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Cheeriness left me Monday.
Emotionless, I staggered at the news that,
the self proclaimed "The People's Poet" was dead.
In a crashing flood of emotion the 80's flooded back,
"Post Punk" Rick was no more.
Lord Flashheart was no more.
Alan Beresford B'stard was no more.
Drop Dead Fred had died.
Rik Mayall the comedian, actor, genius was no more.
No more catchphrases such as 'Hoorah' or 'Neeeeeiiiiillll'
No more, smashing frying pans into people 's faces,
No more ***** margarine, no more 'Bottom'
No more British anarchic, anti-establishment, alternative comedy.
My youth had died.
Getting old is quite simply a *******.
56 was too young.
But, never fear I do believe, that
"She has a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a man's tonsils"
Will be engraved upon my heart, just for M'Lord! Woof!
© JLB
11/06/2014
On hearing of Rik Mayall's death.
Judy Ponceby Jul 2011
So, let's see, cheeriness personified.
****** if I can think of anything depressing.
Again and again, my mind goes on ever and ever,
In search of that infernal lightening rod
To which the dark and dreary are attracted.
And yet, butterflies and billowing clouds,
erupt magnificently in full bloom.
Hiding in the nooks of my cranium
fluffy bunnies and poofy flowers.
Anything really to while away the hours.
And so I write about grand battles,
frogs on crack, and ladies in your lap.
Seems this perky cheeriness is infectious....

A wink and a nod to my friend Frank. ;)
Words provided by Frank for inspiration:
Don't. Ever. Write. Anything. So. ******. Depressing. Again.
Olivia Kent Nov 2014
Can we have a little cheeriness.
Please.
Rosy cheeks and smiles.
Get those clouds of misery and blow them all away.
Let's throw away all the bad things, lock them in a box.
Maybe ,even lose the key.
Bury all the bad things in an undisclosed location.
Never unearth them.
Leave them shut away.
Let the happy lovely feelings come on out to play.
(C) Livvi
Over-Complicated Jan 2019
I had a conversation a while ago
With a woman on the streets of Mexico.
She sold beads from her belt
And had flowers braided in her hair.
Her hair shined a million different shades of black and grey,
Each strand framing her beautiful, wise face.
Her skin glowed gold, shimmering prettier than any star.
As I approached, she said to me
"Hola, niño. Have you come to see the lights?"
I questioned her, as the boiling sun was the only light in the sky.
"Sí, the sun shines, but can you see the lights? They are brighter than the sun" Her broken English cracked through her smiling red lips.
I, naturally, was skeptical.
Her cheeriness and bounce was off-putting when combined with her talk.
"One day, these beads will lead you to the lights."
I bought some beads so that I could leave.
I felt the heat of her grin on the back of my neck as I walked away.
°°°
Years later, I walked those same streets of Mexico.
I saw a remarkably beautiful young woman
With an old, worn, brown belt
Selling colourful beads.
I asked her why a woman and gorgeous as her was on the streets marketing necklaces and strings.
"Have you come to see the lights?" She grinned a smile as hot as the sun.
I told her that I was not.
She laughed at me and she said,
"Oh, yes, you are."
She grinned at me and danced around me, enchanting me.
°°°
I am older now.
I am in love with the black haired woman.
She is my world.
With her, I created a child
So precious and so beautiful that I cry when I see her.
When I look at her,
I see irises bluer than the beads
And I see a light in her eyes that no star can ever rival.
I remember that one day
That I walked down the streets of Mexico, looking for nothing.
There, I found a light
That warms this home
And melts my heart.
Neha shimoga Jan 2016
That dusky face
Those dainty dark circles
That celestial mind
And that holy symmetrical, well formed smile can set everything straight and make me glow.
When we collide sparks fly which brings cheeriness and delectation.
And when I look into your bewitching and ravishing eyes that is when I feel forelsket, the beginning of love
My very first poem :')
Reilly Nicole Jul 2013
The smile on her face
Has been replaced with a frown
The cheeriness in her eyes
Has been replaced with emptiness
The laughter in her voice
Has been filled with sorrow
The blush on her cheeks
Has been stained with tears
The old scars on her skin
Have been renewed with a blade
The recovery she was so proud of
Has been taken away
i know you're depressed
know you just don't want to deal
with me
with anyone
don't feel like you can
don't feel like you can take anymore
don't feel like you can handle it all
it's just too much
all these people who Love you
who mean so well
who want to be the one to save you
to play the hero
be the one to make you smile again
they have no idea
can't feel what it's like
they don't understand that
for all their good intentions
their affections are just another burden
their attempts at Love and comfort just a
complicated social dance
they're forcing on you

