Long Sense of humor Poems
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johnny was the life of the party
when he used to go
a great sense of humor
but back then he didn't know
the shy fellow
who was mostly quiet
very,very rarely did he diet
he learned compassion
at a very young age
sometimes he thinks
at that moment he was saved
johnny today is a very different man
he's past all his test
and knows how to make a stand
he is what God created
and now he knows
all the pieces that fit together
that God did mold
notice the poetry that he does so well
when he is singing his voice you can tell
there is a passion that haunts his words
the pain in life as life occurred
romance to johnny is the center of the world
his favorite past time is being with a girl
and turning them on is his favorite thing
i know my poetry make their hearts sing
ask him where it comes from
the really good stuff? the truth is
i just write and it just comes up
sometimes my extra intelligence
may just play a part
but when my God he made me
He made me with an art
so here i am, much like you
battered and scorned but not through
and if there is a message that
God want's me to give you
it is, live and let live
and allways be true
Form:
A tribute to young daffodils
may grace the poet's page:
new grass, full streams, or nesting larks,
as Spring takes center stage.
To write of faith feels natural
when pondering creation -
to render praise in poetry
with words of exaltation.
When wisdom is attained in life
not cheap or lightly earned,
and life throws shadows on our path,
we share what we have learned.
A little romance warms the heart
to reminisce of youth,
though tales we weave of loves long past
might quaintly stretch the truth.
A word or two of elegy
while contemplating death,
lamenting those we've dearly loved
who've drawn their final breath.
From time to time one must admit
it does the heart some good
to set one's sense of humor free
to lighten up the mood.
Yet other times a sharp protest
upholds the poet's creed
to fight injustice, hatred, war,
or poverty or greed.
The common thread that drives a soul
to take up pen and ink -
is being human to the core:
to love, to feel, to think.
written 29 April 2023
She does all the wrong things, her brother said.
He had been raised by judgers.
He was judging his sister on their meter.
There was a frown on his face.
She is unique, fun, her own person.
Has a hilarious sense of humor,
She is a feminist, a flapper!
This was stated by a distant cousin.
I met her for myself much later.
She was smoking, unheard of in 1929.
Her garters were showing.
Her legs were thrown haphazardly over a chair.
Her brother yelled something and she gave him a strawberry.
My friend and I laughed.
I was amazed by her.
A woman who followed no one but herself in 1929.
I was impressed!
countless hearts and roses fall
for sake of heeding Cupid's call
and yet I fail for phrases, new
imparting, fresh, my "I love you"
(for poets, past, have said it all)
perchance I'll find the words inside
your hazel gaze, quite starry-eyed
the limpid peepers, fair and fierce
that pity, not, the hearts they pierce
(or pulses hurried, far-and-wide)
could be the words hide in your grin
and dance demurely with your chin
coaxed to shine as sound is swirled
much as your smile, to warm a world
(with just a dusted touch of sin)
perhaps the terms lie in your shape
the curves, sublime, to finely drape
that, placed with motion, quite defy
all other grace thus brought to eye
(and leaving countless jaws agape)
might be the phrase lies in your hair
fleece, tawny strands of tresses, fair
or with your skin - so silken, chaste
those unseen places meant to taste
(adorned with only moonlight, rare)
or maybe, found in ALL of these
the words to bring me to my knees
in reverence of the reasons, true
that consecrate the wonder, YOU
(and set my sifting heart at ease)
but, I think I'm more apt to find
the words to say how you’re refined
in things that senses can't impart -
the YOU that dwells within your heart
so caring, thoughtful, sure, and kind ...
bright sense-of-humor - artful mind
of dark and light and grey, combined
with heart and soul, thus intertwined
and ALL that I have e'er consigned -
yes, NOW my words ...
are VALENTINED.
Dear Diary..
I was going to tell you about this new obsession of mine..
We are past the turbulent early moments, when you examine the balance sheet of opinions and prejudices and have begun to explore each other - that most intimate verbal art.
Lets see.. He has a sharp and attentive mind not given to easy answers… I can’t wait to hear his opinion. He has a great sense of humor, (Is that because he thinks I'm funny?) and is so cool, but so NOT stuck on himself.
Love is like drama, everything is at stake, everything can happen, the center shifts and things, which have come to decorate the margins of our lives, can be embraced. The psychological interior rearranged. So it is with me now.
I must learn a greater detachment. I am far too willing to give emotional credit to this guy I have only known for weeks.
Whatever graceful tension I have managed to achieve between innocence and experience fades in the clinch and like a medieval magician, trying to capture the immense sea with a single spell, I long to steal a kind of happiness I know I'm not even slightly ready for.
I suppose I'm just a fool for love! =]
.
.
A song for this:
Fools Rush in by Bow Wow Wow
.
