"chortle" poems
A uniquely unique me,
Is all I wanna be!
When you can be so special,
Why waste your own potential?
When I can move my ears,
And growl (although it's queer)
And choose how loud to ****
--consider it a type of art
When I can hiccup-fart-sneeze,
And appreciate blue cheese
And laugh and chortle and guffaw
--all my friends stare in awe.
When I can recite so many words,
(It doesn't mean I'm a nerd)
And snack 20 times a day
--don't judge okay...
When you can do all that,
Why feel the need to act?
Please just accept the fact
You are you and that's that!
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
They come and
Sale their wilderness
To the city!
They come and
Disseminate their chortle to city dwellers!
They come and
Teach business of honesty and humanity to the
People living in the jungle of concrete and sorrow!
They are prudent,
They are celebrant of
Compassion, peace and happiness!
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
I died yesterday, by my own hand,
And now here I am;
Standing like a ******* idiot in my kitchen,
And craving cornflakes.
The reasons why I did it seem hazy now;
All the buttoning and unbuttoning seemed to much,
Or else a love had left me,
And now I can't even grasp a bowl.
Stupid! That's what it is! Pure stupidity!
And I just want some ****** Crunchy Nut!
The bathrooms off-limits now;
It just makes me angry to see myself lying there,
No longer able to help anyone, least of all myself,
And that body didn't seem to care
About my cereal lust.
So here I am; staring at the cupboard,
But unable to open it,
and I don't even know if there's
any cereal left in the ****** thing anyway.
All those stupid myths about ghosts walking
Through walls was wrong apparently;
I'm just slowly fading away.
So here I am; craving cereal like a spoon.
The stupid spoon that I'm unable to grasp;
That seems to chortle, facelessly, at my attempts.
And being forever angry at that
Stupid idiot in the bathroom
For whom I feel nothing but contempt.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
How is it that all I see and believe
isn't more than what one can conceive?
Trapped inside these bound'ries of mine,
flipping and flopping down the stream of time,
my thoughts not more than the glint of sunshine.
So I laugh! I laugh! Great boisterous humor!
To laugh and to giggle at the falseness and rumors;
to snicker and snacker at the play of all forms;
to chortle and chuckle at deviations and norms;
I will laugh at the process as my soul transforms.
So I laugh! I laugh! Though pains may embitter!
To laugh and to giggle at all senseless chatter;
to snicker and snacker at what's caught within;
to chortle and chuckle at all that is sin;
I will laugh at the moment when nothing begins.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your fears!
We'll both laugh, together, at the grinding of gears;
we'll both giggle, together, at prophets and seers.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your aches!
Laugh with abandon at this game and its stakes;
laugh with abandon as this machinery breaks.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
We welcome you to the Shadow Realm,
Where we’ll show you how to feel.
So say fare-thee-well to all your flesh,
There’s those who like to peel!
We’ve seen the holy sin.
We’ve seen the just descend.
We killed in the beginning,
And we shall **** until the end!
Welcome to the Shadow place,
Where not one wound will heal.
It’s not your soul we’re after,
It’s the rest of you we’ll steal!
We bathe in blood and tears.
We relish in your pain.
We’re aroused by all your horrid fears.
Your madness keeps us sane.
Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
To where you’ll come to rest.
We ask that you have a heart,
So we can rip it from your chest!
We’ve made strong men crumble.
We’ve made fighters fall.
We’ve made runners stumble.
We’ve done it all.
Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where none have dared to tread.
Our roads are paved with polished bones,
And adorned with severed heads.
We cackle at your torture.
We chortle at your grief.
We caress your insides with our tongues,
And feast upon your teeth.
Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where we **** your every joy.
There is no chance for you here,
Where your organs are our toys!
So settle into mayhem.
Get cozy with the strife.
Say ‘hello’ to torment,
And say ‘goodbye’ to life.
Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where we show you how to feel.
It’s on no map nor tour nor cruise.
