Long Inside joke Poems
Long Inside joke Poems. Below are the most popular long Inside joke by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inside joke poems by poem length and keyword.
We sat through sixth-grade classes, we sat at lunch side by side, Laughing through the hallways, taking life in stride. Then came the quiet day you had to say goodbye, And years went rushing past as time was flying by.
Now high school's finally here, the halls are huge and new, And nothing feels as bright as being back with you. Two freshmen starting over, right where we left off, With every inside joke and every shared-in laugh.
You’ve always been the sweetest, a anchor in the storm, And now a brand-new chapter is starting to take form. With a baby on the way, a little light to guide, I know you'll be amazing with that sweet heart inside.
Just yesterday you handed me a gift I’ll keep in mind, My very first real phone, the best I’d ever find. It’s got a couple scuffs, a little beaten and worn, But to me it is a treasure from the day that it was born.
I’ve never had one of my own to text or scroll or call, And having it from you makes it the greatest thing of all. Through every shift and change, no matter where we roam, Having a friend like Avery always feels like coming home.
(alternatively titled eldest daughter despises us)
Eden (beloved eldest daughter) icy
flat tone of voice spoke volumes,
when she talked with the missus and me
courtesy cellular telecommunications key
December twenty seventh
two thousand nineteen
unwavering listless dull verbalization see
I subsequently told spouse, she
thy super smart self reliant progeny
fending for herself approximately
last half dozen years exhibits je
ne sais quois profound loathing
predicated growing up dirt poor free
quint lee lamenting deprivations re:
guarding legal tender adequate specie
i.e. money - at least compared to every
MainLine millionaire flush with dee -
suppose able income, and oft times
lovingly, pleasantly, unexpectedly...
receiving largasse gift horse courtesy
zayda (my father), who art not yet
in heaven sprung monetary help, ye
this second born and only son did
profusely think him (papa) lee
ving voice messages on his landline,
and tracfone, plus wrote heartfelt poem,
similar acknowledgement modus operandi,
when said offspring
became twenty three
years old - five days ago, nonetheless thee
admirable, dependable, honorable... née
holds Matthew Scott (namely he),
who helped beget
darling feels angry,
and doth plainly exhibits contempt
(you) dear reader guessed correctly
towards sorrowful dada,
where inescapable thralldom
doth invisibly chain
(think ghost of Marley)
apologetic sir, whose
precious kinder, I
will unwaveringly cherish
forever love and Revere
despite up Paul ling
destitution, grinding linkedin penury,
and red hot poker faced
anger, yes... dismay
prevails how unforgiving
once (Benny sent) baby,
inside joke, I attest neigh
scent "star student,"
now grown young woman,
no longer - figuratively
wrapped around yours
truly her finger
father who fell short, natively cree
hated abhorrent within re
cent mammary, bosom (hers)
harboring scathing unmasked vee
hum mint, blistering, rancorous,
seething, volcanic withering...,
no matter disgusting revulsion
toward aging mommy
and repentant daddy,
I LOVE YE EDEN + SHANA!
TRICKY THINGS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Thank yous’ are such tricky, delicate things
like small birds with hollow bones
or the first breath of sharp air
on a cold November morn.
They tend to get away from us
appearing and disappearing without our noticing
They are difficult to capture,
unable to hold in the palm of our hand.
‘Thank you's.’ What are they?
Are they insincere, occasionally a burden,
nothing more than a tit-for-tat transaction?
Are they sincere but easily forgotten and sometimes lost,
some never having been spoken or shared?
A thank you. What is it?
Is it black and liquid,
like a fresh mug of hot tea?
*“Is it silvery and crinkled,
like useless wrapping paper?
Or
Is each one unique,
like an inside joke between two old friends?”
A thank you. What is it?
I do not always know
what a true thank you looks or feels like.
Perhaps the appearance depends
upon the giver and receiver.
Maybe it’s the intention in the exchange
that colors its appearance
A thank you. What is it?
It’s a heartfelt exchange freely given
between two people.
I’m giving you one now.
Thank you for reading my poem.
*Note Quoted from: poemsandoccasions.com/thank-you-poems/
I’ve been digging through the dust of forgotten gods,
Where halos rot and angels nod.
The holy light feels like façade —
Even heaven’s gates got broken locks.
The ground still trembles with the screams of time,
I taste the rust of a world in decline.
The truth ain’t gold — it’s dirt and grime,
Buried deep beneath mankind’s crime.
