Long Humorless Poems
Long Humorless Poems. Below are the most popular long Humorless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Humorless poems by poem length and keyword.
Damn anticipatory anxiety affliction...
trumps volition (mine) to don employee hat!
Until the grim reaper
whisks yours truly away
common joe just biden his time
chronologically old fogey
(albeit boyish looking goodfella)
at moon shadows he doth bay
meanwhile stricken with
dripping wet sweaty palms,
perhaps attired with
trademark Harris tweed
this August twelfth
two thousand twenty dog day,
viz just the mere thought
to seek part time employment -
cuz I wanna supplement
(social security disability) income
perhaps out of desperation
selling myself short on eBay
unless an anonymous reader
espies adept ace at foreplay
i.e. whereby his linkedin word choice
oft times evokes double entendre
essentially this poetaster
at large concocts gourmet
reasonably rhyming literary cuisine -
thus hip hip hooray
invariably an anonymous
respondent will inveigh
against playful badinage,
and/or perchance some grumpy
humorless cat (woman)
originally whose nine lives spent
housed within San Jose
will take objection with base (sic)
lame ribaldry (mine) laughable
courtesy none other than kkk,
(kooky, klutzy, and kitschy tendency)
who though reformed Caucasian Jew
coon sitter me laughingstock, nevertheless
(modesty notwithstanding)
he brews the best latte
this side of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
where whiplashing, madding, and
clamoring crowd fuels melee
along Perkiomen trail
over hills and across Atlantic Ocean
eventually leads to Norway,
which namesake river from “Pakihmomink,”
or “where the cranberries grow.”
Rather than get further
bogged down with inane zeal
I best steer clear of poetic poppycock
courtesy imaginary wheel
thus the following pablum I unveil
nsync with titled malady all to real,
which plight involves hyperhidrosis
quite a debilitating ordeal,
especially when thinking
to pursue gainful employment
emphatically steadfast
and honest think (me) leal
course this humble communicates
(hyperbolically) embodiment ideal
if seeking to gain insight how I feel
about myself, a tense body
inept to cartwheel.
Parental labor days and nights,
memories and contemporary echoing traumas
of declaring Hippocratic Commitment victories,
"No one got much hurt today,"
"Non-violent communication" prevails,
verbally and non-verbally laborious,
locally and globally viral,
monoculturally and multiculturally,
on our best days,
But "not violent" is such a negative
empty
cold
humorless LeftBrain way
to say,
to communicate,
resiliently resonant communion's
articulating
heart-felt possibilities.
We have hope and faith potentialities
for cooperative spirits of life and love,
And more retiring
shadowy natures of competitively incorporated death
and corporate loss,
But only one ZeroZone uniting Holy Nature/Spirit,
not only co-invested in non-violent life and love,
but further committed to solidarity
of resilient uniting life as resonant universal love,
Where Fear-of and Anger-about
past lose/lose competitive trauma
cannot repeat their either/or
exclusive
devolutionary Names.
(To be sung to the tune of "Cruella DeVil")
Vanilla DeVil, Vanilla DeVil,
If she cannot bore you,
then nobody will.
With her, you’ll never
ever have a thrill.
Vanilla, Vanilla
She’s better for you
than a sleeping pill.
Need sleep? See
Vanilla DeVil.
She’s simply plain;
if she were some ice cream,
she’d never be
an interesting one.
No caramel swirl.
No flavor has this girl.
She is the antidote
for having fun!
A humorless girl,
such bad company.
She hates to go out, so
what good is she for?
Avoid her when you have
some time to kill.
Vanilla Vanilla DeVil.
Vanilla DeVil, Vanilla DeVil,
If she cannot bore you,
then nobody will.
With her, you’ll never
ever have a thrill.
Vanilla, Vanilla DeVil
Copious tears flowed gently in the dire disaster
but we're not in brutal excess.
Doom occurs precisely in a proper time
when subtlety is humorless.
Fierce passion, o heart, gaily
decorates your soul brightness.
And we are inseparably united
in our wistful sadness.
However, my conscious mind is
precisely a vacuum-sealed recess.
Who merely performs reliably
exquisite poetry for the curiousness.
Querying anxiously, he has enflamed
the dear heart of eternal nothingness.
Feasibly my vital burning has been
quenched for untold sadness.
Written: October 14, 2021
It was thought she was pregnant
confused as she was
and out of her depth.
They waded into the river to help.
They floated rubber rafts to buoy her up.
Marine experts posited ways
to keep her breathing in shallow waters.
In dockyard pubs
hard men openly spoke of her plight,
voices low and humorless
as they test-drove new technical jargon.
When she died;
rolling in the pebbly shallows
we threw a tarpaulin over her
as if she were a human cadaver.
We had done our best, had televised everything,
implemented elaborate plans,
recorded last moments with ripples of hope;
watched the sluggish waves
wash away her long drowning.
I noticed just yesterday
while glowering about something else
now already
once again
forgotten...
I seem to have lost my good-sensed humor
along my stumbling
isolating internal say
Toward this red STOP! sign
searching for a different way
To find a new Earth center
for healing active hope,
To sing new scales of joyful
sad sharp focus
Performed more locally
and possibly reformed less reflectively
mesmerized by fame's monopolistic grope.
