Long Last laugh Poems
Long Last laugh Poems. Below are the most popular long Last laugh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Last laugh poems by poem length and keyword.
Mr. Bean has made the world go laughing
and if laughter tis the best medicine
then Mr. Bean sure is doctor of laughter
for quite apt is he at appealing humour!
Perhaps the world's best most beloved buffoon
with antics that could beat and defeat any clown or cartoon
King of joke, king of mock
he could send you rolling with laughter
With a serious silly face he played his pranks
to send you laughing ever after.
A funny man who purposely makes slips
or amuses the audience with amusing quips
A man immune to derision and ridicule
for he deliberately prefers to be comic
Funny is to watch him break any rule
for we all know it's just an onscreen antic.
Laugh and laugh, laugh till your sides ached
but watch how he has the last laugh
This jocular chap has mastered the art of comedy
He amuses quite single-handedly without aid or staff.
So before him on your small screen
your attention span for once shan't be mean
Just prepare to broaden that jaw
you're totally free to guffaw
at this engaging man of mock
this deliberate laughing-stock!
Few have not gone into rhapsody
over this funny fellar, King of comedy
So come heal yer malady
The king of jest
Jester's truly best
(I wrote dis last yr n recently i heard n confirmd it thru google too the nice news that mr.Bean converted to Islam. Skeptics had rather doubt it yet im sure d news has some basis. If true then mr.Bean im more yer fan than eva )
No one can tell
If it will end well
If anyone knows
It would be a nose
That has never been
A humanly made being
The blues fear
Red devil cheers
But the match turned severe
And the last laugh became sincere
Cum troubling and noisy chants
Buried like well embedded plants
"Them don dey go... one by one"
It ought to be just for fun
Meanwhile, many almost gone mad
As some look so glad
What a lively match!
Also a beautiful smart snatch
A winning well deserve
Another one been preserved
Rejoice but forget not
Gunners still dey hot
And bullets are loaded--
Tick-tack not outmoded
I don’t understand you Lord
Sometimes I think it should be this way
Then You have other ideas
Totally you then changed everything
I absolutely can’t understand it
It does not even make sense
Or logical
The whole picture looks like night and day
From what I was thinking of
I don’t know if it’s supposed to teach me something
But I don’t get it
I don’t know why you did it that way
Flabbergasted I am
I will just forget about figuring you out
You do it your way
I will go with it
Don’t understand it
But there must be a reason
I can find out later or not know at all
You control
Just wish everything go my way
So I am in control
But I guess you are saying not-
You are
You got the last laugh God
You and only You
Got it
Summons somewhere up the courage
that has managed to get you to this
point in your life thus far
And drag yourself clinging kicking
and screaming somehow onwards up
If only for if nothing else and no other
particular reason than not giving
life the satisfaction
Of the experience of seeing and feeling
what it is like to be on the recieving end
Of having two fingers or the bird flipped
at you
Simply for the fun and he'll of it
And remember this they who laugh last
Twinkle with an everlasting smile
Which cometh with a lifetime guarantee
And others will intern surely bouyed on
bye your inspiration will be bound to
wishfully follow in your wake
Because the first and most important
domino of them all is the initial one
Otherwise no one else will and has
anyone to follow
'The storms are raging on the rollin' sea, and on the highway of regret'
It was surfers' paradise weather but he had only captured a dinghy
Made from lost dreams and drift wood collected in seasons of love
No shoreline in sight he set a flatulent sail on his passage to nowhere
The lighthouse of aspirations had timely faded from self-imposed doubt
His double edged fishermen’s knife offered only cut throat conclusions
As waves cut a Janus-faced image of himself into the surface of rage
For too long it had been his way or the highway and stark pirates loomed
Hooked into remorse he regretted that he severed tranquil emotions
But instead tried to prove the compass wrong and succumb to unreason
Riptides currents and wild torrents resembled the inner chaos of his soul
Salt on thin macerated skin oozed blemished truths and purulent candour
Once he lost anchor and lifebuoy and had to solely rely on stars’ navigation
During a lull he meant to befriend a dolphin but was mocked in contempt
Which made him to feel the disrespect he had once shown to his friends
How he wished he was a butterfly feeding on herbs in sweet meadows
A clairvoyant had warned him not to tempt fate when seeking conclusion
She might have the last laugh now as he stared into drooling shark teeth
Parched to his most integral core the wary voyager shed one final tear
He vowed promised and bargained with mad delirium and entered the sea
Gave himself to the depth of rock bottom and left his fate to the swell
Washed onto a beach his only regret was that he had not surrendered before
17th February 2020
Written on the theme of ‘The storms are raging on the rollin' sea, and on the
highway of regret’ - Bob Dylan - Make you feel my love
7/28/17
My soul I will never sell
Even if I got to go through hell
Time will tell
If I'll excel
And propel
Doing poorly or swell
Wherever I dwell
Crooked or parallel from any citadel
And hotel
Are you the lion, cheetah or gazelle?
