Long Good humor Poems
Long Good humor Poems. Below are the most popular long Good humor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Good humor poems by poem length and keyword.
I've felt it said
here
time and again
That a personal issue
is also about political tissue
reconnecting economic responsibilities
risks
opportunities fiscal
annual
perennial
Centers of felt pleasure
and good humor
are Passions,
not only small
and great transitional
but resonantly
resiliently multi-anecdotal,
Excluding all DisPassions
DeGenerations
and humorless passions
actively resisting future dispassions,
loss
suffering
mortality
and all that dualistically dark stuff,
sensory tissue memories
of sacred issue images
My peculiar ecosystem
co-empathically admiring Ultra NonViolet
rainbow
spectrally ionic Heaven
multiculturing emergent organic
ironic Paradise
And personal political insider trading
in Gospel EmPowering PassionStories
co-emerge eco-Paradise here
with ego-Pleasure now,
sacred place
with historically enculturing
triangulated
bilateral
tipping pointed hierarchical
and reverse root systemic revolutionary
upside-down
EarthHealth PleasurePower
anticipating more HeavenWealth ParadiseLight
win/win peace-viral
evolutionary PanSensory
bicamerally enlightened
eco/ego double-binary
unboundaried trans-empowerment.
And so I try to co-discern
discuss
cooperatively dialogue
about whom I am supporting,
investing in,
and why
I might reasonably expect
mutual win/win health/wealth outcomes.
And, on the other hand,
when such mutual intention becomes
and belongs within anti-losePleasure/loseHumor
transparently shared limits,
then it is time to set chronic stressed
win/lose compromises
anticipations
evolutionary theories
existential angst
depressions
negative impressions aside
To grab hold
of cooperative
systemic con-celebrating revolutions
toward transliturgies enlightening
empowering
re-ligioned win/win
SecularLeftMinded/SacredRightHearted
ego-impassioned EarthHealth Justice
resolutions
Embracing Pleasure
and Paradise,
Power
and Light,
Earth
and Heaven,
Secular
and Sacred,
Deductive
and Inductive
cooperative GoodHumor,
within NonZero-Soul's ubiquitous remainder.
In my early 70s (not THE early 70s) I discovered, without having had the benefit of being properly schooled for old age planning, that "long-term lifetime goals" have become "longish term waistline objectives" over maybe the next decade or so.
The retiring, too quickly transpiring, nature of these hoped for outcomes has also triaged down to a more responsible mature adult scale of peace-making literacy:
good health plans for resilient physical dexterity,
(used to be sexual athleticism)
good humored anticipation of resonant mental acuity,
(used to be world-famous genius)
and good faith passion for integrity
(used to be making a living by doing something not hopelessly toxic to everyone, everything, everywhere, all the time).
Big surprise in the gerontology department, lesser quantity of life, but healthier qualities of love.
A Taoist's pronoia version of fair trade.
(used to mean not-fair-trade paranoia about getting ripped off by suspiciously threatening Others, God, Aliens, Big Brother, Artificial Intelligence, Big Pharma, Big Government, Big Bullies, too much over-capitalized, and weaponized, Bigness, etc.)
Now I practice compassion-engaging faith and humor and health by responding to systemic TrumPublican trauma with music and movement therapy, and writing sexual politics poetry, for which there is not a large commercial market, and practicing good liturgical song and dance.
Now in my 70s, I've also noticed that good sacred music, like good humor, and good health, is not just about commitment to the stretching movement, but also to the silent rest.
