"guffawing" poems - Hello Poetry

There is not much poetic about you but you are a good hearted person and these types of people are rare you bring out guffawing laughter from a mind familiar with sadness you picked me up and squeezed the air from my lungs and as I noticed my ribs shift about I felt as though I might crack in your arms you have kept me laughing and so I am thankful

0

May 26, 2013

May 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC

megan-mcf

Thomas

There is not much poetic about you but you are a good hearted person and these types of people are rare you bring out guffawing laughter from a mind familiar with sadness you picked me up and squeezed the air from my lungs and as I noticed my ribs shift about I felt as though I might crack in your arms you have kept me laughing and so I am thankful

12

Every so often he swings through town and makes his way into my bed, broad trunk filling the void this empty mattress reaffirms on the nights I sleep alone, which is most. I appreciate the infrequency with which he comes to visit, my door kept ajar, my heart kept comfortably closed, as he strolls in in his designer sneakers or boots, the noncommittal conversation flowing freely between us. Once I recall he rolled over, his hand sliding up my forearm, wrapping himself around my frame as I pulled out my phone to show him a photo, and he noticed his number wasn't saved, guffawing at my nonexistent concern for his permanence, or lack thereof. I like the way he laughs and the rare moments when we exchange something deeply personal about ourselves, complicated words and phrases transplanting simplistic nonverbal communication. He is handsome without being too **** he is smart without being argumentative; he is wealthy without being ostentatious; he is shy without being withdrawn; he is a lot of things, my finely filed fingernails not even beginning to scratch the surface of his otherwise intriguing layers, having tied my own hands behind my back. I need the way he doesn't need me, and him I. Sometimes I need his body heat, the gentle weight of a man's arm hanging on my curvy hip. There are moments when I need one of our witty but empty texting conversations, simple enough to read after too much Bordeaux. I need the something that exists in the nothing that he brings me.

0

Mar 2, 2015

Mar 2, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC

megb42290

Contact Info

Every so often he swings through town and makes his way into my bed, broad trunk filling the void this empty mattress reaffirms on the nights I sleep alone, which is most. I appreciate the infrequency with which he comes to visit, my door kept ajar, my heart kept comfortably closed, as he strolls in in his designer sneakers or boots, the noncommittal conversation flowing freely between us. Once I recall he rolled over, his hand sliding up my forearm, wrapping himself around my frame as I pulled out my phone to show him a photo, and he noticed his number wasn't saved, guffawing at my nonexistent concern for his permanence, or lack thereof. I like the way he laughs and the rare moments when we exchange something deeply personal about ourselves, complicated words and phrases transplanting simplistic nonverbal communication. He is handsome without being too **** he is smart without being argumentative; he is wealthy without being ostentatious; he is shy without being withdrawn; he is a lot of things, my finely filed fingernails not even beginning to scratch the surface of his otherwise intriguing layers, having tied my own hands behind my back. I need the way he doesn't need me, and him I. Sometimes I need his body heat, the gentle weight of a man's arm hanging on my curvy hip. There are moments when I need one of our witty but empty texting conversations, simple enough to read after too much Bordeaux. I need the something that exists in the nothing that he brings me.