It’s your fear that makes it real!
And so you’re trapped in the Shadow Realm—
Where you’ll be ours ‘til the sun burns out—
But since we live inside your head,
You know what we’re about!
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
******* at tickling the ivories,
at inducing the jet buttons
to chortle, say, in a concerto ;
but I do strum and flirt
with those amazing royal,
88 unrepentant loyal
keys for Jupiter and Saturn,
for Mars and Neptune,
making a blank bland tune
for extraterrestrial beings for fun.
On the cosmic moors
the moon's whirling feet
cease for my discordance.
What a slurred entrance
by F in D major!
Only a novice--an amateur.
I'm no magnificent pianist,
O majestic Mercury.
Summon the stars the search
to lead for a supreme virtuoso,
one of no incongruent ingenuity
like this dilettante--a pseudo
music polymath, counsels Thebe.
A Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach?
Any of the greats scored above, as well
as geniuses like David and Handel.
Impressario fly! Flee thou away
and go get a classic maven.
Otherwise sleep there forever at Erebus,
never dream of waking up in Eden.
Circuitous world stops: strings break off
at the Earth's axis--
the Sun's panels pause
and darkness' movement begins
its own obscure notes to improvise:
apace demented melody
is released,-- bathos of symphony:
tinny wine of concord
settles on the lees of discord.
Asteroids hooting some ***** calls
when into the grand chrysolite chamber--
in her tailor-made blistering gown--
strolls in the coruscating Venus
in the sturdy arm of jaundiced Uranus,
garbed in his glistening stomacher.
Like a ball, all eyes are bouncing
hither and thither, up and down,
googling and ogling,
once more at them leering,
gaping at the irreplaceable paintings of
da Vinci, Picasso, and Van Gogh
cavorting upon the weightless walls
to the romantic performance of Strauss
in the palace orchestral of Bacchus.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
They will come and
Bliss us!
They will come and
Animate us!
They will come and
Resume us!
They will come
So, we decorate our abode!
They will come
So, I go for fishing!
They will come
So, she bakes cake!
They will come and
Make us vibrant! Nascent!
We are waiting for them
Year after year................
They will come.........
Bathe us with music and chortle......
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
Do you know what's funny?
No not a gaggle
Or a giggle
Or a chuckle
Nor a chortle
But a joke
Not a prank
Or a laugh
Or Baffonery
Nor a quip
That I have lived though
Not Survived
Or continued
Or maintained
Nor lasted
It's my love for you
Not admiration
Or devotion
Or obsession
Nor worship
That you do not return
Not respond
Or abide
Or answer
Nor give
Yet no matter what
I still want you
And need you
And feel you
Also can't live without you.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
I just saw a Man Who's Ego World Dwarf
All the Republicans who Have put forth
There announcement to run for the POTUS
And the Wisdom he Espised from the podium
Was shellacked with self spun bravada
His Claim to Fame in God's Name as
The Worlds Greatest Job Provider
Should in the Face of the Coming Race
Provide such Political Fodder
America he Said from his Enormous Head
Was nothing but a Nation of Stupid losers
The only safe Haven and path to the future
Was Guarded by a Caped Hero of the Dollar
In tights with a Diamond and T on his Chest
Red white and Blue Cape He Knew what's Best
He'd thru his vision change the Face of the World
And as he comes up with one, his plan will unfurl
As I watched CNN with a Chortle and a Laugh
If we Elect TRUMP for President its our own Gaff
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
The water drowns the sky
Obscuring it's face
It's stagnant over time
God clad in lace.
These sentences I'm structuring
Are designed to make you weep
These brain cells that I'm rupturing
Causing anti peace leak.
I compose these rhyming insults
Backwards and inside out
Loathe the Newly found results
That are tested about me around town.
