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Laughter - Laughter
LAUGHTER - LAUGHTER
laughter - laughter here I come
to make my friend smile and calm
jump and jump to the left to the right
thru the day time and night
laughter - laughter here I am
to make true all the sweetest dreams
like my friend always has in sleep
thru the very beautiful night
that will never skip
laughter - laughter here we are
my friend and I are blab - blab - blab
and we are happy and careless
cause the better future are waiting for us
laughter - laughter, who are you?
WHAT! you don't recognize me?
I am sorry, I thought I know you
but just let it be
because a real friendship doesn't care who we are
(build a strong good friendship among us)
poem by Juahta Sitepu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Demagogue
Yawp, yawp, yawp!
Under the moon and sun.
It's aye the rabble,
And I to gabble,
And hey! for the tale that is never done.
'Chant, chant, chant!
To woo the reluctant vote.
I would I were dead
And my say were said
And my song were sung to its ultimate note.
'Stab, stab, stab!
Ah! the weapon between my teeth
I'm sick of the flash of it;
See how the slash of it
Misses the foeman to mangle the sheath!
'Boom, boom, boom!
I'm beating the mammoth drum.
My nethermost tripes
I blow into the pipes
It's oh! for the honors that never come!'
'Twas the dolorous blab
Of a tramping 'scab'
'Twas the eloquent Swift
Of the marvelous gift
The wild, weird, wonderful gift of gab!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The scab is a traitor to his God, his mother, and his class.
quote by Jack London
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Child’s contempt
Far worse than labour pain,
gnaws- raw without scab.
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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Scum Of The Earth
Sung by flash, spivs & floosies.
Flash: they call me the scum of the earth.
They say Im the scab of the nation.
But deep inside Im only human.
Just an ordinary man.
With ordinary plans.
They say Im crooked and bent,
They call me a rogue and a villain,
But if they could see deep inside me
Theyd see a heart that once was pure
Before it touched the evils of this world,
For if I cut myself I bleed
And if I catch a cold I sneeze.
Have I not eyes to help me see?
Have I not lungs to help me breathe?
Have I not hands, organs, senses
And affections just like you?
Stop the music.
Well aint I human
Like everybody else?
Before you condemn me my friends,
I suggest that you look deep inside you
For good and evil
Exist in all of us,
And no man is a saint
And each creates his heaven and his hell.
Chorus: we know that hes only a man.
Hes got feelings and faults
Just like everyone else.
Flash: so dont put me down because Ive done well,
For even wide boys, hoods and spivs
Have got the right to live.
Chorus: we know were the scum of the earth,
We know were the scab of the nation,
But were your enemies and your brothers
And no man is a saint
And deep down were all the same as one another.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Analysts keep having to pick away at the scab that the patient tries to form between himself and the analyst to cover over his wounds. The analyst keeps the surface raw, so that the wound will heal properly.
quote by Janet Malcolm
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Cupid's Arrow
The scab where Cupid's arrow had entered
had barely healed, leaving just a wisp of a scar
evident there; but the inner pain remained.
The sounds of its shaft, its purple burning shaft
is still present
to my muffled memory
which flinches from its approaching sound
its whoosh, its dull thud
piercing a heart valve,
denying blood to my feverished brain
which sounded the alarm that love
seen by many as Cupids blessing
but for me it was an arrow emptying out
my life's blood
outside and down, plunging
drawn by gravity
falling onto the maroon carpeting
invisible almost
while all around me urged that I celebrate
but I knew too
that heart valves burst too in love's first
volley
and that Cupid
is too, a mixed blessing.
But how to remove an embedded shaft
without causing the wound to shed one's very life blood,
or is it best to leave it in place, count the bliss
and ignore the tremendous event
many saw as unvarnished and good?
Why must Cupid's arrow steal from me my identify
in favor of a new merging one?
Why must Cupid's arrow involve blood?
And who is to explain the scab and pain
the wound brings
when love leaves
that hollow,
now bleeding vacuum,
which grows a scab
sometimes leaves a scar
plastered over with
urgings of 'you must move on.'
It is not that love is bad. It is not.
It is that it is transforming and the transforming
sometimes leaves me without a me I had known all my life
and the new me is merged with another
if they leave
I wonder what then what will I be left with?
Who has not pondered this?
Life then is the road traveled
strewn with Cupid's discarded arrows
and pained souls marching.
Yet, If I hear yet again
the shaft's approach
that whooshing sound
that Cupid's arrow makes
I know, I once again
will bare my chest
and take its plunge full on
because that is how Love is Made.