61

At Fuller's emporium of whiskers and wine, As matches are struck on the no smoking sign. Mr Terry Fuller, of reddened face refined, Regiments and orders his elbows aligned; With stories of rumour, football, ******* Thieves, my boy and across Texas by trucking. He loudly regales to the spirits of faces, "Me and my boy have been to some places, we've seen some girls, he gave em' rub, As I was too busy running the pub." Howling as they're told, sighing in ease, Mr Daniels accusing "who's round is it please?" When shadowed in doorway, tip-toes, a pale boy. Stringy, svelte and painfully coy. Debate is lulled, as men catch scent. "Don't come in here boy, or your money'll be spent." Roaring,rumbling, the boy unsettled in mirth. "He can't buy any beer, he's only just had his birth." Half-pint of breath, the boy stammers to say. "I just was curious, i mean, I ask, if I may-" A bellowing fanfare, "Speak up or go away!" "I just wanted to know what you do with your day?" Mr Fuller, heaving his pink smirking bulk, anchored by his drink. "We work, we go home and we pub till we sink." Troughs raised in toast, raining down on bald heads. As the boy puzzling thinks what the bulbous man said. "Then tomorrow" yelped the youth. "What do you do after that?" "More of the same, till God's on the mat!." Throned by grey faces, blanketed in smoke, As the toothless, eggs titter at the nonsensical joke. Raising a tiny limb, "So this happens everyday?" Mr Fuller rubbed his hands, "I wouldn't have it another way." The alphas puffing , guffawing, dribbling beer down chins. And for blood-vesseled faces another story begins. As the silhouetted boy under a veil of tears, whispers "I'm so sorry" and leaves. In Fuller's emporium a silence ensued, The sound sat between them and quietly chewed. Every brow furrowed, as the beer didn't flow. A quiet conclusion. "The youth of today what do they know!" JWS

0

Dec 5, 2015

Dec 5, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC

joe-wiltshire-smith

At Fuller's Emporium

At Fuller's emporium of whiskers and wine, As matches are struck on the no smoking sign. Mr Terry Fuller, of reddened face refined, Regiments and orders his elbows aligned; With stories of rumour, football, ******* Thieves, my boy and across Texas by trucking. He loudly regales to the spirits of faces, "Me and my boy have been to some places, we've seen some girls, he gave em' rub, As I was too busy running the pub." Howling as they're told, sighing in ease, Mr Daniels accusing "who's round is it please?" When shadowed in doorway, tip-toes, a pale boy. Stringy, svelte and painfully coy. Debate is lulled, as men catch scent. "Don't come in here boy, or your money'll be spent." Roaring,rumbling, the boy unsettled in mirth. "He can't buy any beer, he's only just had his birth." Half-pint of breath, the boy stammers to say. "I just was curious, i mean, I ask, if I may-" A bellowing fanfare, "Speak up or go away!" "I just wanted to know what you do with your day?" Mr Fuller, heaving his pink smirking bulk, anchored by his drink. "We work, we go home and we pub till we sink." Troughs raised in toast, raining down on bald heads. As the boy puzzling thinks what the bulbous man said. "Then tomorrow" yelped the youth. "What do you do after that?" "More of the same, till God's on the mat!." Throned by grey faces, blanketed in smoke, As the toothless, eggs titter at the nonsensical joke. Raising a tiny limb, "So this happens everyday?" Mr Fuller rubbed his hands, "I wouldn't have it another way." The alphas puffing , guffawing, dribbling beer down chins. And for blood-vesseled faces another story begins. As the silhouetted boy under a veil of tears, whispers "I'm so sorry" and leaves. In Fuller's emporium a silence ensued, The sound sat between them and quietly chewed. Every brow furrowed, as the beer didn't flow. A quiet conclusion. "The youth of today what do they know!" JWS

40

The merchant is dead! He is no more. He’s dead. But once, in time, He was a young boy, Guffawing on Tethered rope swings. Loved and loving, Shy and silly. His needs had not yet Started to consume him. He was a young lad, A brash, hard-working lad, At times, even flippant, Yet passionate and caring, When he met our fair Melissa. His heart was instantly hers! He adored her, nonetheless Her heart was not free. At such a tender age He traded all for love, For unrequited love, and That was his falling. He was a good husband, later, When he married, another. Fair and caring, Plain and true. He raised his children to love and be loved, and Worked till his body Allowed him to. He grew old, As all and sundry seem to do. All wrinkly and turned, He had lived a straight life, And had set his self free. Yet, on his death bed, As he closed his eyes For the last time, One breath to breathe, He yearned for Melissa, And smiling, died. The merchant is dead! He lived a life, And died happily.

0

May 5, 2012

May 5, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC

a-de-carvalho

The merchant is dead

The merchant is dead! He is no more. He’s dead. But once, in time, He was a young boy, Guffawing on Tethered rope swings. Loved and loving, Shy and silly. His needs had not yet Started to consume him. He was a young lad, A brash, hard-working lad, At times, even flippant, Yet passionate and caring, When he met our fair Melissa. His heart was instantly hers! He adored her, nonetheless Her heart was not free. At such a tender age He traded all for love, For unrequited love, and That was his falling. He was a good husband, later, When he married, another. Fair and caring, Plain and true. He raised his children to love and be loved, and Worked till his body Allowed him to. He grew old, As all and sundry seem to do. All wrinkly and turned, He had lived a straight life, And had set his self free. Yet, on his death bed, As he closed his eyes For the last time, One breath to breathe, He yearned for Melissa, And smiling, died. The merchant is dead! He lived a life, And died happily.

45

It is generally supposed we come to this place As a just reward for treachery and traitorousness. Indeed, nothing could be farther from the truth; Most of my compatriots her have blindly hitched their fortunes To some flag, some shining dogma, our fates sealed Through an unwillingness to be sufficiently self-interested, The refusal to abandon ship once it became apparent That the experience upon the rocks Would be neither enabling nor ennobling. My own case is illustrative of the rule; My father, noble sovereign ascending to the throne Via parlor tricks and the rustic embrace of folk legend, (The fornication resulting in my birth brushed aside As some accident of mistaken identity or enchantment) Is celebrated, beatified really, in song and legend, Yet I, who pulled myself up by my own bootstraps as it were, Winning his queen’s hand and defeating him on the field, Am consigned to this unhappy place in perpetuity, Suffering demons who hiss ******* Usurper!* As they put me through my paces (One takes their rebukes with a grain of salt; They are all mad, the likely result of dealing with this glut of madmen.) As I noted, the presence of myself and my brethren in this place Serve as a testament to the merits of fidelity, Which we commemorate daily, some days several times (I confess it seems more than a touch silly, But the necessity of creating distractions Trumps other concerns in a locale such as this) By staging caucus races, each participant addressing The ******* in front of him directly, Paying it fealty--My liege! My liege!--which is answered in turn By a cannonade of noxious farting (We assume the smells to be offensive, As the atmosphere here is somewhat deleterious at all times) All to the great amusement of those sprites Who observe our machinations, They in turn guffawing madly and urinating downward upon us While we, as the acidic waste corrodes us, also cackle like lunatics, Fairly shouting Ah, the gentle rain of Heaven--thank you, Lord! Though, oddly enough, our laughter at times (Most likely due to the aridity of the atmosphere around us) Seems to catch a bit in the throat.

0

Feb 16, 2017

Feb 16, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC

wk-kortas

Mordred Ruminates (Sometimes Postulates, Possibly Fulminates) In Hell

It is generally supposed we come to this place As a just reward for treachery and traitorousness. Indeed, nothing could be farther from the truth; Most of my compatriots her have blindly hitched their fortunes To some flag, some shining dogma, our fates sealed Through an unwillingness to be sufficiently self-interested, The refusal to abandon ship once it became apparent That the experience upon the rocks Would be neither enabling nor ennobling. My own case is illustrative of the rule; My father, noble sovereign ascending to the throne Via parlor tricks and the rustic embrace of folk legend, (The fornication resulting in my birth brushed aside As some accident of mistaken identity or enchantment) Is celebrated, beatified really, in song and legend, Yet I, who pulled myself up by my own bootstraps as it were, Winning his queen’s hand and defeating him on the field, Am consigned to this unhappy place in perpetuity, Suffering demons who hiss ******* Usurper!* As they put me through my paces (One takes their rebukes with a grain of salt; They are all mad, the likely result of dealing with this glut of madmen.) As I noted, the presence of myself and my brethren in this place Serve as a testament to the merits of fidelity, Which we commemorate daily, some days several times (I confess it seems more than a touch silly, But the necessity of creating distractions Trumps other concerns in a locale such as this) By staging caucus races, each participant addressing The ******* in front of him directly, Paying it fealty--My liege! My liege!--which is answered in turn By a cannonade of noxious farting (We assume the smells to be offensive, As the atmosphere here is somewhat deleterious at all times) All to the great amusement of those sprites Who observe our machinations, They in turn guffawing madly and urinating downward upon us While we, as the acidic waste corrodes us, also cackle like lunatics, Fairly shouting Ah, the gentle rain of Heaven--thank you, Lord! Though, oddly enough, our laughter at times (Most likely due to the aridity of the atmosphere around us) Seems to catch a bit in the throat.