i know you want to feel better
know you would if you could
but all their attempts to help you
just make you feel like a burden
to the people you Love
the ones you least want to burden
and why can't they see that only makes it worse
to have to choose between
disappointing them
when their attempts at cheeriness inevitably fail
or lying to them
and pretending to feel better
when you don't
not really
just to spare their feelings
can't they see that you don't have the energy
to even be responsible for your own feelings right now
much less anyone else's
why can't they just leave you alone

alone

isolated

simplified

reduced

quiet

numb

trying to let the pain fade
disappear into nothing at all
so in the blessed silence left behind
the spark may return
just maybe
to fan the flames again
to build the heat
and warm you back to life
but only if you can first get away
away from all of us
and all our Love and affections
and our mountains of best intentions
only if you can reduce all the noise
and complications
and lay still in your shallow depression

i know you're depressed
i know how you feel
i know i can't help
i know i'd only weigh you down further
and make it harder for you to get up again

but i also know
that I Love you

and that you are not alone
Morning
The bird at the window is not there this morning.
I hope the storm did not scare it away.
I was going to wear my flannel but decide against it
Everyone in this town thinks they look original in it
My mother made oatmeal and I pick out the raisins, but add extra brown sugar
Afternoon
I meet my best friend at the junk yard
We have known each other since we were two
We are looking for an old bicycle so I do not have to pester my bother for rides anymore
She thinks I do not notice she has been crying that morning
We find a yellow one and she tells me the cheeriness of it matches my face
Evening
I say good bye to my best friend, I have learned not to ask about her tears anymore
I know why, but we do not discuss it
My dad is pulling out weeds that never seem to stop growing
I show him my new bicycle
I kneel next to him and help him with the stubborn plants
Night
It is not storming tonight
My sister comes into my room with a book she wants me to read to her
We start exploring far off lands
When it is finished I tell her goodnight
I settle deep within my covers and let the moonlight flood over my freckled face.
Eloisa Feb 2019
When winter wind begins to howl around
and murmurs through my sad and lengthy days
I will sit down and try to write a  poem
and find my strength and solace in a phrase

When stand naked in the park are all the trees
and the plants in the garden stop to grow
I’ll write again another piece of poetry
and dream of cheeriness and love to flow

When sunrise seems scant, snow days aplenty
and dullness lingers long for months and end
I’ll write a verse to keep me company
and wish it be meaningful and well penned

The winter god will not dispirit me
when I send message with a poetry
~Snowy days ahead
NURUL AMALIA Sep 2016
Like the rainbow..
you are colorful, bring cheeriness into my soul
Like the star..
your charm can be seen from a distance
Like the rain..
Each grain is your love it makes me overwhelmed
Like the moon..
Every time can be changed but you are still you with a pure heart
Like the sun..
You touching me with the warmth
Like the wind..
you whisper the sweet words about love every second
Worst Nightmare Nov 2015
Staring at the mirror with lost thoughts
I realized cheeriness has gone
Smiles faded out
Hopes are drawn.

You knew
I look good when I wear your color
I taste better when I am seasoned with your odour
Oh yes, you knew
You were my better half
Did you forget the way you felt when I said you were all I have?

With you I could reach the peak of everest
Walk through the desert and fly high on the sky.
Oh stone-hearted girl!
Did u really forget those heavenly moment
When I slept on the pillow of your thigh?

Wondering on the land of nostalgia
Thinking of everything you said
Millions of memories plagued my head
Before you divert the path and turn me dead
Let me ask you,
Did you forget the way you felt in my bed?
susan Mar 2015
i've hoped
   i've lied
     i've been made a clown
just to seem happy
happiness does not come easy
   for me
i'm more comfortable in sadness
sadness i understand
sadness i cradle
hold close to my *****
cherish

i'll continue to project cheeriness
i'll continue to laugh
i'll continue to exclaim to the world
I ...AM...HAPPY!
just to be able to retire
   unaccompanied
in the dismal comfort
of aloneness.
cs May 2016
An impassible insensibility
abyssal tones of sapphire
snap inevitably into place.
A forever fruitless entity,
constantly lugging this
burdensome bag of bones.
Plastic enthusiasm and
fabricated cheeriness conceal
everlasting overcast and
grey skies.
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
well, sure, philosophers argue against the sophists,
or what they deem: the art of rhetoric,
the act of speaking persuasively -
             and that's grand, it really is... but then
some sophist comes along, say antiphon,
   and he says: i have an argument against
                               the anti-rhetoric of philosophers,
i have an answer against thinkers.
  a sophist's argument against philosophers is tiny,
like an atom, it's tiny, because it's but a single word;
now words are atoms, and letters aren't,
       in the same way that chemists see elements
as if atoms, and do not go beyond Fe (iron), Pb (lead),
        Xe (xeron)             N (nitrogen) -
because then their main endeavour is lost,
                        as would be the case in metallurgy -
i.e. there's nothing practical to do with the concept
atom in their field; given the chemical alphabet of
concerns and mandible parts is based on the system of
elements -
                     e.g.      a + b + e + g + i = being
        alt.          c + h + o (quantity of each) = ethanol (2c, 6h, 1o);

oh i'm pretty sure sophists have an argument against
philosophers, because what that argument is?
                              a *******                         thesaurus;
that's what i've noticed philosophers do,
       they engage in applying thesaurus rex in their
rhetoric... a sophist would apply rhetoric to mean one
thing, but actually another, which is called subversion
rather than rhetoric...
       he'll say one thing, but mean another, that's beyond
rhetoric, that's subversion -
                  that's how sophistry evolved over the years,
rhetoric (a), sure, but "rhetoric" (b)? that's the art of subverting
your eloquence at a persuasive argument;
       which leads into: **** sapiens? really? such a thing exists?
i'm inclined into **** schizoi - a split man,
                                           a multiplication of gemini.
but why philosophers and a ****** thesaurus?
well, they're using a rhetorical approach based on that ****** book,
they're juggling their arguments via synonyms,
they're not exactly genius alchemists in that respect,
first they say concept, then they say idea, then they might
say inspiration, or they then might say idealisation,
      and then they go bonkers and say talk about a chair,
and say: chairness       or chairiness
             they go beyond standard adjectives -
  and given that, look at the close proximity of what they're
trying to say, and the nearest possible "puzzle", like the word:
                                                  cheeriness;
cheer,        chair,                                 cherry!
                   trying to expand on the word chair can be
rather misguiding, considering you can very literally have oak,
and that's it!
                          there really have to be literal cul de sac
moments in philosophy, where a proper use of coherent language
can become manifest; which alligns itself with the zeitgeist
debacle of "proper" pronoun usage.
susan Jan 2015
writing about cheeriness
      isn't as soul gripping
as writing about despair



is the contented mind
                  uncreative?
OnwardFlame Apr 2019
With strong lean stability
He conducts his lessons with agility
He beckons his heart to open, to release
My eyes have opened wider upon his entrance.

I said from the beginning
I've gotten to where I prefer to
Jump right in with
Doing away
Assumptions.

