Long Laughter Poems
Long Laughter Poems. Below are the most popular long Laughter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laughter poems by poem length and keyword.
boys are joy
boys are sons
boys are little men
boys are just boys
the world needs boys
to tempt a young girls heart
to dream of adventures grand
to play the games of youth
to grow into men
little puppies need boys
they are dog's best friend
all the toys need boys
who would break them
angels need boys
so easy to win their wings
songs need boys
so many songs to sing
fathers need boys
their name is in their sons
mothers need boys
their love is never done
fun needs boys
who else can so readily play
night needs boys
to dream of a brand new day
hope needs boys
to see the future new
courage needs boys
to test fate true
sisters need boys
to be big and baby brothers
boys need boys
to worry loving mothers
laughter needs boys
to make God smile
tears need boys
to hide within a scowl
pride needs boys
to boast so loud
shame needs boys
to forgive somehow
mischief needs boys
secrets to uncover
love needs boys
what innocence will discover
chores need boys
to go undone
games need boys
to have fun
time needs boys
to grow into men
men need boys
to be the boy within
snakes snails and puppy dog tails
sons brothers friends
the world needs boys
to keep it young
to keep it fun
boys are boys
The gravel crunches beneath your boots, a sharp, rhythmic sound that feels far too loud in the heavy silence.
On either side, the steel rails stretch out into the mist, gleaming faintly like two parallel lines that never intend to meet.
The fog swallows everything, draping itself over the skeletal remains of a town that used to brim with life.
Through the gray veil, the rotting timber of the old church steeple leans precariously against the sky.
Decades ago, the doors were wide open, and the warmth of the congregation spilled out into the street. Now, the damp air carries only a heavy, suffocating stillness.
It is completely lonesome out here. Where families once gathered for Sunday potlucks on the grass and children chased each other along the tracks, only weeds push through the cracked earth.
You can almost hear the faint, ghostly echo of old hymns and shared laughter fading into the mist, a poignant reminder of when God’s love felt tangible in the handshakes of neighbors and the shared meals of a tight-knit community.
Now, the tracks remain dead and cold. You are entirely alone, walking past the ghosts of a forgotten sanctuary, moving forward into a gray void where a thriving home used to be.
I feel as if I’m walking alone aimlessly, searching for God, It’s only me, 55 years ago with no anchor, the burnt up ashes of my past are slowly coming together again.
The FOG is my blanket, my shield, my enemies cannot see, the scars upon my arm show my inner pain, the lonesome sound of a train whistle is my sign, I must climb aboard as to disappear into the abyss..
STORMING OVER LOVER’S LANE
lightning, streaked bare-naked, across the nighttime sky.
free form
full on
freedom
a roar of thunder-adulation along the lune’s running path.
hearty
pounding
handstorm
the stars blushed, twinkling out whistling tunes.
woot woot
go on
woot woot
exposed in magnificent display of albino cheeks.
zigzag
zoom
muscleman
the lampooning lamppost likewise exposes cherub kisses.
far below
locked
in cars
tears of laughter rain down on lover’s lane, uplifting life on earth.
9/5/2017
light poetry
A black dog has got hold of her again.
She sponges her face
to a more rigid mask of brightness.
She has been depressed before
but this trench she trudges through
is full of muddied water
and she cannot find a way out.
At work she has to teach her hands
to do things
she has done a thousand times before.
Then there is the mirror,
she cleans and wipes it constantly
but at each glace she sees
her face blurring
as it leaves for nowhere.
She eats alone,
The restaurant erupts
with an air-conditioned laughter
that makes her head spin.
She drinks alone,
then fills the empty wine glass
with salty tears.
She is not sorry for herself,
she is sorry for the black dog
that slinks in and out of her mind
looking to be fed,
but she will not feed it,
she must watch it starve
while she slowly climbs
up and over
her own daily bereavement.
The Life Is …
The Life Is …
When I was young, there was no pain,
The only pain was to complain.
When I was young, I did not care,
Just as long as my love was there.
When I was young, my life was great.
But I was there a bit too late.
A bit too late to know life was,
being young and having no flaws.
A bit too late to celebrate,
What I had then was called my fate.
Now it’s different, weather is cold,
I turned into a man that’s old.
The spring has passed, summer is gone,
Autumn at rest, winter is on.
I am too old and know it’s gone.
It is too dark to hope for dawn.
Now I know that a part of life,
It is old age and lives with strife.
Now I know that my life is not,
The perfect plan when I had thought.
The life is not the silken dress,
Unmarked from flaws, full of success.
My life is just a song I sing,
It is winter chasing the spring.
It is sorrow, it is laughter,
It is hope for morning after.
My life is just a long poem,
Had a young star; none would know him.
The life is just a shooting star,
It is so bright but can’t go far.
Blink your eyes; it’s all be gone,
I played this game like a faceless pawn.
I played so well; somehow, I lost.
You don’t want me to count my cost.
My life is like a field of dream,
Or maybe like a moonlit stream.
My life is like a drop of dew,
Waiting the Sun to say adieu.
My life is like the dew at dawn,
The sun will kiss; it will be gone.
My life is not to be just young,
It is okay to be unsung.
My life is like the morning breeze,
It can bring storms or bring you ease.
You are hoping for one more dream,
That wakes you up in golden gleam.
The life is like a candle’s flame,
It lights up love or burns to blame.
