Long Black humour Poems
Long Black humour Poems. Below are the most popular long Black humour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Black humour poems by poem length and keyword.
Just a quick notification that
A new resident was on his way
Giving us enough time to get
A room ready for him to stay
Not our usual type of client
A Veteran French Legionnaire
It was beyond my pay grade
To know how he’d ended there.
He was going through a crisis
In his domestic civilian life
Needed a break away from
His family and his wife.
The Veteran Brotherhood
Had taken care of it
Referred him on to us
For one of our bedsits.
He’d woken up in hospital
Physically sound and whole
The only surviving member
Of an ambushed recce patrol
With no recollection of how
He’d ended up there,
Or the three days lost that
He’d spent under care.
Discharged back to Blighty
Survivor guilt to the fore
PTSD setting in he just
Couldn’t take anymore.
All this had happened
A good few years ago
But Traumatic Stress Disorder
Can take many years to show.
He stayed just a few months
And, not telling us why
He went back to his wife
Where he'd chosen to die.
Just days before he passed
I was surprised to hear his voice
When he rang me to tell me
Why he made that choice.
Said with Chronic lung disease
He was very near his end
And he wanted to thank me
For being both helper and friend.
Shocked and distraught not
Knowing what to say or do
I let Forces black humour
Help carry us through.
The Brotherhood is International
A mixed and disparate lot
So many times it’s the sad case
Each other is all we’ve got.
Booted and suited by his box
We all took time to think
Drank a toast to his memory, left
Untouched the absent friend’s drink.
Nine years he served his country
Then nursed in Mental Health
None of his professions being
Much good for his wealth.
Physical ill health
Brought work to an end
Very little hope that
His condition would ever mend.
I watched him cry today
Face covered in tears,
Drawn expression of anxiety
As he tried to explain his fears.
Fit for work they’d said
In the job centre up town,
Gave him a job advisor
And cut his payments down.
Degenerative spinal disorder
So at times he can scarcely walk,
You can hear the pain in his voice
Every time he starts to talk.
Nowadays there’s more often
The silence of despair,
He’s losing all hope
Starting not to care.
Once again the food parcels
Hoping for more success
As we repeat the facts for
Yet another appeals process.
We don’t always win
But we never stop trying"
Driven on by the sight
Of a grown man crying.
I watched him cry today,
Listened while he spoke
Shared the black humour
Of a typical squaddie joke.
Arranged to see him next week
Putting faith in my hope
I don’t arrive to find him
Hanging from a rope.
There‘ll be black humour today,
Gentle ribbing, banter and jokes,
Stripping away of egos, repartee
Among our mixed group of folks.
Bruising conversations maybe,
But in a non malicious way.
No place for the thin skinned
That’s just not how we play.
It’s the way it’s done from
First moment of greeting
It’s our irregularly held
Veteran’s Breakfast meeting.
Just a couple of hours
Of banter forces style
Carrying each back
For just a little while
To much younger times
From a very different past
When each passing day
Could have been the last
Some of us are damaged
But none of us are broken
Some carry hurt in their eyes
From experience unspoken.
Some have seen combat
Still carry mental scars
From frontline service in
The country’s various wars
Some fought with a rifle
One fought with a pen
Each gave part of their life
As an active serviceman
The Padre’s not a Veteran
But we’ve known him years
He’s earned out respect as he’s
listened to our hopes and fears
A range of ages gathered
For a morale boosting talk,
We’ve all worn the uniform
We’ve all walked the walk
There are common experiences
That each of us have had,
We’ve been there for each other
In the good times and the bad.
It’s a meeting of brothers
And we all know what to expect,
Ruthless character assassination
But with affection and respect.
We’ll all be looking forward to,
Though not knowing when,
We’ll receive our invitation
To meet up and yarn again.
We’ll shake hands goodbye
Making the occasion complete
Feeling emotional benefit from
Our irregular breakfast meet.
.
Loaded with Loathing
The row was canine inspired.
He had a dog he treasured; enriched by its love.
She felt cold jealousy; starved of misplaced affection.
She wanted it gone; he wouldn’t hear of it.
One evening he returned home,
his beloved Henri had mysteriously died.
He blamed her; she faulted him
saying his heart wagged like the dog’s tail!
He could never forgive;
she would never show understanding!!
They now station their days, opposite each other.
He, in his old leathered, tethered seat;
she, in a rather mundane, cane chair.
He often appears to be sleeping
but the occasional crocodile slit
in his eyelids belies this;
she knits, he knows nothing escapes her,
not even the tightest, slightest twitch!
42 years together, a nettlesome relationship turned to hate,
42 years together, neither is willing to let the other win.
So they sit there hiding in plain sight.
He, lounging as if possibly dead
but probably breathing through his shoes;
she sits there imitating a ventriloquist’s dummy
minus voice and…. inserted hand.
He occasionally serves up a small, sliced smirk
which he sneeringly warms himself on;
she washes it all down with a cold contempt.
Her eyes are guns loaded with………
loathing and disdain.
In contrast…………
two love struck pigeons
now perch on the couple’s window sill.
The streamlined female pigeon
dreams of her latest Dove purchase;
the male is formulating his latest hai-coo poem.
They both have a bird’s eye view of the situation
and conclude that the couple's relationship
has more than lost its....smile;
melancholy is both master and mistress!
He occasionally stutters across the room,
slamming the door like an exclamation mark!
Eventually he totters and teeters back,
apparently opening the door like a question mark?
He has gone out to comb his hair or whatever,
a quick change of disguise, anything to annoy!
They are both, presently, in the final straight;
a race where the winner will only come ... second.
They are settled in, conditioned, waiting to see
just which one of them will falter….and flatline first!
Ian Souter