Long Sense of humour Poems
Long Sense of humour Poems. Below are the most popular long Sense of humour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sense of humour poems by poem length and keyword.
I sit beneath the tree and gaze at the sweet cherry blossoms that cover the floor,
Then I slant my hat over my eyes and take comfort in the solitude,
The pure bliss of silence and a soft spring breeze blowing through the air like a lost cloud,
Trying to find its way through oblivion.
As my head drops slowly to my shoulder I think of how my life would be had I stuck to my
old ways,
A disappointment to everyone, slouched out in a cardboard box down the back of some
stinking ally,
To drunk to give a damn, down to my last swallow and headed straight for Hell,
And I’m grateful that there was someone out in the world willing to give me a second chance,
And I think how happy my life is now because of her.
All my friends drift through my mind, the good ones, and bad one’s and the old one’s,
Then try as I might I just can’t figure out what they see in me, why would anyone want me
as a friend?
I’m nothing special, I have no “real” talents, I’m not “hard”, I don’t drink, smoke or take
drugs,
I even have a lame sense of humour, also a bit warped in the head but still,
Then I start to laugh at myself, I’m certainly not normal… ok define normal, but I mean in
the common sense, maybe they like me because of that? Whatever the reasons maybe, I’m
glad they chose me,
After all, you are your friends.
I ponder on questions that I feel need to be answered, like why is it if you go out on the
street and kill a lode of people you’re a mass murderer BUT if you join the army and kill a
lode of the “Enemy” you’re a war “hero“? Or would Jesus ever accept the antichrist as his
brother? Does the all Seeing Eye ever get any sleep? And am I the only one who thinks that
the Devil is just God’s angry side?
Maybe these are just the ramblings of a twisted mind, but it’s my mind and I like it this way.
My memories push at the back of my mind and force me to remember the past,
As they all come flooding my vision I start to cry tears of anger for the man I was,
Tears of sorrow and shame for all the people I’ve hurt, then I shed a single tear of joy for all
the people who’s life’s I’ve changed for the better.
Then as I start to rise from by place of rest I wonder the hardest question of all…..
Even when there is nobody there are we ever truly “Alone”?
People always look to lay blame
It's your fault, I have this problem
you could have been, more like your brother
you make the choices, that determine your life
Yet in truth, it's more like percentages
To say, that parents have no effect on children
Is a lie, the way we talk to our kids, affects development
yet children steal, children take drugs,
Children also make decisions, that affect their lives
most mothers, don't put drugs in the hands of their child,
yet some do, some parents have drug problems,
some parents, teach their children to take drugs
To say that your life is only about your choices, is wrong
but your attitude and choice's, do affect your life,
but where do we get out attitudes from,
some is developed within the self,
Children decide what they like,
a child watching, people on television, jump bikes
can think, that's great, that's what I want to do,
so television, can impact on the attitude of the child,
Friends can encourage the child to take drugs,
friends can encourage the child to steal,
friends can have an effect, on the attitude of the child,
how many of you, have sat and talked with a friend,
attempting to change their attitude,
A child learns from it's parents, it's teacher, it's friends
and from themselves, we think for ourselves,
we choose to believe and not believe, what people tell us,
a child on the street, with no parents,
decided to study at university, reading in doorways
she changed her life, with her attitude,
parents can teach children to use drugs,
But the child, can also decide to stop taking the drugs,
and get an education, life is about percentages,
parents do affect, the lives we have, with what they teach,
nothing is black and white,
yet you also affect, your life, you and only you, have control,
you can walk away from parents, friends and everyone else,
but you can't walk away from yourself,
today tomorrow and the next day, you can be there for yourself,
you can learn, to improve your education,
you can learn, to make life more exciting,
you can go skydiving,
you can find love,
You can overcome your anger,
you can learn, to care about other people,
you can improve your sense of humour,
and turn your life, into one, where you have fun
Talk to the Dead
When you talk to the dead,
They give you advice,
Buzz on your finger,
lightly touch once or twice,
I told Trish about dead Joan's Goldfish,
In her fish pond swimming pool,
When a loud voice said this,(to Trish)
They're bloody Koi not Goldfish,
You silly bloody fool,
Trish and Joan looked much alike,
And sounded alike,same voice too,
Same giggle and sense of humour,
Two parts of one soul connection,
Perhaps this is true?
And one nursed the other before her death?
After Sue died in April 2015,
she jumped in my body too,
And I felt as sick as a dying dog,
Till she jumped right out too true,
Later without her deathly illness,
It was ok for her to,
Jump into my body,
Possession is OK blue,
Sometimes a concept arrives in your head,
The impulse to drive a different road Instead,
Check out my old house Suey did say,
When I drove past house had gone away,
The point of her contact a thread,
You must ask a question,
An answer to get,
Cos they need an invite,
Then words you will get,
Though some of the buggers ain't nice.