I've been told some troubling ruthless things
I've been fighting off snakes
Humming and hissing into my beak
Like I should just await a sting
The thunder of the bite.

Looking into the eyes of the snakes
I recoil and find a new sense of grounding.

We made plans
You sing with a cheeriness
I have not known
And am so drawn to.

Summer is coming
I went away
To build myself back up
To become strong.
Too.

So I do.
Empire Sep 2019
It’s all fake
The smiles
The laughs

I don’t really feel them
But I know how to act
I know what you wanna see
I know what’ll convince you
I’m perfectly alright
I’m thriving
I’ll even believe it myself

But once my audience disappears
I empty out
There’s nothing left inside
Sometimes a dull ache
Or pain if I look far enough
Who even knows why anymore
I just... I just hurt
No reason
Just pain

How strange... to realize
The false demeanor is gone
Cheeriness melted away
Replaced with a stern countenance
For my burdens are heavy
But I can’t put them down
Travis Green Oct 2021
These men are all
On my mind
I can’t take flight
From these feelings
When I look at them
On my phone
I feel my body
Wildly swaying
With the exhilarating wind
Wrapped up in passion
Over dreadheads, fresh blend boys
Stylin’ n’ profilin’ studs
Doe boy fresh magic

Everywhere I turn
These sensations
Are growing stronger
Lasting longer than before
Stirring up memories
Of love scenes
Deeper than dreams
Makes me extremely
Feen to have them near me
Watch over me, stroke me
Love me, kiss me
Let me feel luminous cheeriness
Their peerless firmness
Their wondrous gentleness
In the darkness
should i sooth my ego: even though i don't really
think: i have one?
it is tired of claiming an i:
an i disappears in a crowd:
there's an it that can be spoken of:
but it is only spoken of as a disappearing act...
perhaps managing 100 people
is very much unlike supervising 10 people:
managing 100 people is entrusting
them in capsules of their own competence
an individual as a noumenon:
a thing-in-itself...
people: as a phenomenon...
philosophy in the work place:
i ingested plenty of hyperbolic fiction music
to contemplate
how i was offered this position:
hardly on the sly... someone ****** up
and i was drafted in to be a Quadrant Manager
on Level 1 at Wembley...
ah! my playing field! psychological testing
ground: like landing on the moon:
instead an alien format: an other: self-dismissive
being dropped into a cohort that's sole purpose
is to organize a crowd to enjoy a sport event
peacefully...
last night i had phantasmagorical injections
into my brain from the lived-experience...
it refreshed my sense of existence
a bit like when i first came to England
without knowledge of the tongue:
as they say in the para-Olympic sense
of a joke:
****'s sake ha ha: cut the legs and arms
off: throw the ******* torso into the water
and start the motivational chant of: swim...
swim! swim! almost with a sparrow-like
cheeriness...
i'm starting to see familiar faces
although: i'm the familiar face:
i don't recognize any of these faces
but they seem to recognize me...

just recently we lost a freak of a coworker:
13 years of experience in stewarding
and yet: no progression...
i'm actually glad he's dead:
i'm glad because he was like a Christ:
he actually allowed for the world
to take its revenge on him
but there was no revenge:
just bad luck or whatever:
regardless:
he was a hero-loser...
in that he allowed his idiosyncratic ways
to flourish in him:
had weird mannerisms and bad hygiene
habits: i can't blame him for being
poor...
but at least he wasn't a militant-loser
in the vein of Islam...
although i don't know what Anders Breivik
was:
dude was a ******* paramilitary anti-spy...
the intelligence of the man
and the amount of diligent rigor...
one man army...
i find no phobia when it comes to seeking
perfection...
and that has to be admired:
because... we are... reduced to... admiring:
what? celebrity culture?!
hawk tua girls?!
we want to admire the Lebanese botox babes
of attention *******?
why can't the Nazis be wondered:
fair play: the chimneys are not the pyramids...
but for some vapid gruel:
some confiscation of the lineage of language:
now that i've had the pleasure
of managing 100 people...
and i started so basic on the cordon
at gate 3 ensuring that no bags larger than
A4 would come from the cracks...
started there...
and i was just so silent:
i don't envision a career in security any time
soon:
but my great-grandfather ended up
being a security guard at a kindergarten
and that's where my first memory comes
from:
him as a shadow:
playing a piano while putting me
on the floor and giving me a toy piano
and that's when Liszt and Chopin
performed a duet...
before that? oh you know: war and ****...
working around that:
started off with a horse and carriage
distributing lemonade:
and when coffee first arrived:
people didn't know what to do with that ****
so they dumped the beans into the river
since they they not used to coffee:
only tea from Asia...
but i'm walking in his footsteps...