.
an early, high school diary entry 2017ish
Angela is our oldest, she was the prettiest baby imaginable
Her large blue eyes from her Daddy’s side of the family, spoke volumes.
She had a gorgeous face and curls that danced when she toddled.
We thought she was all that and she was.
At nineteen months she became a big sister, and she took it seriously.
Tracy, our second, became her “baby”. She adored her, loved hugging her.
We could not prop her bottle though because Angela would confiscate it
And lie under the crib drinking it with gusto, as she had recently been weaned.
Angela was allergic to everything green, so she preferred inside to outside.
She had weekly allergy shots when she was five; it broke my heart.
She loved school until some big boys she could not identify ambushed her.
It was the first time I let her walk by herself. I held her and sobbed.
When she was seven she got a new baby Sister, Susie. She claimed her.
Telling me one day “You don’t have any idea what this baby means to me.”
She was an avid book reader, had a fantastic sense of humor and a terrific laugh.
Constantly tried to please everyone, which was impossible.
As a preteen she painted her room black and went “Goth” years before anyone else.
I knew it was not a reflection on her soft heart and was unconcerned.
At 16 she was hooked on romance novels, so I took her to a Romance Writers Conference.
We had the best time; and she met her favorite romance writer, Helen Mittermeier,
Helen Mittermeier was gracious and asked Angela what her favorite books were.
Angela could name her heroines, heroes, and tell her the plot of her books.
Helen asked her who her “second favorite author was”.
Angela named someone, and Helen’s entire table of women writers burst out laughing.
Angela’s second favorite author was Helen Mittermeier, using an alias.
They were totally impressed.
Angela went to college and became a designated driver on campus.
No surprise; she always likes nurturing people.
She joined the Air Force when she was in her twenties. I was stunned.
My little powder puff joining the Air Force? What?
She did great; to this day she is a federal employee.
She is a GS16 which is high up.
I have always been proud of my daughter, but my pride was bursting
When she gave the eulogy at my mother’s funeral.
No one could have done a better job.
I am sure my mother was proud too.
When in love, in deep love
We know or at least are aware of
Each other’s sunset and sunrise
About the rain
About our pain
About our lows
And our highs.
Say what
Love is beautiful
And peaceful
We say hello and goodbye
Many times during the course of the day
When in love
What a wonderful journey
Staring at the sky above
Looking for rainbows
To deal effectively with our lows
While searching for nothing
While hallucinating and dreaming
Of love, hope and peace
To say the least.
When in love
We joke about Mrs. Victor
What a crazy vernacular sense of humor
A lonely dove
Is not what the doctors order
Geese and ducks always walk and travel in pair
To fight sadness, solitude and despair
Of course, we know about
Each other’s breakfast, lunch and dinner
Together, we do a lot
We talk all the time
We smile, laugh, giggle, dream and rhyme.
Copyright © June 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
when you smile
that special way
I recognize
the adorable little boy
needing to be loved
cuddled and hugged
longing for attention for affection
the child who hurts
and craves for love
to soothe away the hurts
and long visits to the doctor
the child who wonders
why he’s different
the child who cries at night
wondering why him
the same child
who grew up to be
strong and determined
to never show weakness
the same child
who grew up
appreciating life
a sense of humor
hard work and fun
yes the child who grew up
never forgetting
the joy of wonder
that sparkle in your eye
always there
it’s joy
it’s hope
it’s play
that vulnerable child
is just beneath
the surface still longing
for attention
a hug a kiss
AP: 2nd place 2020, 2nd place 2021
I know this form as *Monotetra*!!
*One-Night Suitor*
How can I ever love again?
How can I ever trust again?
I am good, she's full of regret!
My mind is set, my mind is set
Will past demons haunt my future?
Will I lose my sense of humor
And become that one night suitor?
The heart-breaker, the heart breaker
How can I ever trust again?
How can I ever love again?
Lone wolf with beneficial friends
I will transcend, I will transcend
Can my heart find satisfaction?
I don't like to read in caption,
Dreadful silence causes friction
Interaction, interaction!
How can I ever love again?
How can I ever trust again?
open my heart without restrain,
Or fear of pain. or fear of pain!
Jared Pickett
3/20/2014
Asavvy1
Most of my previous experience was with middle schoolers.
Seventh and eighth graders; I was terrified of younger students.
I had not been around them for years; what would they be like?
They would not have the keen sense of humor of a thirteen-year-old.
I was fearful of taking the job, it was for third, fourth and fifth graders.
I trembled as I faced twenty-two seven and eight-year-olds.
They had their hands folded in a praying position on their desk.
Their teacher had them say “Good morning Miss Kay.”
I nearly burst out laughing; this was totally not what I had expected.
They were my friends without knowing me.
They instantly began helping me know the rules.
They were adorable and brought me boundless joy.