less than half a dozen hours
remain here in Lake Woebegone,
an idyllic enclave, where legal tender,
liquid assets, minted monies
by the metric ton
loot, et cetera replaced
with sharing home good humor spun
prevarication, or a pun
where this Norwegian bachelor farmer,
now sets timer counting down to the one
hundred and fifth International Women's Day,
hence dada's taxi service necessitated
(asper my own volition) none
forsaking a substantial block of time
to ferry (via 2009 Hyundai Sonata)
thine eldest (of deux
darling damsels doggedly, diligently,
and definitively) whose maternal hue
ma in instincts (staking out
vocational, interpersonal, Jew
dish hiss lee courting biological objectives
Since matriculating
At University Of Pennsylvania
she seriously eyed
the engineering curriculum,
and as an inherent
high achieving civilian, this rugged
cerebral terra firmae terrain
emitting a signal calling she knew
tubby meant foe her, thus this proud papa his new
wish availing self less father summoned,
pressed, and mustered joyriding
glommed within mental motor queue
thus despite experiencing a minor panic attack
(with nausea more pronounced than usual), aye
did not want Eden (her first name)
to feel disgruntled toward pop (hood rather die)
as opposed to slacking off where fatherhood
concerned strove to be a beneficial guy
especially before the stroke of midnight
will usher well nigh
till next year long overdue attention,
now bequeathed during these twenty four hours
when non gun shy
textile women (shunted subaltern
second class workers)
in New York (circa 1907),
but said event opened to dispute,
but less in doubt
historical records indicate
1914 International Women's Day held on March 8
since then continued along
a linkedin chain in case you wondered why.
Nationalism,
nation supremacy,
rooted in competing patriarchal capital rivalries,
is entirely incompatible with EarthPatriotism
rooted in loyalty to cooperatively healthy matriotism
Wherever MotherEarth may yet be healthy climate rediscovered
in sensory input and outputs of a child
unbound breathing in enculturing good humor
Still fully awake
meaning much more than not yet dead,
Embracing Earth's Paradise found
means far more than ending homelessness,
bareness,
hopelessness,
For restoring cooperative peace
more than competing retributive-avoidance models
for justice as invoking a fee
and loss of freedom punishments
while preaching skills in anger and depression management,
but silent about happiness and compassion cooperative ownership.
Competition in nationalism,
whether white
against pink,
royal purple
against ultra-violet feminist,
even green
against black and brown prejudice,
each autonomously anti-ecological nationalistic stew
when we simmer down
into non-violent communication
of spatial Here
with temporal Now,
Competing FirstChoice nation-states
miss golden global opportunities
to embrace healthier polycultural outcomes
of multicultural cooperative grace,
polypathic WinWin karma,
polyphonic musing face
of Earth's well-timed expansive soul
revolving space
A healthy organic way to speak
and think
and feel as a day and night revolving child
naturally embracing WinWin
co-redeeming spiritual ecopolitics.
Violent competitions,
mutual abuse and neglect,
between ZeroZone sacred nations
are antithetical to cooperative conversations,
planning and nature development,
in EarthTribe non-violent WinWin communication
CoArising nighttime dreamscape melodies,
non-conspiring feeling peacefully immunized
against conspiracy theories
playing WinLose roles
embracing evolutionary predative jihad anxieties,
risks to bully or become bullied by chaotic capital climates
and internal bicameral storms,
nightmare feelings nauseously disassociating inside from outside,
ego against eco,
concave overbearing convex,
ZeroZone soul ignoring OneZone body's primal needs and feelings,
Right bipolar conflicting Left dipolar co-arising
EarthSoul Health integrity
prefers co-reflecting
4-SpaceTime Revolutionary Boson Models--
opaquely expanding DNA-structured splendor.
Papa's condemnation of prejudice...
and subsequent grim statistic one
(among millions, or more)
tragedy with feted kiss
Yarraka Bayles darling son
hoop fully experiences bliss,
yet more vehement rage
against machinations (think
with little effort cruel humans)
trumpets, tools, thrives...
wreaking psychological havoc -
case in point yours truly
wrenched, screwed, and hammered
psyche permanently amiss.
Despite outpouring drummed,
plumbed, and summoned thru
worldwide webbed support,
whereby global netizen (regarding
crowded house village people)
forced to apprise
execrable endemic damnation crisis,
nonetheless, I lament with inconsolable cries,
(methinks linkedin exacerbated
racist, misogynistic, bigoted...
commander in chief doth demonize)
devastatingly loathsome nasty meanness
viciousness super powers must exorcise
immediate mandates necessitate
more than $140,000
courtesy GoFundMe page,
plus good humor guise
Brad Williams (good fellow
celebrity little person)
raised commendable effort implies
Quaden Bayles overnight
social media sensational rise
to send aforementioned lad (din)
upon magic carpet ride,
cuz bullies of all sizes
did relentlessly terrorize.
Since time immemorial, ill legal
pestilential, tyrannical blight,
whereby quintessential, overpowering
maniacal kickass delight
gushed adrenaline spurring victim(s)
to fight or take flight
impossible mission to escape hatred,
no matter ascending topmost height
stairway to heaven no guarantee knight
in shining armor to thwart might
against painful, (pit charred),
promulgated pugnacious plight
aboriginal boomerang promises harbinger,
whereby unbearable insufferable agony
will beget suicide, and/or violent behavior,
which haint right,
no boy birthed with Achondroplasia
rails lame excuse for beasts to subject
with atrocious, ferocious,
hellacious, malicious... mercilessness
comeuppance for venal wickness
will curse devilish fiendishly
gloating hooligans if not tonight...
what goes around comes around...
good riddance I write!
Bring on the rejection slips and/or lost wager
Though flush with good humor
pun one mock two yields negligible
true cash equivalent value won
dirt poor offspring privileged as prodigal son
pockets bursting with legal tender,
where just yesterday I had none.
All polite declinations
strung together would circle...
(fill in the blank)
matter of fact, I just got a slew of them
today June 9th, 2020, what a lucky man
me haint an idealist...,
but winning poetry (writing) contest
or purchasing lottery tickets...
yeah, nothing butta pipe dream
such improbable whimsical notion
linkedin and tantamount
with milkmaid and pail
Aesop pose fabulous incredulous solution
finally good riddance
hand to mouth existence
hello riches, perchance a dollop
and/or sizable windfall courtesy
drawn PowerBall and/or Mega Million ticket
whereby yours truly suddenly
cursed with chump change,
and/or abundant money
would experience "fifteen minutes of fame"
flush with friends and relatives
I (a misanthrope) never knew existed
(perhaps even marriage proposition,
no matter wedded bliss prevails)
interesting... how moderate
and/or substantial wealth
suddenly finds chock a block
acquisitions (regarding brand new automobile,
custom designed house,
travel opportunities galore
(maybe even vacation to Mars)
(despite coronavirus - COVID -19) prevalence,
nevertheless awareness viz immutability altering
pubescent stunted emotional, physical
and social development
profusely sweating hands, social anxiety
all the while knowing money
can't buy happiness,
yet once and for all at long last
free and clear of grinding poverty
cuz groveling along
the pockmarked highway
avails countless exit ramps
plethora of choices
how to be analogous to jolly Roger
piloting immense ship of state
(approximating size of Rhode Island)
equipped with the latest trappings
matter of fact replete
with every creature comfort
analogous to rich
self sufficient independent country
allowing, enabling, and providing
a warm welcome - think unfurled
Harris tweed Scottish welcome mat.
Meanwhile somewhere in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania resident
(within apartment B44)...
tenant fritters precious time wishfully thinking
(luxuriant life within theoretical leisure class)
finding this nameless scrivener
invariably hoisting himself by his own petard.