what does: having 100 people under me:
feel like...
well there's certainly no room to think
about it:
perfectly muddled:
for all i know i missed the three tier
register...
so first the company rep signs them in...
then the stadium at the turnstiles
sign them in:
then they are signed in at the position:
which i was supposed to be managing:
great start...
but i'm not such a technology Ludite:
**** it **** it ****! Luddite!
there! no red?!

                  so i was keeping the arithmetic
with my six supervisors
and all girlish like at virginity being lost:
oh help me: help me:
give me clues give me cues...
time to play innocent:
and once you figure out psychologies
and temperaments:
you can get a momentum going...
oh **** me this is psychology outside
of the classroom:
this is psychology on its own terms:
mine? do i have i to have any?

during the shift:
quebec one two can you please head
over to turnstile M to speak to Abigail
there's been some...
... ch' ch' ch'... ******* crackling...
half baked messages...
yeah: but i'm only doing turnstiles A B C...
why the **** do you need me
at turnstile M?
you said outside? i'm covering inside...
so i get to turnstile M
nothing there...
******* phantom idea...
as i walk back to my area...
who do i see... a celebrity by all accounts...

Sir Mark Rowley...
and his entourage...
   so i walk past and i'm scratching my head:
i've constantly being surveyed:
i don't mind it even a little
i'm a transparent creature
i now understand why males
in positions of power / authority could
enjoy a cuckold shift in power dynamic:
slightly pushing it... but i know where it comes
from...

take away from KAT MARIE...
watching my stacked wife *** on another
man's **** - touch my wife...

it's pushing it: i don't think this happens
in real life:
what probably happens in real life
is akin to Chuck Rhodes and his ****
******* vibe of being domineered
as a release from exerting authority:
and that's what i needed to relax to:
it's not satisfying to claim to have:
a creative outlet to manage 100 people:
supervise 30... but then there's managing 100...
maybe if i worked in retail:
i'd think i could have a better work-as-working
orientation:
since i started in construction
all other jobs have been rather...
Picasso... you know:
i'm not producing anything...
in a hunter gathered society:
so many genocides...
maybe i'm dismissive of the work i do
because i see so many people perform
the job so poorly:

point being! trouble starts in a quarter of an area
within the posit of a first potential ejection:
one happened peacefully
at the turnstiles: over a nugget of marijuana
and a roller to scrub the **** to a pill
to be sprinkled...
the fella left amusingly blessed with no scuffle...
see: now i understand the Labor Government:
Labor is Authoritarianism in England:
Conservatives are Liberals!
i'm starting to ******* love it!

i'm a creative spirit in public:
i'll write my fiasco: but i don't necessarily
blast it to the public:
it's something for individuals with enough
public scrutiny to appreciate:
but... the second coming of a Labor Government
since... that other: ******* fiasco...
and i'm kinda liking it:
in order to contain people:
i like the current Labor stance on policing...
if it starts with riots:
then what happens to other policing problems?
did policing suddenly get its mojo back?