I'm regularly ready to rip off the head
Of the hydra that has spent
The last of it's heads
By sticking out it's neck
Hanging it over the guillotine
To stir in all the gelatine
with the sugar to sweeten up the mix
The lay people on the street are starting to see the fix
The fix we call life
With the knives,
And the scythes,
And the cries,
And the ties,
And the strife,
And to buy,
And to cry,
And to lie,
And to spy
Then to die.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
Look, I found a new book to read,
This is a book of nonsense, indeed,
Titled, "The Amicable Divorce",
I did snicker and chortle, of course,
Who wrote this? Some toff,
I sit and read and scoff,
I wrote companion lit.,
Equally full of blip,
"Improve your kids' English,"
Real vivid vocab., that's the way,
What this witch wants to do to them,
Only one way to handle abusive men,
"Uppity, uppity, shove broomstick uppity."
"The Amicable Divorce"? Heavy, heavy,
Look, a brand new book to read,
"The Amicable Divorce", nonsense indeed.....
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
why why?
comes the
world-weary cry,
of a
solitary wolf
with pain
in it's
eyes
as the
cold wind
blows, to
herald the
snows and
carrion crows,
whose rancorous
laughter mock
the alone
without a
pack, the
single wolf
dies, under
grey skies
with none
to bare
witness except
maggots and
flies
and the
carrion crows
chortle in
mirth for
the unforgiving
world, cruel
mother earth
cares naught
for the
wolf who
found no
home
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
The slow trickle behind my bedroom wall,
alerts me to a subtle call.
"Help...help... save me from this cell."
But I cannot risk my sanity o'er my mind's concocted hell.
"Please... please... I miss life all too well."
Says I, "Do not stir me demon, my soul is not to sell."
I wrap the sheets around my ears and focus hard to sleep,
But a rest was not deserved for the demon craved to leap.
"I smell blood! I smell blood!
Like the sweetest rose-bud!"
Says I, "I smell nothing fiend!
You are only dreamed!
No reality in this is seen."
A chortle laugh is known just then while my walls begin to creak.
A drop of blood falls on my chest and grants a chilling shriek.
"Is it too late for reality to change its mind and let me die?"
The crimson stain upon my ceiling has deemed my end is nigh.
"Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Are you yet so vain?"
Says I, "I am not! I am not! Do cause me no more pain!"
A sharp crack of thunderous tempered toil rips a chasm through my soul.
The trickle, trickle, trickle, to sleep will never lull.
"Do you hear it? Do you see it? Do you envy all the dead?"
"I smell blood! I smell blood! But out gushes YOUR blood instead!"
And then a scream of biting hatred breaks the silence through.
The stain pours blood upon my room while tempest's force ensues.
The dead retreat,
Unto their sleep,
Now my only friend is you.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
You are in heaven, when she loves you.
You are in hell, when she scorn.
Her eyes have the power to shrivel your soul down to an insignificant little raisin.
Her smile melts bodies into congealed mush.
Without her say so, I’m merely anonymous,
A vagabond, some *****
Trotting through the fields, outside of her heart,
Hoping to gain entry past the gates.
The scent of her, intoxicating,
Like laughing gas,
A jovial inebriant,
As tranquillizing as her wholesome chortle.
Who or what am I, by comparison,
Without her eyes, her skin,
The taste of her lips,
A sip of blackberry brandy.
Her legs, more perfect, refined than David,
Between them, the Holy Grail of contentment,
Where life begins, where it can end,
At her say so— her command.
******* crafted by the hands of God,
I marvel at the sight of such beauty,
In such a grotesque world,
That she owns with her movement as graceful as the wind.
She makes me quiver, like salt on a slug,
As her silky, slick locks flip over her shoulders,
Those shoulders, help me,
Forget Greek architecture.
How dangerous it can be,
To tread through the seas of her love,
Anticipating rogue waves,
This schooner musn’t capsize.
Dancing with her, as if the last two on Earth,
I sway her body, closely against to mine,
Her passion radiating against my desire,
Bound to create a combustion greater than the Big Bang.