Don Johnson
Guess I was blest with the seeing,
At 4 me Kero fridge just went Om Om Om,
The shutter in me head clicked open,
And a room full of Greys. Frowned upon,
Boogie man was I a seeing,
Grumpy Greys round my bed stayed too long,
Unfriendly grey men came at night not no friends,
Till I clicked the door shut, no more Greys in the hut,
Yes bugger off Grays don't belong.
Suey and I had long discussions about possession, and she said she wanted to jump inside me. After her death she did as in the top above poem.
A day before she died in my arms, we were joking about my Granny not paying back a loan . Sue spoke sternly to Grandma and I saw her face above my bed
Grandma was crying and begged my forgiveness, of course I forgave her.
Insight to the other side.
I asked Sue how old she was now,
She said I'm 10 and am confronting child molesting Grandpa
Also confronting her Father for doing nothing about it.
Seems you get to bring justice on the other side of the veil,
And possibly decide the punishment when baby's are Constantly reborn in the Earth, just doing your time, in little Hell Earth.
The time and the place what your worth,
To single out special people on soup is such a hard task
So many people have helped me, so it’s a really big ask
I discovered on soup there is an angel without wings
Her name is FJ Thomas and her praises I’ll gladly sing
A month after I joined soup an e-mail appeared
It said I was a ‘Premium Member’ it was so weird
I contacted soup said a mistake has been made
I’m a Premium Member … but I haven’t paid
They said the donor of my gift didn’t wish to be named
But I had no way to thank them, I felt so ashamed
I wrote a thank you poem so that they would know
Someone made it a favourite – but their name didn’t show
I later learned it was FJ Thomas, but by then she’d left the site
I wanted to make her proud of me, so I tried very hard to write
I’d not written a poem for many years,not since I was at school
Began writing when my hubby got cancer – a disease so cruel
Flo’s gift to a complete stranger meant the whole world to me
Writing became my lifeline I hope I’ve used her gift wisely
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since joining soup I began to collaborate
You really should try it - it really is great
Teamed up with a guy called Darren Watson
His sense of humour was awesome oh boy we had some fun
I was a complete beginner and Darren encouraged me
Telling me how well I wrote and he loved my creativity
We began to collaborate as Jadazzle United
Our friendship blossomed, we were simply delighted
E mails would fly and my self confidence soared
With Darren around there was no time to be bored
My world was shattered when dad was diagnosed with cancer
Darren was there to comfort me, often with a witty answer
Sadly Darren became ill and our writing came to an end
I spent many many weeks trying to trace my lovely friend
Contact was established with his family and after over a year
I got an e mail from Darren, I was overjoyed to hear
Darren’s positivity for the future gave my heart a lift
Our friendship is so precious just like a priceless gift
We’ve both had ups and downs in our lives recently
We're writing together again and we’re as happy as can be
Contest:- Poetry Soup Heroes
Sponsor Catie Lindsey
My Poetry Soup heros
F J Thomas
Darren Watson
15 years I have been a prisoner
I was the victim of identity theft
Who I was, that person was stolen,
And it was I who had to do the time
Despite not being the culprit of the crime
Half my life was taken away from me
and i couldn't do anything about it
apart from spending my every waking moment every ounce of energy all of my will and brain power saying every prayer to anyone upstairs trying hoping crying fighting for freedom
Then the day came freedom was on the horizon
My shackles were removed the doors were finally open
My exoneration had been granted I was a free women
My fight for freedom had finally been won
The golden gates to life were unlocked lifted they had been opened
My eyes thought it a mirage of lies,
My brain believed it bate being dangled for me to bite
Another humans cruel joke a sick sense of humour
My heart heaving believing it false nothing but lies
Yet it yearned to believe it was truly true
My hope had been broke so many times before it couldn't cope with it even once more
I couldn't believe it was all finally finished
Over done fineto
The fight was over and I was the Victor
Victorious yet I still felt like a prisoner
The doors opened yet I was stuck stationary
Everything I had spent 15 years fighting for
Was just over the threshold of that door
It was easily within my grasp but it wasn't that easy
I couldn't just step through to freedom
Although the pain from my chronic illness had stabilized
More damage had been done than anyone had realised
My mind was a mindbogglingly mental mess that I was left to address
This was something I hadn't even considered or even processed
So I then had to acknowledge my freedom fight wasn't over yet
A new battle has now begun an invisible fight against my own mental state
A mind set born from 15 years of imprisonment, addiction anguish and pain
it isn't a positive thought process that Ive been left with and have now gained
I think it's safe to say many more battles to fight in this war are up ahead,
Me against I my against me and that Is what I truly fear and dread the enemies are inside my own head.