42

interlocking Complex(cities) a fortunate mixed complexion comprising of liberating schemes. the unnatural routine followed by beings with hindered genes i see them upload themselves in a virtual scene. i look up to them, twice binocular vision remix the visuals with binaural beats to keep me levitating before breaking into a fragmented piece. they’ve preached their nuisance to me i’ve definitely caught an anomaly i’ve heard them fabricating speech into something humble and noble i’ll wait till it’s my turn to be insidious i’ll spit radiation like Chernobyl to obliterate the ever growing regime. molecular regain they speak up to my senses to attain the consent of the eternal and beyond with an upright movement momentum i gain from forthcoming sonder while wandering down to the streets you’re listening to city dreams lean back, chime in with psychedelic scenes peripheral context sidetracked to prevent hindrance from the beings that are of obscene nature i’ve seen a lot of those nurturing themselves by ******* onto the future still stuck up on the yet coming past trying to get grips on the titular concept there’s authority with the ones who kept it flowing rugged strength no guffawing headed straight to the delirious ends of the rope always falling but never out of hope the stream that quenches the guilt of those showing up with guns just to pinch a loaf exterior combats come back to the present im here to steal the philosopher’s stone getting ****** just to soar above the stratosphere i went straight out of the blue sphere where i got to see the blues that fill up the majority of the crust ****** back to my grounds the velocity burned my rust thats a leap higher than the nukes you trust get to my location ask the Everest where im at it’ll point up to me and i’ll wave back but there’s a truth thats yet to be told i held the meeting of gods that weren’t sold nobody showed up neither the young nor the old except avowed fakes that claim to be woke

0

Sep 1, 2020

Sep 1, 2020 at 1:19 AM UTC

axxsh23

Interlocking Complexities

interlocking Complex(cities) a fortunate mixed complexion comprising of liberating schemes. the unnatural routine followed by beings with hindered genes i see them upload themselves in a virtual scene. i look up to them, twice binocular vision remix the visuals with binaural beats to keep me levitating before breaking into a fragmented piece. they’ve preached their nuisance to me i’ve definitely caught an anomaly i’ve heard them fabricating speech into something humble and noble i’ll wait till it’s my turn to be insidious i’ll spit radiation like Chernobyl to obliterate the ever growing regime. molecular regain they speak up to my senses to attain the consent of the eternal and beyond with an upright movement momentum i gain from forthcoming sonder while wandering down to the streets you’re listening to city dreams lean back, chime in with psychedelic scenes peripheral context sidetracked to prevent hindrance from the beings that are of obscene nature i’ve seen a lot of those nurturing themselves by ******* onto the future still stuck up on the yet coming past trying to get grips on the titular concept there’s authority with the ones who kept it flowing rugged strength no guffawing headed straight to the delirious ends of the rope always falling but never out of hope the stream that quenches the guilt of those showing up with guns just to pinch a loaf exterior combats come back to the present im here to steal the philosopher’s stone getting ****** just to soar above the stratosphere i went straight out of the blue sphere where i got to see the blues that fill up the majority of the crust ****** back to my grounds the velocity burned my rust thats a leap higher than the nukes you trust get to my location ask the Everest where im at it’ll point up to me and i’ll wave back but there’s a truth thats yet to be told i held the meeting of gods that weren’t sold nobody showed up neither the young nor the old except avowed fakes that claim to be woke

63

(A list that doesn't desist.) 1. These sleepy moments drive me crazy....for, sleep, i can't... 2. When I close my eyes, try to relax my mind, that's the time I cant. 3. Teasing images dance inside this head of mine. 4. No choice.....I open my eyes again, 5. I stare through the dark walls and ceiling, 6. In the dark, the truth is so stark,,like the devil, guffawing. 7. You sway, smile, you call me, you torment me. 8. Haven't got that kind of eraser, to delete your face, your memory... 9. There's no way out...you are indelible. 10. No amount of distraction could help, not even solitaire, crossword or sudoku. 11. I get paper and pencil, and start a list, 12. What could I do? what couldn't I do? 13. Exasperated, I reach for old journals, turn back the pages, 14. I read through drafts, my eyes take me to crumpled pages, so wet with sad memories, 15. The painful journey starts all over again... This time around, so cruel is the night.... Sally Copyright 2014 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

0

Oct 21, 2014

Oct 21, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC

sally-a-bayan

WEIRD FEELINGS

(A list that doesn't desist.) 1. These sleepy moments drive me crazy....for, sleep, i can't... 2. When I close my eyes, try to relax my mind, that's the time I cant. 3. Teasing images dance inside this head of mine. 4. No choice.....I open my eyes again, 5. I stare through the dark walls and ceiling, 6. In the dark, the truth is so stark,,like the devil, guffawing. 7. You sway, smile, you call me, you torment me. 8. Haven't got that kind of eraser, to delete your face, your memory... 9. There's no way out...you are indelible. 10. No amount of distraction could help, not even solitaire, crossword or sudoku. 11. I get paper and pencil, and start a list, 12. What could I do? what couldn't I do? 13. Exasperated, I reach for old journals, turn back the pages, 14. I read through drafts, my eyes take me to crumpled pages, so wet with sad memories, 15. The painful journey starts all over again... This time around, so cruel is the night.... Sally Copyright 2014 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

23

Get out there, my mother said, Tossing me out, Make friends Play Have fun. Standing there Seeing other kids playing house Fighting over toys Playing tag This is fun? Now I still stare with hollow eyes People guffawing Gesticulating Laughing Amidst clouds of smoke And bottles of alcohol Excitedly blathering on about inconsequential **** While I blink With all the enthusiasm of a cat I'm bored. These...creatures Cawing nonsense to the thin air Flapping arms to illustrate Fighting over carrion Bumming sticks off me Getting my food Borrowing cash Asking favors All this ******* noise Meaningless chatter About the flotsam of their petty existence About what happened to whom And oh my God you guys You'll never believe what who said I can't believe this and that how dare they All this horseshit Flowing Rushing Past me Wearing down my sanity All this hope and expectation Wasted on people On their shallow drama On the inevitable disappointments On the unnecessary negativity I'm going home.

0

Mar 26, 2014

Mar 26, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC

twoweekbender

Crows

Get out there, my mother said, Tossing me out, Make friends Play Have fun. Standing there Seeing other kids playing house Fighting over toys Playing tag This is fun? Now I still stare with hollow eyes People guffawing Gesticulating Laughing Amidst clouds of smoke And bottles of alcohol Excitedly blathering on about inconsequential **** While I blink With all the enthusiasm of a cat I'm bored. These...creatures Cawing nonsense to the thin air Flapping arms to illustrate Fighting over carrion Bumming sticks off me Getting my food Borrowing cash Asking favors All this ******* noise Meaningless chatter About the flotsam of their petty existence About what happened to whom And oh my God you guys You'll never believe what who said I can't believe this and that how dare they All this horseshit Flowing Rushing Past me Wearing down my sanity All this hope and expectation Wasted on people On their shallow drama On the inevitable disappointments On the unnecessary negativity I'm going home.

46

Ear, to burrow in quaking chests, pounding pink whilst sirens called and loud whistles of graveyards outkeep the unkempt—men, in their shawls of brown hung thinly like spider-silk or like apt shadows, swung deep and knit their brow low. Tongue, to pinching Khor, dragged down winding crawling asphalt, where men marched and limped on to the serpents and salt-seas which lead them guffawing, down and blackly sombre— charred palate quelled creaking groans of iced-marrow; but it bit back in fury and in mute litanies. Nose, to pyre in cotton-burnt glory, red-cent’s ****** odour sent all, sent many, to swoon Mr. Moon from silver times and to slice dawn thick with orange rind— the kind that stung the flesh beneath your bruised fingernails as a child, as you peeled. Teeth, to grate and whitely brace for cold and plunging lines that blighted everything in vertigo’s favor. There was them, there was me, and there was you— but, skulls you see were calcium's concern, as Earth, not the mother, consumed all, and condensed became life and breath to stone and mineral.