And that Big Bang, where our everything meets,
Her breaths, short but sweet,
Her gaze pierces through my existence,
As I force confidence daring to look into her eyes,
While I aim to satisfy her every desire.
If I should be so bold, so foolish,
To take her for granted,
May my soul burn in Hell,
For all of everlasting.
I’m nothing without that woman,
Women, thank God for ‘em,
For there is no greater rendition of Nirvana,
Accessible to mankind.
Nov 23, 2023
Nov 23, 2023 at 9:50 PM UTC
Is there a humour therapist in the house?
Sitting here, chortling, do not grouse,
If you abuse crumpets, men,
You undermine your own best interests, do you ken?
Then you don't get crumpet, men,
Or is men a rude word,
You're reaping what you earn,
You want a cup of tea from me?
Chortle, the magic word is please!
You would not believe this ham,
Feeding the world this spam,
You want fresh vegetables?
Frozen food, not dementiable,
You can get another better than me,
So what's wrong with you, prithee?
Yes, the catering staff is on a sitdown strike,
You'd best find yourself a loving wife,
Chortle, shut up snivelling, you grouse,
Is there a humour therapist in the house?
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
The world ended,
I ruffle my blanket to
cover
my cold feet.
A lovely
soundtrack of birds
chortle outside; never mind the mechanical
croaks & ***** howls.
I haven't seen a human
all day. The most underrated
turn-off is a mirror,
as I think to myself.
She must be distraught, on the
other side of town,
while I am loosely here
& not a text to cool me down.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
He dusted off the old rocking chair
& asked me to have a seat
He'd tell me what he was doing there
If I'd simply take a load off my feet
I found this gesture laughable
I would rather stand!
Then listen to another word
Uttered by this despicable Man!
But His confidence eluded Him
He knew I would protest
& yet I saw Him conceal a grin
At the denial of His request!
At this point, I couldn't even move
I could barely breathe
He acknowledged my discomfort, said,
"Very well" & took the seat!
As He sat there callously,
Scoping out the room
He said He just could not believe
The daffodils won't bloom!
This absurdity helped catch my breath
I quickly snapped to interject,
**** the flowers! **** this place!"
& turned to flee with great hast!
This made Him chortle with much glee
He barked, "Silly, girl, you cannot leave! I know you've known this all along, The Cottage is where your Soul belongs!"
I felt so angry I could cry
I hit my knees & pleaded: "WHY?!
I kicked You out so long ago! Don't speak to me as if You know!"
& this is where the story twists:
He dropped His grin & stood up quick
Now, controlled by His brown eyes
Forced to hear His every lie:
"I know that we have been apart, But that's no excuse to neglect your heart, & that is why I'm here again, to protect you from yourself, My friend..."
& that's the moment I lost my mind
To hear Him call me "friend"
As if His love, I could deny!
(So, instead, I was forced to pretend)
But He already knew my tricks
We played this game before
All this time Our stubbornness
Is the very quality We adored!
So, while He tried to lecture me
I quickly stoked a match
I had laced The Cottage previously
& dropped it on a kerosine-soaked mat!
& as I laughed maniacally
at the seconds we had left
To my surprise He grinned idly
As We slowly burned to death...
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Go to sleep my baby boy;
Momma’s only gonna be here
for a little while.
Nod your head my precious boy—
Can I kiss you
before I go?
I’ve waited ten dark years
to see your face,
and now I know—
Momma’s been a sinner
and she’s only gonna be here
for a little while.
Momma gripped the infant soul.
She clutched that child to her meager heart,
Hoping like a dying man in fever
To swallow salvation before his hour of going.
Then she heard the eerie angels singing—
The Man stepped out through the cloudy mantel.
She looked to Him and cried:
Oh Lord, please forgive me,
I’m an unwanted guest—
But I snuck in through a back door
And I’ve been to see my boy
before you send me on my way.
