Laughter Poetry

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• All those laughters
  Are not always real
  All those faces in a park,
  Wrinkled and weary,
  Laugh in a circle,
  Devoid of happiness,
  No sign of a crinkle,
  Eyes without light,
  Devoid of life.
  Their happy sadness echoes,
  On the streets, in apartements,
  The dismal vibes reach us
  Yet they emanate the fake sentiments.
  Stoop a little and evesdrop that circle,
  They deceive emotions, black and purple,
  All you hear is a shouting troop,
  We know the truth of a laughing group.

• Man I got years of practice
  At making ‘em laugh at this
  And that shit
  Gas out my ass
  Shakespeare references
  Comic book characters
  Foreign accents
  Effeminate behavior
  Always a loving labor
  Smiles and chuckles
  To ease or eliminate
  The distance and uncertainty
  Between those I appreciate

• They’re your friends.
  You tell them anything and everything,
  but it hurts when your misery,
  your mistakes,
  becomes the butt of the jokes.
  And when they turn to you
  you’ll be laughing
  because
  they can see you laugh,
  but they can never see
  your stomach twisting
  or the bile
  rising in your throat.

• I think she was laughing
  And rolling her ocean blue eyes
  And smiling
  Just to do it all over again
  And I think I stepped outside because I was scared
  But she just kept laughing
  And I couldn’t even contain myself
  Watching her be so energetic
  But
  No one knew
  No one ever knew
  And I just wanted to know
  How can you be so sad and alone?

• In laughter we stretch the mouth from ear to ear,
  or at least in that direction,
  we bare our teeth and in that way reveal
  long-past stages in evolution
  when laughter still was an expression of
  triumph over a slain neighbour.
  We expel our breath right up from the throat,
  according to need we gently vibrate our
  vocal chords, if necessary we also touch our foreheads
  or the back of our heads, or we rub our hands or slap
  our thighs, and in that way reveal long-past stages
  when victory also presupposed
  fleetness of foot.
  Generally speaking, we laugh when we feel like laughing.
  In special instances we laugh
  when we don’t feel like laughing at all,
  we laugh because laughter is prescribed or
  we laugh because it isn’t prescribed.
  And so, in effect, we laugh all the time, if only
  to conceal the fact that all the time someone
  is laughing at us.

• I remember just a small boy
  I’d see on most days,
  Getting out of the car
  Id watch you walk away.
  My nephew had an obsession
  Oh man why high heels?
  I ask my little sister
  Hey now what’s the deal?
  She tells me that she hides them
  And puts them all away,
  She tries to do it sneaky
  Hoping maybe they’ll stay..
  It’s years now past
  We talk about today,
  He’d tell I love those shoes, Mom
  Because the noise they make…

• Laughter is the best medicine
  No matter how much one thinks they are ready
  They are never prepared for a tragedy
  Unexpected twists and turns in life
  Feels like being stabbed with a knife
  Such stress struggle and agony
  Nothing can cure it, not even money
  But there is one remedy
  And that is comedy
  Laughter is the best medicine
  Even when tears roll down
  A joke will turn my frown upside down
  Laughter is such a wonderful feeling
  It helps in any time of healing
  Laughter is the best medicine
  Depression can take you to a dark place
  How you view yourself and others you face
  But humor can be as powerful
  It makes you look and feel beautiful
  Laughter is the best medicine

• To laugh often and much
  to win the respect of intelligent people
  and the affection of children;
  to earn the appreciation of honest critics
  and endure the betrayal of false friends;
  to appreciate beauty;
  to find the best in others;
  to leave the world a bit better,
  whether by a healthy child,
  a garden patch
  or a redeemed social condition;
  to know even one life has breathed easier
  because you have lived.
  This is to have succeeded.

• From over the wall I could hear the laughter of women
  in a foreign tongue, in the sun-rinsed air of the city.
  They sat (so I thought) perfumed in their hats and their silks,
  in chairs on the grass amid flowers glowing and swaying.
  One spoke and the others rang like bells, oh so witty,
  like bells till the sound filled up the garden and lifted
  like bubbles spilling over the bricks that enclosed them,
  their happiness holding them, even if just for the moment.
  Although I did not understand a word they were saying,
  their sound surrounded me, fell on my shoulders and hair,
  and burst on my cheeks like kisses, and continued to fall,
  holding me there where I stood on the sidewalk listening.
  As I could not move, I had to hear them grow silent,
  and adjust myself to the clouds and the cooling air.
  The mumble of thunder rumbled out of the wall
  and the smacking of drops as the rain fell everywhere.

• Finally, I’m losing touch
  with my laughter.
  Often it is missing in the right places,
  or it explodes in the wrong ones,
  as if right and wrong were all the same thing,
  as if my laughter were not mine, but had a will of its own,
  roughly sketched in,
  not signifying happiness,
  just a part played by a clown in a silly play.
  Sometimes semi-laughter,
  or pseudo-laughter,
  or mad laughter
  contorts the intricate moulding
  that flakes from the face . . .
  Only the eyes laugh,
  Or the lips.
  The rest’s half-submerged in tranquil depths,
  glimmering like a rock
  that lifts up its face,
  shaped by millennia of pounding waves
  into a human semblance.