0

Nov 30, 2017

Nov 30, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC

deadeadead

Offer Up Senses To Whose Concern?

Ear, to burrow in quaking chests, pounding pink whilst sirens called and loud whistles of graveyards outkeep the unkempt—men, in their shawls of brown hung thinly like spider-silk or like apt shadows, swung deep and knit their brow low. Tongue, to pinching Khor, dragged down winding crawling asphalt, where men marched and limped on to the serpents and salt-seas which lead them guffawing, down and blackly sombre— charred palate quelled creaking groans of iced-marrow; but it bit back in fury and in mute litanies. Nose, to pyre in cotton-burnt glory, red-cent’s ****** odour sent all, sent many, to swoon Mr. Moon from silver times and to slice dawn thick with orange rind— the kind that stung the flesh beneath your bruised fingernails as a child, as you peeled. Teeth, to grate and whitely brace for cold and plunging lines that blighted everything in vertigo’s favor. There was them, there was me, and there was you— but, skulls you see were calcium's concern, as Earth, not the mother, consumed all, and condensed became life and breath to stone and mineral.

30

Episode A, as lives are recalled to the tv gen... Exposure to constant new boxes of thought in the quantum foaming theory bubbling in my soul, gurgling in my gut, and guffawing in my impression of Little Luke McCoy, in the barracks, got a big laugh, from Harvey Silverman, whom I gave company, unawares mind you, he was a stranger I was being kind, he made the rules for a bathroom craps game. No more roles after midnite, I said Aight, and we rolled the bones, and they rolled my way, at E-2 pay, sync'tupwatches witness, it is an new day, Harvey Silverman, from Las Vegas, via Philly, he says, I owe u 12 hundred dallahs, let me break the rule, he asks my permission, then makes eight straight passes, and I believe my eyes, I was that guy, Silverman died.

0

Sep 9, 2021

Sep 9, 2021 at 8:35 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Almost certainly fiction

Episode A, as lives are recalled to the tv gen... Exposure to constant new boxes of thought in the quantum foaming theory bubbling in my soul, gurgling in my gut, and guffawing in my impression of Little Luke McCoy, in the barracks, got a big laugh, from Harvey Silverman, whom I gave company, unawares mind you, he was a stranger I was being kind, he made the rules for a bathroom craps game. No more roles after midnite, I said Aight, and we rolled the bones, and they rolled my way, at E-2 pay, sync'tupwatches witness, it is an new day, Harvey Silverman, from Las Vegas, via Philly, he says, I owe u 12 hundred dallahs, let me break the rule, he asks my permission, then makes eight straight passes, and I believe my eyes, I was that guy, Silverman died.

23

Once More By Jorge Rangel I remember Selene shrieking. Even more, I hear you guffawing. She voiced "stop! your going to **** her". You shouted "once more " screaming in laughter. Our sister worried, caring for your safety. While we wrestled again louder and faster. I can't speak more of that day. Time has taken in its passing. My memories have faded with age. Broken-hearted a day can't be everlasting. Kids who previously played have grown up. Sharing more than blood in their veins. That day is gone to be back never. But a brothers love firmly remains. Silent,patient,waiting for you! To say “Once more” boisterously laughing.

0

Apr 25, 2018

Apr 25, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC

Dacriter

Once More

Once More By Jorge Rangel I remember Selene shrieking. Even more, I hear you guffawing. She voiced "stop! your going to **** her". You shouted "once more " screaming in laughter. Our sister worried, caring for your safety. While we wrestled again louder and faster. I can't speak more of that day. Time has taken in its passing. My memories have faded with age. Broken-hearted a day can't be everlasting. Kids who previously played have grown up. Sharing more than blood in their veins. That day is gone to be back never. But a brothers love firmly remains. Silent,patient,waiting for you! To say “Once more” boisterously laughing.

22