I remind myself of all of this as I prepare for the date.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Never Ever
when a politician uses the phrase
“never ever”
pick up your television, radio, phone or
PC (however it is that you are listening to the
person blab) &
hurl it out the nearest window.
if you are lucky (and have good aim) ,
it will come crashing down upon a sidewalk
or a street &
the person babbling lies
will stop doing so.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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By Invitation Only
If the murmurs were pointless in their renderings,
There would be few to feel offended.
But since they are not.
And begin to peel the scab off ignored wounds...
Pretensions are not that enjoyable.
Of course this brings back those memories.
And many prefer to believe they go unseen,
Hopping on one leg.
Or bleeding profusely...
During their 'By Invitation Only' cocktail parties.
~And how did YOU get in here? ~
'Through the door.
Why?
Was there another way? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Anger
Your anger
Bursts like a thunderstorm,
And torrential rain,
And flashes like lightening.
And when its spent
And an uncanny calm descends.
I feel like an uprooted tree.
Sharp words
Can hurt,
Deeper than a wound
By a sword.
It takes time
Before a scab forms,
And you move on.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Confidence
UNCLE JOHN, he makes me tired;
Thinks 'at he's jest so all-fired
Smart, 'at he kin pick up, so,
Ever'thing he wants to know.
Tried to ketch me up last night,
But you bet I wouldn't bite.
I jest kep' the smoothes' face,
But I led him sich a chase,
Couldn't corner me, you bet —
I skipped all the traps he set.
Makin' out he wan'ed to know
Who was this an' that girl's beau;
So's he'd find out, don't you see,
Who was goin' 'long with me.
But I answers jest ez sly,
An' I never winks my eye,
Tell he hollers with a whirl,
'Look here, ain't you got a girl?'
Y' ought 'o seen me spread my eyes,
Like he'd took me by surprise,
An' I said, 'Oh, Uncle John,
Never thought o' havin' one.'
An' somehow that seemed to tickle
Him an' he shelled out a nickel.
Then you ought to seen me leave
Jest a-laffin' in my sleeve.
Fool him — well, I guess I did;
He ain't on to this here kid.
Got a girl! well, I guess yes,
Got a dozen more or less,
But I got one reely one,
Not no foolin' ner no fun;
Fur I'm sweet on her, you see,
An' I ruther guess 'at she
Must be kinder sweet on me,
So we're keepin' company.
Honest Injun! this is true,
Ever' word I'm tellin' you!
But you won't be sich a scab
Ez to run aroun' an' blab.
Mebbe 't ain't the way with you,
But you know some fellers do.
Spoils a girl to let her know
'At you talk about her so.
Don't you know her? her name's Liz,
Nicest girl in town she is.
Purty? oh, git out, you gilly —
Liz 'ud purt 'nigh knock you silly.
Y' ought 'o see her when she's dressed
All up in her Sunday best,
All the fellers nudgin' me,
An' a-whisperin', gemunee!
Betcher life 'at I feel proud
When she passes by the crowd.
'T's kinder nice to be a-goin'
With a girl 'at makes some showin' —
One you know 'at hain't no snide,
Makes you feel so satisfied.
An' I'll tell you she's a trump,
Never even seen her jump
Like some silly girls 'ud do,
When I'd hide and holier 'Boo!'
She'd jest laff an' say 'Git out!
What you hollerin' about?'
When some girls 'ud have a fit
That 'un don't git skeered a bit,
Never makes a bit o' row
When she sees a worm er cow.
Them kind's few an' far between;
Bravest girl I ever seen.
Tell you 'nuther thing she'll do,
Mebbe you won't think it's true,
But if she's jest got a dime
She 'll go halvers ever' time.
Ah, you goose, you needn't laff;
That's the kinder girl to have.
If you knowed her like I do,
Guess you'd kinder like her too.
Tell you somep'n' if you'll swear
You won't tell it anywhere.
Oh, you got to cross yer heart
Earnest, truly, 'fore I start.
Well, one day I kissed her cheek;
Gee, but I felt cheap an' weak,
'Cause at first she kinder flared,
'N', gracious goodness! I was scared.
But I needn't been, fer la!
Why, she never told her ma.
That's what I call grit, don't you?
Sich a girl's worth stickin' to.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Persephone's lure
When time and tide have been denied
the chance to dance and regain pride
from lips that have so often lied,
I'll wait, I'll watch, I'll grieve.
When every story has been told
When all the warm bloods then run cold
When fractures festoon every mould
I still may not believe.
A frozen wish within my core
locked in the puss for evermore
a crusted scab around a sore
your final spell you weave.
How low can love belay this heart
a prisoner of a worthless art
Would I had known this from the start
I may have still been so naive?
poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Gunner
Did they send me away from my cat and my wife
To a doctor who poked me and counted my teeth,
To a line on a plain, to a stove in a tent?
Did I nod in the flies of the schools?
And the fighters rolled into the tracer like rabbits,
The blood froze over my splints like a scab --
Did I snore, all still and grey in the turret,
Till the palms rose out of the sea with my death?
And the world ends here, in the sand of a grave,
All my wars over? How easy it was to die!
Has my wife a pension of so many mice?
Did the medals go home to my cat?
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Hidden In Plain Sight
A name is more than a name
His true self lives in plain sight
Name reveals from where he came
Unscrambled letters bring to light
Barack Hussein Obama to be sure
Returns to Earth the “Sun of Ra”
Handsome, charismatic & cocksure
Young ‘n old alike do stand in awe
A true “Moab” with double meaning
“Of his father” or “Mother of all bombs”
Take from this the way you’re leaning
From The Koran or Biblical Psalms
Acronym exposes ‘neath the scab
“Sun Ra is back…He is a Moab”
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Flavius’s Girl: to Flavius
Flavius, unless your delights
were tasteless and inelegant,
you’d want to tell, and couldn’t be silent.
Surely you’re in love with some feverish
little whore: you’re ashamed to confess it.
Now, pointlessly silent, you don’t seem to be
idle of nights, it’s proclaimed by your bed
garlanded, fragrant with Syrian perfume,
squashed cushions and pillows, here and there,
and the trembling frame shaken,
quivering and wandering about.
But being silent does nothing for you.
Why? Spread thighs blab it’s not so,
if not quite what foolishness you commit.
How and whatever you’ve got, good or bad,
tell us. I want to name you and your loves
to the heavens in charming verse.
poem by Gaius Valerius Catullus
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Stephen Dorsey
Fly, heedless stranger, from this spot accurst,
Where rests in Satan an offender first
In point of greatness, as in point of time,
Of new-school rascals who proclaim their crime.
Skilled with a frank loquacity to blab
The dark arcana of each mighty grab,
And famed for lying from his early youth,
He sinned secure behind a veil of truth.
Some lock their lips upon their deeds; some write
A damning record and conceal from sight;
Some, with a lust of speaking, die to quell it.
His way to keep a secret was to tell it.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Heartless Reptile
The alligator makes love to
A cloud of the shape of
Grecian beauty; an entire pearled
Orchard bilious and queasy
In the heliotropic shadow of the
Broken down school bus;
I am the only one who
Sees;
Because all the kids are raucous
But well behaved in their
Lunch room,
And you are out on the soccer field
With scraped knees-
Tonight they will itch and scab in
Your bedroom,
And when you pick them you’ll
Stain the sheets;
And when famished, the
Cloud slips away,
Beckoned by the raw sun;
And the alligator doesn’t say
Anything;
It goes back to the canal,
And I crawl under the bus and smell
The sweat and tears shed in the
Purple soot for the heartless reptile.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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The Unbeloved
Not a woman, child, or man in
All this isle, that loves thee, C--ng.
Fools, whom gentle manners sway,
May incline to C--gh,
Princes, who old ladies love,
Of the Doctor may approve,
Chancery lads do not abhor
Their chatty, childish Chancellor.
In Liverpool some virtues strike,
And little Van's beneath dislike.
Tho, if I were to be dead for 't,
I could never love thee, H--t:
(Every man must have his way)
Other grey adulterers may.
But thou unamiable object,-
Dear to neither prince, nor subject;-
Veriest, meanest scab, for pelf
Fastning on the skin of Guelph,
Thou, thou must, surely, loathe thyself.
R. et R.
poem by Charles Lamb
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The House of Make Believe
In The House of Make Believe
We accept all wich are free
Be it worm or agressive bee
as long as your mind
has learn to see
in The House
of Make Believe
Make that noise
Provoke that shriek
Scratch that itch
Peel that scab
Let it bleed
You are the best
As we see
As long as your ID
is you
With us you'll sleep
During some day
During some moment
The stars will shine
and reflect your portrait
in the sea
A person is only worth
what their mind thinks
If those thoughts
are not masked by a lie
Then my friend
You are blessed
with Individuality
Your application
Impressive BEYOND belief
So here's your cot
among the misfit
among the minds
among the world changing
personalities
within this house
of Make Believe
poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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