Labor is Authoritarian: Labor is: Authors of
our won Fate: as the people: of England...
who are the Conservatives?
we are the Conservation attaches of project
beyond our concerns just so the middle
classes don't scoff... what is Conservatism?
i understand what Labor is:
it is authority: of authorship...
a bit like literature:
what are the conservatives these days?
clamor ******* ***** of sputnik
and i.o.u. of fish and chips on a Friday
and roast beef on a Sunday
what the **** did these conservatives "think":
oh wait... they didn't... hence the "claws"...

Labor begins with the police force:
i get a trickle of the purifying sensation:
it's not a career...
it will be a career if i get out of these *******
high viz jackets...
up to now i'm making lazy progressions:
but i have poetry on the side that
i don't want to make a spectacle of:
like Leibniz to my intuition
and Newton to my aversion to ambition...
oh god: Newton sacrificed his intuition
and probably more...
because he was an ambitious man
and social standing took precedence over
his original intentions:
his sexuality was probably involved:
suppose i shove a **** up your ***
and it comes out the tongue of the other:
rarely does it happen
that i shove my **** up a woman's ******
and i hear myself talking back to me:

Kauai offers no solutions:
only problems...
i have yet to hear her listen to and allow
me to speak of my problems...
we crossed the Rubicon of taboos
and non-taboos...
but... it's such an unfair supposition
to keep me in this prison:
but when a 50+ woman allows
you to gain experience...
you don't exactly start looking at 19 year girls
with a fetish...
although i have one curiosity to mind...

THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO
BE THE POEM I WAS THINKING OF!
THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO
BE THE POEM I WAS THINKING OF!

since yesterday
i have been filled with such subtleties of human
understanding that
it beggars belief whether or not language
is the pivotal motive, motif:
of how we speak:
overtly: language... yes...
but i just can't write about how else
i was communicated with...
writing this junk on a piece of paper is one
thing:
but experiencing the tides of subtleties...
nuances...
no poem can capture a lived experience:
no poem can capture a lived experience
in the hyperbolic realm...
i can drink some more...
smoke a little... then return to this canvas
and bleed it some more...
but that would be like:
killing a cow once...
getting the meat:
and instead of cooking the beef to
a medium rare perfection:
making a ******* Sunday roast out of it!
all dry and itchy on the teeth:
since you want the succulent blood to run
and sooth the saliva while you chew...

100 people: it's not a poet's monologue
on the stage... i'm not performing:
i'm: not even talking...
i'm insinuating...
i'm sorry: language, abstract, mathematics...
we were talking but on such a multifaceted
level: there were keys involved:
ghost agitated inanimate objects:
things got broken...
by "ghosts"... i ended up being a locksmith
at turnstile A...
so... writing poetry at this time?
yeah: well... if you work with a lot of people
and organize them... manage them:
watching t.v. is not going to be your outlet
of choice: nor is playing a lot of video
games...
but using your vocab... to catch yourself stuttering:
i slur from time to time
and i do waggle my tongue when word-tied
not tongue tied since bilingualism
involves two brains and only one tongue...
but that's that...

                  i had better private dreams....
image-words have no place here...
and i dream using image-words...
implying the words available are sounds:
wounds inflicted by daggers of skeletal precision
against some affluence of the deity
of a face represented without: the woo or wiggle...
but can you see wiggle or woo
as an image? or is it just a word...
so where do i find my image-words?
i'm not saying imagine...
                           that'a a different type of genius /
genie...
                oh a bad spelling
in terms of the image-word gives me nightmares:
beginning with:
onomatopoeia... but i don't even know
that sequence of letters as sounds when
transcript into letters:
i know that word not by the sound
but by the rhythm of me tapping the QWERTY...
onomatopoeia...
how i arrange my hands... and then utilize
my fingers: 2 hands 10 fingers...
and whoever uses QWERTY and doesn't
utilize either pink or thumb while doing so:
well...             not going to judge:
but even in the old movies when you saw
typewriters:
you hardly ever saw them using
either pink or thumb fingers since the clavishes
were so rigid that you required
the index, middle and ring fingers...
modern typing does require you the imagination
to use the pinky and the thumb...

not the poem i was expecting.

— The End —