When nice I'm armed with wit and charm,
polite and calm yet sometimes barmy,
flick the alarm I'll hit and harm,
fight feet and arm one man army.
I find meaning through metaphors,
am inclined to wish for miracles
daydreaming of immense rewards,
my dreams assign intense levels.
I naturally think deep, they say not too,
they say a lot about what I do,
I'm not maturing I see no need too,
I always laugh when I shouldn't do.
My sense of humour is not straightforward,
on occasion it'll leave brains tortured.
Like when someone changes their mind
and says "trust me I was wrong",
there's humour in those moments I find,
not worth explaining let's move along.
When people don't get the joke they laugh at me,
so my weird humour makes others happy.
They say I'm very easily amused
as they look down on me,
though the joke left them confused,
a mirrored view they see.
I don't think others brains entertain like mine,
can I point out I get the person changed their mind,
and I saw the humour because there was time,
if it's too much thinking let it go that's fine.
I don't set out to insult or be rude,
so if I do it's rebounded from you,
and you'll find the results cut through,
holding back's not something I do.
I've a creative head, so if you insult me be clever,
I respect intelligence,
insults recycled are dead, I give a cold shoulder,
to stupid mouths I take offence.
If it's not witty or funny it's just not banter,
so those petty dummies can fly away like Santa.
Some sense my humour and see an easy target,
their assumption out of being retarded.
Understanding banter or not ever getting it,
a revelation of an IQ deficit,
because it's not about hurt or inflicting pain,
it's about outthinking to entertain.
So when people miss the laugh and just see a fight,
it's because they're daft and their brain aint right.
And those people wont be reading this,
so ignore their anger when you banter,
really take the piss.
They are going through anger whilst you are banter,
and you'll find it funny as they have a tantrum.
Seven Yesrs Ago
Seven years ago on this very day,
The most wonderful man in my life passed away.
He was gentle and sweet and giving,
Played cards or bet horses for a living.
We’d go to the footy or soccer each weekend,
A tradition on which I could always depend.
Although Saturday morning he was very habitual,
In his chair in his undies with a wireless was his ritual.
Getting his tips and daily doubles for the horses,
I guess a precursor to a number of divorces.
His nature was one of pure generosity,
Without the slightest hint of anger or animosity.
Then One day he found the straight and narrow path,
Bought a coffee shop, and that meant hard graft.
His staff would love him and most stayed for years,
Then many years later were at his funeral in tears.
During this time I worked by his side,
I tell you this with an immense sense of pride.
His example was their for all of us to see,
Though it didn’t always bring the best out of me.
His whole family loved working in his very clean store,
His awesome sense of humour meant it was never a bore.
His wife, his sister, his daughters and his son,
All worked in that shop not for the pay but the fun.
As he grew older bad health caught up with him,
He did a little walking in an effort to get thin.
But with his Kantor genes his chances were slim,
I think his love of cheese is what did him in.
But with a quadruple bipass along with blood cancer,
Plus horrendous back surgery his body had no answer.
Pain was his best mate and constant companion,
He suffered in silence and was an absolute champion.
When his once dormant cancer reared up its head,
We knew time was short and that soon he’d be dead.
Then came a day I knew that he was dreading,
The start of chemo and his lovely hair he’d be shedding.
As he restlessly got ready for slumber that night,
His sweet heart mercifully gave up the fight.
Today well I’ll try not to feel too sad,
It’s hard but I’ll think of the good times we had,
I miss you buddy but just know that I’m glad,
For the times that we had and for being my Dad.
31/05/2018
Roll back the clock to Josef Locke
(and not before or after),
in climes where shrines have names like Knock
without provoking laughter.
My father was an army man
(and yet me to beget),
all spit-and-polish, spick-and-span,
and quite the martinet.
Those soldier boys were short on poise
in those benighted days:
the Murphys, Martins and Molloys
were raised in rustic ways.
But Duty Sergeant Kevin Coy,
vesuviously vocal,
was out to drum-head or destroy
each vermin-ridden yokel.
His boots could pass for lacquered glass,
his gloves would shame a surgeon:
his dignitas at morning Mass
outshone the Blessed Virgin.
Imagine, then, when Cousin Ben
(all NCOs were family)
provided gen beyond all ken
(with palms perspiring clammily):
“They’re on a charge. I told them, Sarge.
I threatened savage slaughters.
Le nettoyage. A smell at large
in Ballykelly Quarters.”
