Wandering Words

Alas for me, I’m at a loss.

Wandering words have waddled away ~ taken my sense of humour with them!

Wobbly words poked their faces from nooks, crannies and cramped corners of my spent brain!

Wonderful words of two, or four or maybe six have winked at 

each other and shyly held hands, only to skip away down the road before I’ve time to line them up in poem, story or song.

What shall I do when at a loss?

Put my fingers on the keys and a few wayfaring words have set themselves down to rest.

“This is how you do it: you sit down at the keyboard and you put 

one word after another until it’s done.  It’s that easy, and that hard.”

~ Neil Gaiman

The Lightness of Laughter

When was the last time you laughed?

I mean a real deep belly laugh,

one that comes from inside your heart.

Not ready made polite laughter because someone else laughed or

when the situation seemed to call for laughter

but because real humour or joy bubbled up inside

with no time to suppress it.

When was the last time you laughed after a tragedy?

A laugh tempered with a mixture of guilt and relief?

Relief from
a sadness that seems glued to the soul.

Guilt because 

deep sadness after tragedy ‘should never’ stop ~

or no one really knows it’s timetable.

When was the last time you laughed just because?

Probably most days, 

some tiny joy as light as a feather,

maybe not even noticeable, 

touches us.

All those little bits of humour, laughter or smiles, 

built up over time

gently soften any heart 

making it vulnerable to deep joy.

“So many tangles in life are ultimately hopeless that

we have no appropriate sword other than laughter.”

~  Gordon W. Allport

Busy Trumps Humour

racing not pacing

running not funning

seriously smiling

definitely kindly

a drive ‘round the bend

this day almost to end

sliding into home

tapping out this small poem

Good night.

“Beware the barrenness of a busy life.”

~ Socrates

Taming the Meadow.....

...... the meadow that spreads through my back yard.

Daffodils, once bright yellow and strong, now have browning edges.

Grape hyacinths - great bunches in the corner by the shed - lightly perfume the air.

Grasses of many varieties, grow tall and strong, beautiful in their disarray.

The camellia bush, full of fading fuschia flowers, also browning, are still beautiful

The sun was warm, sky deep blue.  If there were clouds I must have missed them.

Tuning out traffic noise, 

listening to bird song and buzzing flies,

eyes roving over the clutter of flowers, grasses, and weeds ~

my yard became a beautiful meadow in spring.

Despite walking through my ‘meadow’,

and sitting in the warm sun,

almost all promises to myself were kept.

• an early morning conference call
• meeting notes
• made chicken soup
• candied some ginger
• made my lunches and suppers for the next four shifts
• did up all the dishes as I went
• cut the grass at the front and began on the ‘meadow’
• pulled some weeds.

With lighted hearted good humour, 

stepping carefully, and 

with a little imagination,

my feet carry me anywhere.

It has been a lovely day.

“The imagination is man’s power over nature.”

~ Wallace Stevens

Bright Spots

When comedians stand on stage,

each of us writes another page.

Memory books (chapter on humour) fill with names.

Sounds of laughter ring away any pains.

(Or something's just plain funny)

Many comedians are past and many fill the present.

Listing them all here would set quite a precedent.

I’m definitely no comedian but I do know how to laugh.

Some favourites of mine from my personal past.........

Carol Burnett

Lucille Ball

George Burns

Tim Conway

Bill Cosby

Harvey Korman

George Carlin

Red Skelton

There are so very many more.

How big is your score?

“I think there’s a part, just a part of comedians, that is still childlike.”

~ Bob Newhart

Humour Me

Morning dawned with crystal clear sky domed above Victoria.

Jeweled coats of frost adorned rooftops and windshields.

(Oh bother, I’ll have to scrape my windows this morning.)

From the windows at work, distant grey blue mountains still draped in glittering white finery etched themselves against the pristine azure sky.

The afternoon, frost long gone in warm sunshine, bustled with activity in Cook Street Village ~ shop doors opened to sunshine and brisk spring air.

“In the Spring, I have counted 136 different

kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.”

~ Mark Twain

Disguising Humour

Practical jokes 

are played on some folks 

with a sign on a back that says ‘kick me’,

or a chair with a cushion saying whoopie.

Mild and such very old jokes.

Good humour is lost 

when ridicule’s the goal.

Sensitivities hurt 

when bad jokes do roll.

Is either one wrong ~ 

to not laugh at what other’s find funny?

or to laugh when someone may hurt?

The joke is on all 

when humour turns mean,

or when meanness is 

disguised as a joke.

“Ridicule often checks what is absurd, and  

fully as often smothers that which is noble.”

~ Sir Walter Scott