This new reselective time
Less silently reserved
Less anxiously depressed
Less repressively suppressed.
Each morning's dawn warning
to worship at new altars
Renewing robust octaves of communion
encompassing organic green nutrition
To redesign all creatures here below
more positive above
good-humored love
with timeless passions
hilariously sensed together
yet tragically shoved
apart.
If I were not so sweet sixteen
prepared to restart home's immigration scene
again for my first time,
what would I rechoose to do
becoming compassion's singing rally
with rainbow hearted allies?
If I were thirty-three,
my age of messianic crossfire
for all to red angry
horrifying see,
what would I choose to resurrect again?
And why would this revoiced
rechoiced healthier community
support potentiating integrity
with more robust good humor
this well-timed passed over
and back around
on sacred wellbeing
more interfaith
as multiculturally safe
and healthy ground?
If I were twice
my god's reflective age
revived,
what would we joyously choose
to re-member
as half-life good golden sense
for revolving salvation's climate humor?
For this tragic comedy
of tumorous migration
anxiously anticipating
integrity's full ZeroScores
restoring just right species
may not be mine
next time back around
multiculturing herstory
All together one predation
praying for exterior relations
more integral summations
than humorless,
silent rumorless
quiet aging absence
of eternal sad-paced
barely surviving mercy
At least sufficient for noticing,
just yesteryear
while glowering about something else
now already strange sadly *****
once again forgotten.
It was thought the young whale was pregnant
confused as she was and out of her depth.
They waded into the river to help,
floated rubber rafts to buoy her up.
Marine experts posited ways
to keep her breathing in shallow waters.
In dockyard pubs
hard men openly spoke of her plight,
voices low and humorless
as they test-drove new technical jargon.
When she died;
rolling in the pebbly shallows
we threw a tarpaulin over her
as if she were a human cadaver.
We had televised everything,
implemented elaborate plans,
recorded last moments with ripples of hope.
Later we watched the sluggish waves
wash away her long drowning.
~~~~~
https://www.ctvnews.ca/world/young-whale-trapped-in-london-s-river-thames-euthanized-1.5421060
My youngest
of three AfricanAmerican adopted sons
has profound nonwhite
nonstraight
nonverbal cerebral palsy.
Profound
in at least not being privileged
or victimized
by internal LeftBrain dominance,
violent micro-aggressions,
zero-sum competitive thinking
Either positively True and Good
or negatively False and Bad,
laughable
or humorless
Sacred indigenous consciousness
feels more Right-Elder brainstem
bodymind nondualistic synergy
friendly energy
which is my son's political blessing
and his capital secularizing
segregating
colonizing
economic disabled curse.
Youngest son communes
with music
more fluidly co-empathic
than linguistic communications
He touches
and sings
and chants
through echoing shouts
and exclamatory barks,
short nonphonetic phrases,
lip smacking,
and belly laughs.
When he cries,
which is seldom,
he cries silently
No vocal cords
Profound inhaling wet gasps
and exhaling sad sacred shakes.
He laughs unconditionally
from his root chakra
warm unguarded soul
and bicamerally cries
from his buddha
co-empathic eyes.
The reunion that caused all of the zany brouhaha
From a family kerfuffle with one humorless raw flaw
It all went down quite swiftly, in a quick split lickety
And ended outside in the hedges most thorn thickety
A tray of food put cattywampus on the table by papa
Slipped and fell in by our taradiddle called mama
She was always a snip uppity and pinch or two persnickety
Especially toward mad uncle Ed who's getting old and rickety
As she landed on her derriere he let out a great guffaw
We chuckled and chortled but soon saw our big faux paw
She hurled everything at us from cups to fence white pickety
We dodged and ran fast as we can it was quite a sticky wickety
Flabbergasted brother Bob signaled to hurry with a caw caw
Grampa ran by gramma and pinched her rump with Ooh la la
She caught us all with a sprightly jump, hop and a skippety
And threw us in that hedge like a wild flibbertigibbety
This tale may be strewn with yickety yak and blah blah blah
But that's how ma and pa caused all that wacky brouhaha
January 28, 2023
Writing challenge B word poetry contest
Sponsor Constance La France
Theme : Brouhaha
To the edge of wonder we’ll blithely roam,
Map an enchanted place of passion born,
In the far reaches of love we’ll find home.
Over gold-dusted peaks we’ll soon have flown,
Each new sun will beckon with each new morn,
To the edge of wonder we’ll blithely roam.
Our minds will ever be by sea breeze blown,
Words we utter by angels’ smiles adorned,
In the far reaches of love we’ll find home.
We’ll dance under skies by shooting stars combed,
Of humorless hues our dreams shall be shorn,
To the edge of wonder we’ll blithely roam.
Grounds we stroll will glimmer with twilight’s chrome,
We’ll banish every cloud that hangs forlorn,
In the far reaches of love we’ll find home.
The gods will bristle at how young we’ve grown,
Yet from this journey we shall not be torn.
To the edge of wonder we’ll blithely roam,
In the far reaches of love we’ll find home.