They hunted high, they hunted low,
they bled the radiators,
more ebb and flow could offer no
Projection of Mercator’s.
Just how to quell that awful smell
preoccupied them greatly:
hard to dispel, suspicion fell
on Houlihan, then Hateley.
Catch as catch can, they caught their man
(not Higgins, or O`Hara):
who’s down the pan? None other than
your man from Connemara.
What Ryan knew was equal to
a peat-bog sown with barley:
he’d not a clue – “What? Put on new
bejeezers, regularly?”
His first long-johns remained the ones
adorning regions nether:
six months now gone, he still had on
the same ones, altogether.
“Wear other pairs? These stink – who cares?”
What’s harder to believe
is, unawares, his thighs’ black hairs
had grown quite through the weave!
“He’s now cashiered for being weird –
why then, we’ll depilate him.”
His locks were sheared, and then his beard,
and pubis, seriatim.
Thus Ryan, Sean, of Shirley born,
his gonads wholly hairless,
is there to warn, so sheerly shorn:
a lesson to the careless.
Whatever sins the Pope rescinds,
or parish priests connive at,
sloth never wins. Redress begins
with Shaving Ryan’s Privates.
Lovingly lauded.. they marauded.. rightly applauded
Saffa gaffers did thrill
Willow wielding wizards of Oz
Yielding…lampooned..marooned..jaffas
Festooned spill just like Seville .
Must remember..the ember burning
Yearning of Temba Bavuma
Kept his sense of humour
Despite being the victim of flimsy whimsy
Many a nasty rumour
I implore you to ignore the tumour
That is Michael Vaughan…dim..grim
Pompous pig or obnoxious prig
Having a dig..more clickbait hate p**n
Unsung and hamstrung..stoic heroic
Temba has brung salvation for a nation
With no Cronje bung..
The only stifling snub
Hell bent pundits in pulpits scream
Not just trifling .. no defending the Saffa culprits
Blunder of sending a sub par side
Alright trite s**e team down under..
Only one man stood sentry…Aidan Markram..often ignored..
Even deplored…a national pastime…his crime
Not being as sublime as in his teenage prime
But such touch..much gumption & grit
Did his bit…hit a century
Sod the rest…now a cricketing god
Against the odds.. has always saved
His Test best for the Aussie conquest..
No longer a sinner…the match winner..
Only one other Saffa..biff Smith’s
Scored more second innings tons..
They did vanquish their perpetual anguish
Their hullabaloo..voodoo..ending
The choke complex.. the hex hoodoo..
No longer Bill Murray day of the groundhog
Finally went the way of the underdog..
So Aidan and Temba we will always remember when
You gave South African Cricket their own
Homegrown ticket to the 25th of December..
Has been glummer.. Gory…still got the bummer
Of no tests in their upcoming home summer
But this a story of glory
Not being woke…not about race
The colour of his face
In history Temba Bavuma with such grace
The best ever test run chase at Lords
Nabbed his place…as the bespoke bloke & ace
Who broke the finals choke & grabbed the golden mace..
I think i made a terrible mistake,
i didn’t think it could be true
but who did you tell about me and what did i say about you
because it was going ever so perfectly, i was happy at the start
i told my friends your’re ever so handsome
you told your friend’s i’m so smart
and both of us were in it
we both wanted to be
i said my favourite thing about you is how you treat me
because it was so beautiful
so gentle so kind
you wiped tears from my eyes and you kissed my anxious mind
i said “oh i met this boy…”
im convinced he put stars in the sky because every time he looks at me
well
im a psychological sigh
i’m fun to be around and my only baggage is a purse
i said “he’s better than i could have ever imagined”
and then everything got worse
and i remember the moment distinctively i told a friend “look who i found!” they said you were perfect for me
that their jaw fell to the ground
i said how well it was going
how beautiful you talk about me
how you were “the book boyfriend that i never thought in real life i would see”
my friend probably thought i was just crazy
you were after all a guy i just met
but both of us i would have so easily bet because you were so funny
and oh darling
in the same sense of humour as i… alway’s texting me to hangout
you struggled to say goodbye
you struggled to speak around me, swooned when i wore a dress
i wanted everything to be perfect
instead i made it such a mess because they weren’t really my friend
i learned that too late
because days after, you pulled back said that for you “i shouldn’t wait”
and i stepped into my apartment , purse fell to the ground
it suddenly felt to heavy again when i remembered your laugh’s sound
and you weren’t around to wipe the tears
nobody kisses that anxious mind
i said “look who i found!”
you heard “better , you should find”
oh
so now i don’t talk about it
now i don’t talk much at all
because you never know who’s hopes that you tripped, when you talk about your fall