Long Good humour Poems
Long Good humour Poems. Below are the most popular long Good humour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Good humour poems by poem length and keyword.
The Final Countdown
I watch Countdown when on tv it comes
for the chatter the conundrums and sums
Sad to see presenter Nick Hewer go
he has been a delight on every show.
Susie is magic with words she's so sound
second to none with her verbs and her nouns.
Rachel who's truly a tremendous whizz
to sum it up she's an arithmetic.
Brilliant with the guests, Nick brought out their best
with his good humour, kindness and respect
So off you go with a big cheerio
you have been loved much more than you could know.
Enjoy what you do, wherever you go
and do it with your usual gusto.
16th June 2022
Wit and jest can give more oomph to heart and soul,
Ideas and vivid images can bring zest,
Touch and humour can blaze a pathway made whole.
Niche fond play that laughter brings to court fine quest,
Open all moods to sensorial encounters,
Weave cheer's fabric of sheer magic that works best.
Prime the way you experience healthy laughter,
Realise that crazy feelings transcend logic,
Yield to lively impulse that breeds fond clusters.
Seek to live each moment with joy ecstatic,
Attend your lifestyle with easy pleasures,
Yes see all happenings as sublime magic.
Be yourself with the sure esteem you measure,
Embrace good humour as a vital pleasure.
Leon Enriquez
10 Mar 2014
Singapore
“Sigma”
It’s a deviant world
a lone wolf finds a place to fit in;
it’s pure poetry, war
heroes dance ducksteps with the romance of it all
some rise, they return home to other meaningless battles
some fall, looking for greener grass and their God
some do not return at all
they find it better to escape
they drift off dissolving into other better or terrible worlds
it’s hard poetry, the romance of war
when you hit the revelation wall;
prayers unspoken sleep,
demons
with their promise of salvation
return
they are put to bed
roughly, like a whore
adorned in slippery satin ribbons of red
masks now removed
snow like medication breathed in
dreams like opium warm the cold veins
pierce everything
like a bayonet
shut out the din
flood an enlarged heart
with all its kintsugi cracks seeping honey and sin
smiling grimly the good humour well-hidden
heroes dream of taking the lead
the quiet broken, dimly lit pawns
avoid the gun-fire and blistering burn of noisy shadows
ptsd survivors
like voiceless poets,
sometimes rise instead
ruling deeply over outranked warriors
CandideDiderot ‘25
"...When you come home
I'll bake you a cake
Made of all their eyes
I wish you could see me
Dressed for the kill
You're my man of war
You're my man of war..."
"His Name is Calciatore"
His name is Calciatore
he loves to follow me
from room to room
he’s exceptionally
well groomed
even handsome,
one might say,
he can be quite serious
yet, he loves it
when I flirt
shamelessly with him,
day after day,
"Love will have its way", they say
it’s always “play ball”
with him, when I say this,
he grins, always leaning in
with a big wet kiss, he licks his lips
ever the true romantic
he is,
definitely,
with this, I agree
always barking
his hirsute opinions
back at me, alone or
with others in the room,
translated, in short,
he thinks, I’m a loon,
a bit like Tin Tin
but a bird
with this, taken
all in good humour,
enough is never
enough
I cannot help
but to laugh
and agree, more
and more, a little bit,
I let out his lead;
loosened up
he understands
implicitly,
who holds the reigns
sometimes,
he croons off key,
off leash, he has me
on my knees
smooching
his ears, his soft spot
with this, he always
agrees
stalking never enters
his frame, although
he loves the chase
he loves the game
He’s a character
this much is true
he loves to lick scoops
of melting L’Amour
from my never-ending bowl
of raspberry ice cream
this tickles his whiskers
he always wants more
of course, naturally,
I'm soft like
warm marshmallow
I give in,
you see
hopeless in love,
absolutely,
no discipline;
warm telepathy
is our own language
d’amour, he's always alert
always on cue, wanting more
when we turn
in for the night
before I turn off
the lights,
with his eyes
he says,
"I Love You",
then,
he confesses,
with his eyes,
before I walk out
the door -
his real name
is Blue.
later I hear
him snore;
such is Love
content, I smile,
a little laugh follows,
then I sleep;
when I wake
next morning,
there he is pronto,
lying beside me
back for more,
he takes the lead
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Loin cloth draped around his anorexic body the Buddha
Searched for the Middle Way between Nothing and All
Counted his blessings and figs as his thoughts focussed
In meditation for humility compassion and lasting peace
The tree of life’s branches lightened his shadows of doubt
Enticed the suffering of suffering to lead from above
Aristotle escaped from Plato’s cave into the sunshine
Golden Mean on his mind he foraged for balance of virtue
Moderated knowledge with feelings of exploring for wisdom
A tiny window of opportunity between secrecy and honesty
Reckless and cowardice tempting from both incomplete ends
Good humour and absurdity longing for tranquility’s resolution
Carl Gustav Jung took up the reigns drawn by polar opposites
Between living and death in archetypal subconscious conscience
Monumental conflict depicted as complements not contradictions
A seeming paradox of incongruent and existential proportions
Like the jester in Tarot’s antimony of beginning and infinite end
The persona became more than a mere mask or Janus faced challenge
The poet’s stream of consciousness meanwhile flows as ink in his pen
Scratches at the surface quite tense in his hand pointing the quill
Towards investigation and unexceptional essence of lost meaning
Guided by the inner Self and nemesis of turmoil and equilibrium
19th January 2020
In seventies, bare seventeen you look,
To me, forever in your teen you look.