The games are on, and the moves are fast.
I do not know how long they last.
For some, it’s short; for some, it’s long.
Go have more fun; it is not wrong.
Remember now, it might get late,
Go play your move before checkmate.
10/2/2019
Haloo
Note: The painting is called “A reminder”; it’s acrylic on wood.
Note: This style of poetry is called "Masnavi"; it is the spiritual couplets. This particular masnavi consists of eight syllables in each line. Poetrysoup has a great explanation and example of this form of poetry.
I lace my shoes
tight around trembling feet.
Morning fog drifts over the edges of the road
and I stepped into the chill.
Each pace is a heartbeat, each breathes a quiet prayer.
The way extends beyond sight, its outlines softening into mist, yet I move unwavering.
Memories press like weights, old doubts whisper at my back but the wind lifts my chest, and the horizon bends
toward a soft- stubborn hope.
Rocks bump my soles the sun sears at noon and shades cling to my sides.
Yet the rhythm is steady and true
drags me over pain.
Young laughter takes through the air.
I feel it deep within my bones
a gentle reminder: running is more than distance;
each step is patched together.
The final mile arrives
legs scream, lungs ablaze
the heart remembers why it started,
why it runs and pushes forward still.
I move across
not for glory and not for cheers
but for the life each thread
sewed from scattered pieces
into something complete.
The road behind me hums with traces of effort,
each heartbeat a peaceful success
and every sigh a victory.
Family, Freedom, Fun and Friend
Four words need till the end
Support, love, help and caring
A families heart is good for sharing
Everything needed to survive
So we can grow and always thrive
Funs important every day
Letting loose and crazy play
To release all the stress from
Hard work needed to get done
Freedom is a privilege
Soldiers fight so we can live
Securely and with peace of mind
I salute them for their time
Friends are gifts from up above
Sent to us to hold and love
In times of joy, laughter and sadness
A shelter to hide from the madness
This world sometimes throws our way
Friendship keeps it all at bay
Some F words should not be used
They are curses and abuse
But if these are always here
There's nothing we need to fear
As I dream, my countenance a cerulean blue,
beautiful to the angelic witnesses - like a baby
sleeping, they “ooh” and “ahh,” believing in short
that I myself am an angel, can do no wrong,
and they love me with all of their motherly-hearts.
I dream! I dream! I fly to exuberant heights,
not scared as if I am awake. All of nature curls
about me with its tendrils. Emerald ivy’s not
imposing but a dreamweaver. The sunflower’s
empowered by God’s holy light, not the sun nor
the moon - their xanthous rays’ endorphins induce
laughter, a child’s bravado and curiosity. In
the real world, a slight smile on my powder blue face.
Ruffly and billowing red and pink roses, like
cherubs’ lips brush my dormant cheeks. The kiss
of heights and depths, islands, rivers and life.
I leap into each image - i can smell and taste
the salt, each petal, Eden with all its paint. Fresh
and new, my heartbeat and breath cool and warm
all at once. My mind dancing on ebbs and flows,
swimming with the schools of dolphins and mermaids.
Yes, the dream of rainbow unicorns and scuba diving
with tails and no apparatus. Must I awaken!
My eyes are fluttering, as if butterflies’ behind them.
The ivy unwinds as pink returns to my countenance.
I’m startled back to reality but then I spy the wings,
coming through my eyes, hear the sound of sand,
snowy seagulls glide, spy spears of golden pineapple
and I’m wise to know I’ve been given more time.
Still of midnight, I glow like sapphire, tee-hee out loud.
8/5/2022
AS I DREAM POETRY CONTEST
You can get used to a feeling as if it were an invisible cloak that gently wraps around you,
So much so that you forget when it dresses you or when it disappears in the morning silence,
You sink so deeply into the habit of feeling bad that you no longer recognize the light,
You don't realize that the good has become a shadow of a recurring evil,
And everything becomes an illusion, a mask woven from your own hidden thoughts,
But the remedy, the balm for your soul, is right there, under your weary gaze,
You just need to rise, take your soul by the hand, and step into the light of day,
Onto the street where the sun draws stories and shadows dance silently on the warm asphalt,
You just need to run for a few moments through time and watch the swans floating on the river,
To sip from the water of life and speak to a stranger, even with a silent smile,
And you will feel how the weight gradually fades, how restlessness disappears like smoke,
You will smile brightly inside, like a star lighting up in the middle of the night,
You will pass by the homeless man and see in him a story, a world,
You will look at the angry man in traffic and hear his laughter lost among the horns,
And you will understand that everything can be simple, that feeling good is a gift from the universe,
Please, stop hurting yourself, for the world needs your light, your magic.
Ricky Ricardo,
handsome talent of the Tropicana show.
serious, he cracks the whip, practices -
his bongos distract us.
Lucy,
his fiery red-headed wife - we
follow her madcap schemes,
her showbiz dreams.
Fred,
dumpy, grumpy, nearly dead
except he comes alive with dance -
far-fetched romance.
Ethel,
the love of his life? Well…
a partner in dance. Lucy’s sometimes friend.
They always make up in the end.
Little Ricky,
bongo player — itty bitty
show stealer. Not a natural son,
Keith’s not credited but the golden ticket, he won!
I Love Lucy
gets along famously,
handles the trite matters
of life. Laughter on a silver platter.
9/5/2021