I’ve prayed to skies that never spoke,
Lit candles just to watch them choke.
Faith feels rigged, like an inside joke,
Where the sinner wins and the saint stays broke.
I drowned in mercy, I choked on grace,
Saw my reflection with a stranger’s face.
Each prayer I whisper leaves no trace —
Only echoes lost in empty space.
The soil’s alive — it breathes my fear,
It feeds on blood, it whispers near:
"You’ll find your truth, but not up here —
You’ll have to dig where death draws near."
I’ve seen prophets profit, truth for sale,
Turn paradise into private jail.
They preach of light but drink from hell,
Then sell your soul with a holy smell.
The stars above look burnt-out, blind,
God’s silence drives men out their mind.
If Heaven’s real, it’s cruel by design —
The divine’s reflection is mankind.
My thoughts are serpents, my dreams are graves,
The peace I crave’s the chain I gave.
Each word I write, a soul I save,
Each rhyme I spit, a sin engraved.
I wear my scars like sacred art,
Each one a prayer that fell apart.
The light’s a myth; the dark’s the heart —
God lives where the shadows start.
I’ve learned redemption costs your crown,
The higher you rise, the harder you drown.
Truth ain’t found — it hunts you down,
And buries you six feet underground.
Humor, in different dimensions and forms,
An innate trait that conforms to odd norms,
In high daily dosage recommended
To fix a funny bone, pun intended.
The one that cracks you up when you are down,
The one that makes you chuckle when you frown,
The one that cheers you up when hell breaks loose,
And weaves a silver lining through your blues.
One dirty joke upon awkward excuse,
One grandpa’s joke that grandma deemed stale news,
One dopey joke and you pee in your pants,
One inside joke that no one understands.
Whatever shades it comes, novel or trite,
Good old humor at all times serves us right.
April 13, 2022
February is the month of Love. Love comes in many forms. This poem is inspired by Valentine's Day. May love touch your heart and your life.
Love comes in many forms...
By Michelle Morris
11/02/2025
Love comes in many forms...
It can be the gentle healing
When you've skinned your knee
The kisses and the cuddles
That loved ones give so freely
The learning ABC's
Through their patient teaching
The encouragement we feel
When playing games and reading
The crinkly smiles we share
For an inside joke delightful
Hiding under covers
When watching movies frightful
The experiences we have
With strangers good and kind
The connections that we make
That stay in hearts and minds
It's celebrating our victories
The joy of friendship strong
It's knowing all our crazy quirks
Are accepted where we belong
Holding hands at the doctor's
Life-changing news received
Going through pain and suffering
The learning and the healing
Walking silently side by side
Through the darkness with grace
Being held in a warm embrace
When lowered coffins we must face
Throughout our lives we'll know it
That love comes in many forms
Let's glow and show its warmth
And make love and light the norm
© Michelle Morris, 2025
It took very little to make us happy
young and intoxicated with feeling
high on the thought of holding one
another, embracing our way to
madness, another bite of the apple
we were deeply in love.
Past guilt not ours
yet thrust upon us, by those less
brave – by those priests and
priestesses of timid wisdom, wise but
aloof from the live world around them~ treasures
their hearts somewhere above the stars
you and I here and now yes worship our
chemical reacting with its earth, sensing
divine sparkle –
We brighten, flair together in our
every quaking moment of unrehearsed
encounter. Reborn by the lust of human
arms. Not rejecting God, but celebrating!
What liar convinced man that
creation is passionless? What dim seer
thought The Seven Days spent bored and yawning~
Evolving spirit something without far reaching
tentacles for physical sensing, probing, reaching, bursting
with desire to experience? This is not original
sin! – the much greater sin that of turning one's
back on the breathing, pulsing nature of Soul.
Yes, to be tamed! Exhausted into submission, never stilled and
wrongly quieted.
Yet, we pretend no answers, you and I, for unlike
many we consume our scriptures from the inside out, less
judging and more opening each day onto widening mystery
and enchantment. Innately knowing what sin is, rejecting all content!
Sharing the rest, though we are never entirely certain of outcome, for relished
always are evolving, bursting fiery skies
of new emotional universes uncharted. We
seek entirely without caging. Passion is art, poetry, micro
and massive inventions. Man is not burned
by passion, but more by fear and deception.
The Devil is fear! The age-old weapon of despots and
their armed administers of hate. The inside joke of
the Green New Deal...is more green for their already
bloated pockets.