Just one more year and all ready to wed,
One, ever playing youthful bin, you look.
Wallowing in youthful wealth, scarce without,
Of happiness and content, queen you look.
Secret? Fate nor fortune comes in your way,
Work as worship can be seen in your look.
Sweet touch of breeze, and wetness mischievous,
Life’s golden touchstone, yen and yin you look.
______________________________________
Ghazal | 07.02.2026 | humour, life, wife
Note: Humorous ghazals are often known as Hazal.
To keep one’s better half in good humour is half the battle won, they say. Now at this late age if the rest of it is lost it matters little, I hope.
"Destination: New Covenant"
When we arrived
at our destination,
the place they called
"New Covenant",
we were assigned
fresh armour.
we thought the war
left long and far behind us;
of course,
our ranks had changed,
but our allegiance
for saving contracts
in the between worlds place
was much to our disbelief,
swiftly locked in again.
we were, one must admit
with good humour -
hell-bent, resigned.
Our redeployment
steadfast, some considered
insane, we had no time
to complain.
we, were told to 'man-up'
this was our mission -
so we, the perceived
fallen, unsubtle yet,
viably courageous,
remained
stoically aligned.
"Karma is a b**ch",
the untainted remaining
flaunting their immunity
from return, watching
in their safe sectors
playing their harps,
all chimed.
We saluted,
smiled back at them,
and sardonically
flipped the birds -
we weren't 'tweeting'.
switched on, we were,
in our protection.
Light suits
full commando wings
on display,
we boarded the
supersonic getaway
and at the helm,
The Firm's leader,
the No. 1 Honcho,
the Big Cheese,
the Chief-in-Command
delivers us from...
well, you know the story -
His rank
is very well deserved
earned by blood,
sweat and tears.
Worthy of respect -
over us, he has many years,
seniority, experience.
His instructions
are ultra clear,
some might say,
religious. He's our,
lead stag, we follow, he steers.
He declares, commanding,
loud and sincere,
"Buckle up Legion.
The last battle.
Victory to all.
God speed.
Burning entry
by clouds.
Bury your fear."
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Hassan harbours hard-worn hardship in his heavy homeless heart
Drones dereliction devastation and dire disintegration of daring dreams
Dear daughter dead at dawn Delisiha demised dismembered decapitated
Harbingers of hell in heaven heaving with helter-skelter and hatred
Skinny skull surreal surrender to salvation and suffering’s solitude
His maimed mind meanders towards Mecca’ mid-morning mist
‘Mohammed my Master mould my misery to magic martyrdom’
‘Save seven sweet sexy sisters in the scope of sound sensual skies’
Balls brethren bequeathed by my baba for blasting those bastards
Ignorant infidels igniting incensed immeasurable invocation indeed
Bearing the bellicose burden and berated by birth belittled and bold
The courageous courier of comatose carnage carefully counts the cost
Captured in the Caliphate contorted in a crowded catacomb he cringes
Waterboarding washes over the waning warrior’s wasted wreckage
Hassan hopes helplessly for humerus and hips to heal in good humour
GI Graysen giggles and generates generous gifts of guts and glorious gore
Considerate Conclusions
Chains have cantankerous consequences
Brave balls from Baghdad bear the baton
Guts and gore guarantee Guantanamo
Victory is vile vindictive and vicious
18th April 2019
Don’t just raise your glass, stand up to cheers
Until each and every one gets audibly clinked
Repeating Ike-ism’s stretching memories years
Keeps the good ones up front and spirits linked
Not so subtly cheat (just a little) in a crokinole game
Enough to get caught to see who’s watching most
Laugh when he’s busted, “Who me?” He’d exclaim
Get the cookie anyway and make a little toast
But don’t just raise your glass, stand up to cheers
Around the table meeting each glass individually
Sing old songs loud enough so everyone hears
Then head to the garage to smoke an O.P.
Overpaying the grandkids to repaint the fence
Who wasted the paint on each other running amok
A sense of good humour even at an expense
So off for more, piled into the big orange truck
Fixing cars for the cost of parts and a chat
For family and friends over sprockets and gears
Here’s to the happy man with Ike on his hat
So don’t just raise your glass, stand up to cheers!
Oh the tears from the child as her dolls hair is caught in the spindle
Her little face awash as she tries to rescue it
The little rag doll, her only friend was whisked away so fast so cruel
The spinning wheel stops to her delight, her tears dry and a smile returns as her
doll is eased out of the spun thread on the spindle.
The time it took seemed as long as the sands dropping through the hour glass on her grandmas table, timing the spinning thread as she teases the wool apart, then spinning the spindle to collect the spun yarn, but the rescue is complete, the doll returned unharmed, the child restored to good humour, as grandma frowns a little as the last grains drops into the glass before it is turned to start again, Her money will be short but her granddaughter is happy so therefore is grandma.
The Rescue Metamorph from free verse to rhyme
The squeal from the wheel as the knitted hair is caught within
Horror strikes at the child and tears course down her chin
A rag doll her only friend caught in grandma’s spinning wheel
Pulled from her arms, but tugging at her heart she can feel
Grandma stops teasing wool, the wheel she stops spinning
Her granddaughter’s tears have her own eyes full to brimming
The sands of time through the glass dripping their next meal away
But grandma rescues the doll so her granddaughter can play
© 5/04/2013 ~GG~
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