I’ve had a ten years’ wait
Since I’ve learned to love my baby,
Only let me stay,
Let me stay enough and be forgiven—
She descended, her back to the place
From which she had came
And the next of her days would be warmed
By the devil’s burly chortle,
By her midwife’s toil in the nursery of demons,
And the smoke from below,
Which rises through three worlds she’s seen
And scratches even the angels’ throats to coughing.
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 11:33 PM UTC
Peach the worst of the of my small lumps are like putty in your hands,
My armpits glow like a midsummers wasp!
My lips are haemorrhaging for the hamster gnawing on your legs, bath time gurgles in a desperate attempt to save humanity,
Bum-chortle, guff and blast; oO0pS it's all brown and runny!
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:06 AM UTC
It's rounding three-forty in the morning
And my reason for sleep is tugging at me like
Gravity to everything
Or a late-night host absolutely convinced
His guest is wittier than himself
And pulling the curtains as if to say "I've failed you"
Really, the only continuity here is the drumming purr,
Outsourced by the shuffling footsteps opposite my door
Of which I am deathly afraid
If they knew what I really did in here
And at this time of night?
Can't even think about it
"Probably ************ they would chortle
Shaking their heads in disappointment over my
Weakness of mind and overall
Failure to hide the sound of skin
But there are better things to do, are being done
Like paper poetry, terrible fortune cookie words
Stitched blindly so to sound nice
To feign significance
But there are better things to do
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
We are human
Walking traumas
Left untreated
Open wounds
Being leeched
To treat
The wrong fever
It is incongruous
Being inoculated
Against the wrong disease
Vaccinated with apathy
So we don’t feel
The sores that bleed
But you have to laugh
We are mortal
Not merely men
Nor women
More like
All the things
Around and in-between
Searching
Sub-consciously
For peace
Trying to sustain ourselves
While losing
Everyone else
Crying
But you have to laugh
We are little boxes of flesh
Lego people made to fit together
Chipped
Scratched
Lost and found
Each stress tearing at our flesh
Rending our skin
Like a thresher
Building internal and external pressure
Till we need release
****** and or emotional
But you have to laugh
Ready to cry
Sometimes
We are ready to die
Till the brain twitches
Till the broken switches
Leave you in stiches
And you see something strange
Irony or absurdity
Life twisted in its purity
On the verge of exploding
Not really knowing
But something hits
Something fits
Presses the right button
Slapstick
Stupidity
Intellectual curiosity
Sanity flipped on its heels
But you have to laugh
A chortle a choking gasp
The tension breaks
The air whooshes past
You have no control
You have to laugh
The world doesn’t change
Much
The feelings are still there
But with each laugh
It gets easier to bare
It’s a chemical reaction
With endorphins and stuff
But I don’t think you care
It’s just what you needed
To fight off the despair
So I say it again you have to laugh
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
melting
glaciers from the
Himalayas cascade
down green rugged mountains into
the Beas
and merrily
gurgle and chortle as
they dance around smooth white pebbles
and rocks
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
Farewell, Santiago
The waves chortle in ripples; his boat
corks from side to side, slapping the surface
with a bone-bow and starving fingertips:
both have lost their names. But he
gurgle-speaks to the gull and whispers
ancient lore along the foam-crackled crest.
He’s hooded and hunched,
an old scalawag that never found home
anywhere that didn’t drift like him.
Sand doesn’t speak his language anymore.
But the interwoven arms of corals
can tell stories by the North Star,
times when he was agile and supple;
knee-deep in seaweed and the salt-burbled edge.
The night he slit his palm with a pocket knife
and offered life bounty to the tides
in brotherhood; one drop in,
many drops out over the years
and frayed nets, unfurled ropes.
The redemption of hope glistened in cobalt scales
and weighed at market like poison vials,
polluted inky clouds tarnishing
every coin—hardly worth the bloodletting.
Not anymore.
Dusk fans out orchid and orange blaze;
he yawns a welcome to the mako at last.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC