"laughers" poems
We are on the hunt,
Hunting hunters, hunting.
And desolate travellers are we
Surprised by sinking ships
Wrapped in saran-wrap, forced to stick together
All reaching a Shakespearic end to a means that
never really mattered in the first place.
Is that what you believe now?
We are the players playing.
And we are the grey, sunken in eyes of a child needing sleep,
dreams of fishing for Nessie in the local lake,
far-fetched fantasies only exhausting the youth,
we are the needy needing.
Surprise me of your fleeting lost memories of old,
we are the laughter, laughers laughing.
We mock feeling, reality. The raw human emotives.
And we are the biting bile taste that follows slaughter and unsuspected chaos,
The moment pre-regret, where innocence is forever lost in a tossed about immoral sea. Salty and familiar.
And we are the prey, prayers preying
For things we can’t even remember like unmotivated love and a taste for fate.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 4:05 PM UTC
stern with his words
to discern his concerns to stranger's for their hearts. infallible to present emotion
through echoing laughers; a healing tone around the restless worries of his kin.
abound him is the aura of forgotten soul,
a classic remixed romantic
comparable to the chivalry lost to the courts of modern life.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:28 PM UTC
Conifer-covered hillside
in the hinterlands
of this sleepy town
on a warm day
in this mid-June
The unspoilt soil
neither grieves
nor revels
and there's no revelation in that-
just what you see.
It's just what you see.
The quivering quakeys
can't hack it even when they cackle-
an attempt to unravel the shackles of
their incomplete alchemy-
cause it's never enough
one laugh is never enough.
The high's always flanked
by a sunrise so rank
as to wrinkle the brows
of the loudest and proudest-
the laughers and criers, or livers and die-rs
Just give me the bliss of the birds
and a big lidless urn to retire my fire
when the work week expires
when I finally can see even truth holds some lies
and when the sun sets too low to appraise the horizon,
I'll fly.
I'll just fly.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
six million
Jews
six million
souls
six million
dreamers
six million
storytellers
six million
innocents
six million
fathers
six million
daughters
six million
mothers
six million
sons
six million
laughers
six million
singers
six million
dancers
six million
Jews
murdered
by one speck of
hate.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
I am from coffee,
from warm mugs and caffeine.
I am from the water in the pool,
Cool, soothing,
heavy scent of chlorine.
I am from the chattering birds
the buzzing summertime bugs
all the sounds hypnotically inducing sleep
every warm evening whilst drifting into dreamland.
I'm from support and jokes,
from Mark and Susan.
I'm from loud-talkers and long-laughers
and proud people,
from tradition and habit.
I'm from He was looking out for us
with unconditional love
and the memorized word in His name.
I'm from Shovel-Town and the Little Town,
hidden stale crackers and homemade cappelletti.
From Papa's white hammock
for napping on Thursdays,
the playground and pond and church along the walk.
Under the layer of dust is the photo book
preserving the people long past,
a stream of days before my time
to ignite curiosity all throughout my mind.
I am from those people and friends--
the twists and turns and decisions they made--
shaped from the very same stone from long ago.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
I surround myself with
Laughers, drinkers, talkers, thinkers,
Who convince me that the
USA had hand-drawn and cast
The moon into the sky
And that God was born in the
Grass and that's why
Flowers smell so heavenly.
And I believe them because
They send me stinging bolts
Settling, lingering zaps with
The swift gesture of their hand.
Reasons, I, engrossed as
Paper crushed in a fist.
I am curled in shame in
A fist like paper.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
Here comes the hug unto your soul
The vibe & feel
Touched listening ~ Flow
To ‘You’ are not the ‘All’ alone
To ‘We ‘are song to be & sing
The flight of world & round of being
The common die of day & night
The creative here of every dawn
The one of every wrong divine
As mirrors of waters show just why
How honest each lie lasts till done
While closing-down dominions’ won
To befriend the land & sky
While all must kiss our flesh good-bye
Why ‘do not fear’ as dying lives
To take not life from giving is
All the time in Laughers' way
All the way thought hatred's end
Every time no blame begins
By every sin that judgment fuels
What world of “all’ to be your fears
And still the world befriends you dwell
While alone with brain you think to chew
On every act of global peace
Till lost is cause for bubble's pop
What now if ‘All' your history lied
Here comes the hug unto your soul
The vibe, & feel
Touched listening
Flow
The ‘You’ are not of ‘All’ alone
The ‘We’ of song
To be & sing
The flight of world & round of being
© Copyright November 22nd, 2013 C.C. Arshagra
press22publishing
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Blessed are the father-hearted
The reluctant to be child parted
Blessed are the bushy bearded
The happy to be pulled and smearded
Blessed are the on-all-fours
The role-players with scary roars
Blessed are the rollers on floors
The willing to ignore both knee-sores
Blessed are the hearty laughers
The bellows of the not by half-ers
Blessed are the childlike fathers
And happy the children who follow soon after
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 2:52 AM UTC
#Chronology decaying within
the humour of passing
shadows.
For everything that's birthed
laughers at the finality
of death.
But is sullen when they hang
between both existences.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
We worry about our thoughts,
The way we talk, the way we walk.
We are too easily embarrassed by the little "fails" we make each day.
When he only thinks they are funny, creating a lighter way,
to look at things, on the brighter side, you feel a little better,
about yourself, your flaw, all written in a love letter.
I like to write, it shared my emotions, Using metaphors,
and other figurative devices, techniques that are used as emotional cures.
You ever wonder if what you're saying is right,
or things you bring up, might give the poor boy a fright.
When really, he didn't say anything to bring that thought across,
just you assuming, by his ok, so you toss,
you toss your heart out to him even more, convinced you're a ******
He LOVES you, you want to deny it, you don't feel you deserved to be love. R.I.L... not a typo.
R.I.L , rest in love, for in love you are truly never rested enough, insatiable hunger and thirst for more,
either to give or receive, you want to make sure he's sure, that you're sure.
but surely one day, it shall rest, for true love, is behind the blinds, hidden in a corner, beware,
beware of the emotional damaged, the psychotics, the stalkers, the late night talkers, the clingers, the criers, the touchy, the huggers, the takers, the jealous, the moody, the miserable, the laughers, the lifetime movie watchers, the imaginations, the achy ones, the ones with the weird fetish.
For behind the wet paint sign, if you choose to ignore a warning,
you most likely will slip and fall, fall in love.
It is not something you can comprehend so quickly, but takes time to digest,
through our heart and pumped out again, by one of those weird symptoms mentioned above.
Well all you got to do is relax, truly sleep, kick back and relax,
let the mind sore and let your inner chi ride roller-coasters,
let it come back, lets wake up and sing,
shrugs her shoulder it's girl thing.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
Annoying song was played over my ear's, my heart felt irritated like a thunder rumbling over and over.
The dancers were dancing get down .
The viewers shook their heads as if something is not right.
Tears fall
Blood sprayed.
Laughers laugh
All was an intention of playing the annoying song.
Respect were flashed away over water born toilet.
Older people dance the song with young ones.
Street become their bed room.
Home become their hotels and hotels become their homes.
Because of the annoying song.
Young women see granny as their age for social grants.
Every where they pour alcohol like water.
Water like tea and tea like a poison.
But they can always play the song that is annoying song
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Hello fellow poets and writers,
fellow thinkers, drinkers, laughers, boomers, doomers, zoomers, consumers, looters and last but not least voters.
What can be said of a year? 2020 was hell.
Even if you tried to list all of the events that happened thus far you'd still leave some out, we've had wildfires, two very near wars, a global pandemic, animals bringing disease back, massive storms, flooding, the fourth wave of naiz's, a violent head to head with police shootings, racism, food shortages, massive power outages and the shitlist goes on.
I never used to celebrate New Years because living in America it seemed pointless, it's not hard to survive a year anymore. We have all these creature comforts even despite the riots, the crash, the loss of jobs, of life, people are still somehow surviving, so I've always let New Years be for the birds but after this, I think we could all use a good laugh. A good single breath and a moment where we can just relax.
Leave your masks on, wave at your friend and just enjoy the fact that whoever is left, is still here.
Even writing this I'm not trying to be clever, this is no time for wit or sarcasm, there is no time for wordplay.
I just think right now we all need a reminder that we're ok. Somehow this will pass, this is what the world changing looks like, this is what keystone moments in history are like.
2020, a turning point in History.
Covid is far from over and politically, socially, racially, we still have a long way to go before we can rest, but there is no rest for the true believers, there is no rest for those weary of not having social justice or feeling discounted, their waking nights have become the waking world.
Adapt or die, change or get left behind. I know we won't end racism, we won't end people will still be bigots, but what we can do is reduce those numbers and leave them in the past, through proper education, time and an unrelenting show that people will be who they are and we share the world in peace or we risk repeating this hellscape we're in now.
If you've made it this far, well done. If you've made it this far consider this a hug, a handshake, a pat on the back. Consider this as someone who also is still here, I'll never meet you but ******* if we aren't in this fight together.
You are not alone.
-Jester.
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 6:22 PM UTC