Long Humor love Poems
Long Humor love Poems. Below are the most popular long Humor love by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Humor love poems by poem length and keyword.
How many ways can we write about love
Without words we've already used
Could invent some new ones but most of you people
Would be lost and really confused
So we stick with same old time honoured phrases
Safe that our message gets through
Sure like to shock you with some uppity words
Invent a real new word or two
Something like, “I love you profusely”
Nah, that doesn't do it for me
How about, “love you like a kick in the face”
To some it means, “I love thee!”
Maybe too violent for the average Josephine
Perhaps, “I love you like chocolate pudding”
Don't be shy, but no naughty stuff
And refrain from pussyfooting
So here's what I suggest the new word should be
Holypoopadoodlezissbamboo
“Kinda long!” I can hear you guys mumbling
So maybe just the old “I love you!”
© Jack Ellison 2014
Dearest,
I know we agreed
to practice stretching our compassion
to include those we actively loath,
and I have been trying
but...
Yes, I know,
it's difficult to out-trump Trump's
apparent toxicity,
with benign integrity
without appearing morally comatose
So,
what have you come up with?
maybe it could work for me as well
When my Republican friends
ask me for feedback,
which happens maybe...
...well, never
I go with
I have noticed that Mr. Trump's
emotional intelligence
and his generous talent for ignoring hypocrisy
are unimpeachable.
Which could mean
his lack of enlightenment
and his lack of integrity
are not, in and of themselves,
impeachable offenses
And it could mean
his sinister affective intelligence
and tenacity
remain unquestioned
by other self-righteous
AntiFeminist Capitalists
As they speak amongst themselves
inside EarthTribe's
Straight White Privileged
Men's Room.
Looking for a real sensitive soul
Are there any left out there
In this crazy fast paced age of computers
Niceties have become more rare
Except of course here on the Soup
We all still care about love
About thoughtfulness and tender wishes
Sweet love words all else above
We could teach this world how to love
Us guys sure know the ropes
All it takes are these three words plus two
“Please allow me to grope”
Ooops I guess I kinda destroyed the mood
Got carried away for sure
But I'm certain you got the general idea
My naughtiness please ignore
© Jack Ellison 2014
When I was a new seminarian
I had a favorite parish priest mentor
who told me the best way to die
is while having an ******.
I wasn't sure if I could ask
why he was so exclamatory sure
of his nakedly compromising position.
I did not really know him all that well,
although he seemed to be a swell up kind of Father.
Perhaps I looked a bit nervous
because he hastened to reassure me
the reason he is enamored of orgasms,
of peak experiences,
is because they transcend our cognitive dualities
in-between polyamorous Eros
and polytheistic Agape.
Orgasms are ecstatic climatic events,
warm full-bodied memories
of mindbody interdependence,
of holistic cooperative economic enlightenment
and political empowerment within
every organ and cell,
muscle and happy little ego-subsystem
groaning out this profoundly universal Yes!
with both LeftBrain audio-visual ethos compassion
and RightBrain universally uniting
neurosensory climate of eros pleasure.
I didn't know what to say to this bicameral-sexual therapy.
But, if this is an option for how to die,
it does sound like the only ecstatic one I have ever heard.
So I said that.
And then my mentor suggested I go home
and practice
living that same way.
Interesting,
how orgasms struggle through rhapsodic space
while dying struggles against too-fast insufficient time.
Could you love
an old white redneck
with HIV,
inhaling too much medicine?
Could you love him
if he were able to listen
without judging,
but commiserating,
curious about nuances,
finding dark humor
transcending rumors
of ego’s timorous tumors
and climatic anthro-terrifying tremblers?
Could you love a sad house-bound poet,
with too many kids of vulnerable colors,
multiculturally married but neurodiversely separated,
haunted by recurring adoption-denied nightmares?
Abandonment
allows suffocation,
nutritional neglect,
dislocation
drowning embryonic surf,
tidal pools of loneliness
propelling salty
dark
dissonant compassions,
emotive compost
organically fueling preoccupations
toward resurfacing light.
Could you love him
if he could know what you feel,
and guess why
and wonder how,
and hope when,
and care where
we might want to hear
and feel and dance and breathe
this sacred co-opera again?
Could you love erotic simplicity
if delivered with truer exotic festivity?
Could you love integrity,
us becoming right synergy
here
and now?
Could we sacred love
exchanging secularized anger management
for musing compassion's
proactive
interactive
interdependent
inter-reconnecting
inter-re-ligious EarthTribe opportunities?
Could you love
these neurodiverse
neuro-sexsensory ones
you are already miraculously singing
and dancing within
without?
Words on the wall.
Go with Paul.
So profound.
Like a crystal ball.
Okay, all coming back.
Should have read.
Julie, will you go with Paul.
But it didn’t.
Surely a message.
A deeper meaning.
Check the celestial phone.
A message awaits.
You dirty lying scummbag, drop dead.
Should I tell her there's only one M in, scumbag.
Could this be another message.
I enlighten her.
The other M is for mother-F
But is it.
Is there an even deeper meaning.
The celestial phone bleeps.
I peruse the heavenly text.
Actually, there should be an extra B with the extra M, bastard.
I see pain in her text.
I feel it myself.
There is a wanting.
Flowers and chocolates.
I feel comfort walking through the graveyard.
Knowing random people are helping me in the pursuit of love.
I throw a pebble up to her window.
Holding my mixed bunch of flowers.
Old Mrs Jones looks down, smiling.
If I was seventy, I’d do, I digress.
I bade her in, throwing the pebble up to my true love.
Who opened the window maybe a tad too early.
She screams my name.
Which was comforting in a strange way.