Can't afford to lack
Got to stay on track
At the drop of a hat
In the daylight or pitch black
Anywhere on the map
They can yap
And talk crap
But we'll see who has the last laugh
Onward and upward
Got to cut the mustard
Without being stubborn
No matter if I get a sunburn
With or without parachute cord
And a sword
Back to the drawing board
Still out to explore for even more
Moving toward
A place far away from the swarm
As well as any horde
Regardless of if it still gets cold and warm
Losing interest or rather adamant and passionate
Occasionally may be the devil's advocate
Among objects in motion or inanimate
Trying my best to stay afloat in ways that are adequate
On purpose this is no accident
Perhaps the dead have the last laugh over us --
Daughters bitterly weeping in front of Jesus in an old church,
(merciful Jesus, merciful Jesus, merciful Jesus, be there for Daddy)
Unknown poor relations, pond scum grifters, co-workers
(gone fishing and unable to attend the cremation ceremony
at such short notice), well-meaning relatives (I knew she'd take
it hard. Has she managed to eat and sleep at last?
You look like your father so much, it's uncanny), therapists
Bearing tranquilizer prescriptions, numinous yoga teachers, oh sattvic touch,
Oh grief boundless everlasting oceanic.
The living say people things and do people things,
They bristle with a most jarring, annoying, persnickety sort of aliveness;
What of his estate? Why is she crying in church? Must be a war widow.
Well, she's real pretty. We all lost a good man. He was depressed over the divorce.
He was going on a business trip in June.
He loathed this freakish endless winter and looked forward to summer.
He planted two apple trees. He was such an avid gardener.
I do not care for my father's peonies, tulips, clematises --
Elated, I spend days wrapped in his new pearlescent world;
Death is sweetness, soft falling feathers, a joy and lightness of being
Unparalleled, undisturbed, unimaginable;
Happy Birthday, Dad.
The dead boyishly wink at us through a freshly printed pale pinkish
Death certificate with its Mahleresque staccato --
Born in Donetsk, September 23, 1956, died in St Petersburg
May 21, 2026: ewig, ewig, ewig, Ewigkeit -- inky crow feathers again;
The dead are playful with ghostly phone calls beyond the grave,
Strangely found Buddha figurines that have emotional significance to you
And your father alone, the dead are funny, silly, impish, impossible;
The dead know things, the dead take their time as they now
Whisper and now shout in repeating numbers, precognitive dreams, crows
Touching your face after your last phone conversation
(duration: 11 minutes, 33 seconds) months before
They are even dead.
The dead are very much alright and we are not alright at all.
I go downstairs to sit in the yard and chain smoke
And I watch my father morph into a solemn,
Unfathomable Osiris as the night reluctantly falls
In a tremulous never-quite-night-St Petersburg June kind of way.
Their brilliance, their godawful brilliance.
She insisted on her own way.
Every holiday was at her house.
I am the matriarch, she said. I have the most children.
So I had thirteen, because she had twelve.
It did not make any difference. My husband still caved in to Mommy.
For Christmas she gives me a five dollar bill.
Our children each get a twenty-five dollar gift certificate
My husband wracks up anywhere between four and five thousand dollars.
Does she not realize we have a JOINT back account?
I believe he might stop getting his “you are my baby money” if she did.
I also think it is a suggestion for us to move out, but we cannot afford it.
She is not horrible.
I can live with it, because what choice do I have?
She raised baby to always get his own way.
All he has to do is have a tantrum.
He has had hundreds of them.
Which is why he cannot keep a job.
He goes from tantrum to tantrum.
I get the last laugh as she stays home watching thirteen children.
That I had to try and make her life a living hell in her old age.
It is working too. I pick up my coffee cup and leave for the day.
Glad she gets to see how much help “baby” is.
She raised him after all.
Excuse me if I come across as brusque,
but you exude a certain pungent musk,
as though you’ve grown up with the wildebeests,
or recently discovered ancient yeasts.
And so for your forgiveness, I do hope;
I really meant to stifle that last laugh.
For Christmas, I have given you some soap;
I find that it works wonders in the bath.
I also think you’ll have a better year;
in fact, I’m sure it will be quite improved
when not beset by all those rutting deer
and every other animal that’s hooved.
—————
for the Musk Poetry Contest
sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
written on 12/20/22
There he goes again
proving them all wrong
spent his life doing that
they don’t cotton on
Oh too right off in humoured fashion
mock each day and banter bash him
make a mockery oh enjoying
openly mock it's only Trim
and he's aware and lets it fly
he knows what false sense can buy
their confidence is on his side
stupid now not down the line
And he will milk the vindication
for his skill was no indication
instead laugh down a clown conviction
ignorant blind convincing wisdom
He rubs it in as they don’t realise
their nastiness cast him aside
demoralise fake horrid minds
laugh through such shallow life’s
They only note in hope he's not bright
don’t look close study read writes
lowly opinions savage plight
Dying seconds silence, laugh, it’s I
this feeling of bad is a mutual return
but with you more severe the burn
as unlike yours it's been earned
prove wrong, alone, you take turns
that means I beat all of you
make a fool of you to school with you
so cruel are you beat all of you
call me delude, umm it's you
put up with it for months alone
now I'm pumped so I let it be known
you put me down enjoyment shown
never calling you my own