Ice cream and ices, ice cream and ices
Get your fudgywugies here is screamed
Heard clear emerging from the tunnels
Under the boardwalks promenade shadows
Loud and clear come good humor men in white
Ridiculous in their black shoes heavy like iron
Trudging through hot sand like mad men
Hunched over with the weight of Summer
Ready to huckster the kiddies for money
Already waiting with quarters in hand
Radios dial up Beatles for transistor sisters souls
Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band plays on
Over sounds of ocean spray and cozy blankets
The surface of the sun smiles on happy afternoons
Cones melt chocolate droplets on wet bathing suits
Blue lips of children, their bodies shiver, after a dip
They toss peanuts at pigeons who leave droppings
As presents after target practice then continue cooing
Colorful kites fly with the seagulls and dollars
Waved to entice those who come out from the shadows
Sun lotions and potions of peace and love sold at a price
Not always a bargain
Pretty tan girls in stunning string things
Left to the imagination as clothing
Dotted bikinis in yellows and pinks on parade
Follow life guards into the surf for protection
Held together by muscles and love
Not only tides wave good-bye to Summer
Mobsters wear concrete shoes for a dip
Smoke their last cigarette before “falling in”
Go for a swim with the fishies
Sink to the depths of the city
It's Halloween and as we know
It's a special time of year
There's scary things and ghostly beings
Meant to bring out fear
There's lots of innuendos
I hope you do not mind
If I can take the liberty
As some may not seem kind
They're meant to make you Snickers
And put a smile upon your face
Please forgive me for my twisted mind
If that is not the case
I'd like to know, if you'd mind
If I tricked you with my treats
Your like a tasty candy bar
I'm sure you're sticky sweet
I'll take you to the Milky Way
Or maybe even Mars
I want to squeeze you Bun so tight
My rock candy is so hard
You're like a Peppermint Patty
You take my breath away
I'll bring you years of Almond Joy
I've so much more to say
When you lick a Lollipop
It makes my poor heart race
I wish that you would unwrap me
Let's cut right to the chase
I'd place some Miniature Kisses
All around your luscious Mounds
I'd start with licks, then give you my Twix
Till you shout O Henry loud
To taste your Whatchamacallit
I would give 100 Grand
And move my Butterfingers
All across your skin
You can bet that Mikey likes it
And his Pop Rocks would explode
How many licks would it take to get
To the center of his Tootsie Roll
I'll be your Sugar Daddy
If you will let me be
I hope to Skor, at least once more
Without the Musketeers 3
I'd share with you my Payday
If that is what you choose
Then we could Rolos over
To 5th Avenue
I promise you no needles
Can I poke you just in fun
I hope you've found Good Humor
And it's the best Bar None
Yesterday was your birthday
Unfortunately, that was a busy day
However, I went to the garden
Of my heart this beautiful morning
Where I picked an invisible rose that could bring:
Happiness, joy, good humor and an early spring.
I shaved my beard and mustache to make your day
With all my heart, I wish you a happy birthday
Oh! I would like to charm you until nightfall
When the rainbow is no more in the fall
Toward another horizon, for another season
Please accept this rose, this poem, this song.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to my good friend.
Copyright © August 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
The humid air sweats streaming curls down the toddler’s flush cheeks like Fusilli hot from the stove. The golden ringlets cling to her forehead, bouncing like Slinky’s in front of her, blue-agate, eyes. The backyard’s sounds-bat cracks and wise cracks-surround her. Squeals echo from the mounds of loam behind her new house. The homes out back form a red, yellow, blue, green monopoly board configuration.
The sand box she sits in is full of scrap two-by-four blocks. Using a naked purple-haired troll doll, she attacks the pine-block castle, tumbling the battlement. A plank spans the puddle
(created by the leaky green garden hose). The barefoot tike, troll in hand, starts across the board toward the moonscape of mud mounds; where her sister and friends run screeching armed with rotten tomatoes. She almost makes it before falling in and running mud covered to mother.
Polish Catholics, Italian Catholics and Irish Catholics, lived side by side with English Presbyterian’s and we errant, runaway, Jews. The scent of tomato paste, knackwurst and borscht wafts through the same soupy air, where we play King of the Mountain. Big Boys and Plum tomatoes flew indiscriminately through the August air like missiles. The only thing which stopped the action was the distance ringing bell of the Good Humor truck, here on Cherry Tomato Alley. Here where each new neighbor had transplanted themselves: their children, their gardens, their sprinklers, and their cars to fulfill the American dream.
First Published in Melancholy Hyperbole Spring 2015