Old Mrs Jones looked out, recoiling in horror, knocking herself out in the process.
I realised I had forgotten the chocolates.
Darling, could you lend me ten pounds.
Something in her one good eye told me no.
The paramedics told me to go.
The Police read me my rights.
Putting me up for the day, and the night.
Still, as the Community payback man said as I was scrubbing the wall.
It’s not like you’re Banksy, is it, Paul.
I felt a deeper meaning.
A thought had occurred
It would take a lot of paint.
But would be worth the pain.
I worked through the night.
Such a delight.
I threw a pebble up to her window.
Old Mrs Jones looked down at the naked mural of me, and dropped dead.
Julie sort of squinted in dread.
But the gun in her hand.
Well, enough said.
The police charged me with indecent exposure.
Though the court said that wasn’t quite true.
Still, the Community payback man said.
I’m really impressed.
I mean, it's different.
Maybe you should have added a verse.
He stopped me scrubbing.
We bowed our heads.
As old Mrs Jones passed by in the hearse.
When we first met, in love we used to glide
on waves of bliss like pairs of sunglow swans,
now we slowly totter,and try to hide
our orthopaedic socks and thick long johns.
We still hold hands like back on that first date
but now it's less a gesture, decades on
else I'd walk off ahead then have to wait
while you found something firm to lean upon.
You said you'd like a skirt to match your eyes
I did my very best but must confess
I went to every shop but no-one buys
or maybe no-one sells a bloodshot dress.
you run your fingers through my hair a bit,
these days I marvel just how fast it goes
these greying locks ,well, what remains of it,
from off my scalp and southwards to my nose.
Annoying habits met with just a sigh,
you snoring on the sofa after tea
or ducking as my nail clippings shoot by,
or leaving used bags out when making tea.
Love's outer shell is merely just it's name,
inside it's precious pearl remains the same.
Studying history
tries to be objectively subjective,
at its best
when also a comparative study of Sacred Plantings and Harvests.
Not a coincidence,
unfortunately,
that when I studied Christian Church history,
we discovered a not-so-very-catholic co-arising GreatMen picture story
of historic and theological harvest,
but not necessarily ecological
because more anthropocentric objectives of Earth's history.
Yet studying historic development of SkyWoman-resourced Turtle Island
is still largely confined to specialists
in EcoFeminist EcoPolitical Ancient History Compartments
of WhoCares Sacred Plantings and Harvests,
still RightBrain Yin-nurture oppression,
suppression,
within this objective-subjective
How to best deep learn ecopolitical history
of Earth's sciences
and cultural GreatMen and SacredGoddess religions
and all things patriarchal-matriarchal enculturing
Left with Right
Yang with Yin, and not so much Yang v poor little dualdark Yin,
counter-balancing in-between
Tipping Points of Sacred Plantings and Harvest Networks,
CoOperative Investments and EarthTribe's ReInvestments
in (0)-Sum/Soul Sacred Seven ReGenerations
of MatriarchalEarth
historically studying objective-subjective
CoOperative BiCameral Tao-Networks.
In this alternative Left with Right ecofeminist universe,
it is immediately transparent
to all five co-empathic senses
why Donald Trump
would be much more GreatMen entertaining,
rather than PathologicalMan alarming,
as a Public CrossDresser,
trying to walk in his wife's stilettos,
right behind her,
neither too left nor right,
where he belongs
if he knows what's best for him
tonight.
And,
while I totally get it about not drinking alcohol,
I really do think Medical Marijuana
should be deeply and widely prescribed
within the District of Columbia
in response to our current epidemic
of Yang v Yin Oppositional Disorder.
Maybe we could at least cooperatively agree
on a health and climate care budget for
Balancing Sacred EgoPlantings with EcoHarvests.
And maybe think about
how our melting icecap and glacier harvesting issues
may be both related and unrelated to
planting 12 foot reptiles
hunting vulnerable prey on MainStreet Texas and Florida,
which seems not so good for national health care
or defense
or security,
or even anything resembling GreatMen global rationality.
It ain't the pork, it ain't the beans
It ain't the mustard on saltines
It ain't the redneck social scenes
I love about the south
It ain't the ice cold sweet southern tea
It ain't the way that we say please
It ain't the way we lemon squeeze
I love about the south
It ain't the perfect slice of pecan pie
It ain't the wink in the bullfrog's eyes
It ain't the fireflies that light the night
I love about the south
It ain't the way we say yes ma'am
When you visit Alabam
It ain't the attitude of yes we can
I love about the south
It ain't the way that we say ya'll
With the syrupy sweet southern draw
No it ain't none of that at all
I love about the south
It's the crisp clear starry nights
Through the shifting shadows of the loblolly pine
As I stand here with your hand in mine
I love about the south
Just the fact that you are here
And that I can hold you near
As I hear you call me dear
I love about the south
I actually love everything about the South.....
Another Springtime Chore
By Franklin Price
03/08/2022
I wrote of springtime yesterday
Of the flowers, birds and bees
And of the leaves and blossoms
On the bushes and the trees
Of the gardening and raking
That is needed out of doors
Not the things, I may be buying
At the Lowes and Walmart stores
This morning when I woke up
And my bare feet hit the wood
The dust I felt beneath them
Was anything but good
It was the house, reminding me,
Of the Springtime cleaning fun
For the vacuuming and mopping
I have been the chosen one
Barbara always did the dusting
That was always what she did
I may have to search the internet
For the lowest dusting bid
For she's no longer with me
To help me with the Springtime dust
I know she's grinning from above
I'll try to do it if I must
I guess we'll see just how it goes.
It may be Fall before I'm done.
I can also hear her laughter,
Although I'm having all the fun