic
Maybe she and I would be together
And love each other unconditionally
And look back on our first teenage hug
And laugh,
Admitting that we both had feelings
Human feelings
And how childish getting giddy about a hug was.
Or not,
Because our hugs would still be supercharged
With the sensations absent from our old high schools
Where no one was truly your friend.
And now we are young adults
Cursing sordid paths riddled with black ice,
Guffawing at a few good jokes now and then,
Ignorant that future adulthood began
Long before my family's flame died,
And Angelina was born paralyzed.
Categories:
guffawing, desire, first love, passion,
Form:
Narrative
Twittered Via Chilled Wren
At Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
Prior carte blanche to confessing illicit
extra-marital affair
I embolden tomb ache
elicit, and baldly bare
faced laid out some
of the sordid details clear
embarrassed at one escapade
in particular constituting dear
peppy's questing randy romping caper
necessitating vigilance 'ere
a park ranger, (or other unsuspecting
winter weather way
Farer attired in gear
adequately bundled
cold as a witch's tit
seasoned trooper)
reluctantly repeated here
(unforgettable if only be
cause this "FAKE" Casanova ace
thee Missus i.e.wife)
did conversationally chase
beseeched, hen pecked,
and implored me NOT to erase
boot to recount with (itty bitty)
Monty Python glory, a straight face,
that one particular amazingly grace
obviously penned up,
and not in the write
mind (pre poetry daze),
which scurrilous anecdote
did (and still does) in vite
guffawing, sans
peculiar public philandering,
with atavistic cave man
designs tried to unite
where daunting phallus spite
confronting Arctic Vortex when right
lee let loose from pants
froze like a little popsicle quite
purposely remained flaccid
leaving me in a penile plight
when trying to hump
(standing up like a good Knight
comically ridiculous travesty)
With Barbara B****, light
of adventurous Green Beret spirit, the
Unabashed MILF about average height
fifty years, whose busty bosom
silicone breast implants
tell tale viz radiation
and chemo therapy fight
(resulting from post
Ductal Carcinoma in situ)
needless to tell
nary an erectile spell
Asper tinker soldier
tailor spy didst quell
basic animal instinct,
and feral gonadal horniness
with intent to consummate sexual intercourse
according tummy ought to occur,
cuz that blustery air
mirroring said day when hell
nearly froze over invoking
intervention from Cain and/or Abel.
Thus when prick remained
limp and nearly frost bitten
(at a boulder christened cock rock),
aye frostily smitten
slogging wet sneakers, thru
knee high snow...now, no mo' tubby written.
Categories:
guffawing, 12th grade, animal, beautiful,
Form:
Who is Edgar Rice Cakes? What does HE have to do with John Burroughs. Jesus Crisis. a
google search What is this? A novella nuevo bye charlaxandroidoneseven. CA17. Short for
Para Cayce. I have read the DeadSeaScrolling. On the PDF machine. Let me inform on my
brothers in the LORD there is seldom any evidenced. These fragments of Aromaic Archaic
would cause language EXPERTS in the field years of Formatting on a Word Processing
machine. Butt Doctor Caycey has Decided it somehow pertains to Jesus.? Oye Vey. I
admitted in a Court Room of lawyers I have not studied all his problems yet I must admit I
cannot read those fragments of isometric triangular wordage. You must admit these people
did preserve it as iff it were a GOSPEL message. crisischronicles dot com A cave a bunch of
yearns placed near the Monestary Remains to find considering the way Climatic Changes
occur the evelation of the Earth is never level Seas rise where desert climes once failed to
thrive. Perhaps a sub culture of Future Post Apolyptic Snow Men; all white and hairy like the
Yeti. Abominable in every way with patches of glowing purple hair where the radiation has
burned some of the fur away to reveal faults underneath no clothing there. They find a
pristene City walk into the Revolving Door and fall back out until Discovering when to exit
one. What fun. The lobby generator comes on. The Computor Hums. One Yeti moves the
mouse Experimentally they gape at Windows song. Not one of them Yeti can get the
Computor to do anything they are all just too old. A Robot walks up to the terminal. May I
help you SIRS? and /or Madames? They step back agape at this hairless ape a tinsel steel
replica of charlaxandroidoneseven. He types in poetrypoem dot com charlax7 Let me show
you my website boys? Do you like poetry as prose? As they fall about the place guffawing
they come out rolling the first time I ever saw a bunch of Yeti lawghing. So here we pause.
As DeadSeaScrollingbyeCharlaX grows cold.
Categories:
guffawing, computer-internet, dedication, holiday, on
Form:
Prose Poetry