The brightness of late summer light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight.
I love to  hold these earthly pleasures,
And so to fill my mind with treasures.

The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?

Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love's stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.

Those who are fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woes

Life is tragic comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Though if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Of our whole life we'll be bereave

Cello pieces make me feel so good
The middle range, the sonorous, the sweet
I listen to them if I’m in a mood

I prefer them to most humans, hiya dude
The rhythm, the singing, and the  gentle beat
Cello pieces make me feel so good

I like Bach  most when I am feeling blue
Rostropovich, I with love do greet
I listen to them if I’m in a mood

A viola is an octave  just above
I like them too  when I have toxic heat
String music  directs my heart to  God

Most composers wrote for violin, so loved
But difference and change is good when we’re replete
I love to hear the sounds of wind and wood.

When I love some music I repeat
At a concert never press delete!
Cellos  make me feel  that all is well
I soak there as the seas inside me swell.

Do you think it is worth paying for gift wrap on Amazon?
Do you ever eat meringues?
Are you diabetic?
Do you hear music as you clean your rattling teeth?
What is the difference between “endure” and “accept” and how do you accept?
Do you listen to the radio on your phone while pretending to be listening to a guest and if so, how?
How many watches have you got and why?
Did you know the young don’t use a watch, they look at their phone?
Can you imagine going out without your phone?
Does anyone ever say, to you Have you got the time, please?
Does anyone ever say anything to you outside of your home?
Is Prince Philip retiring because of his age?
Do you ever gossip? Tell me some!
What is gossip, anyway?
Do you think God controls that little green man on street crossings?
Are you selfish?
Do you believe God would create Hitler deliberately?
Do you go to the new church?
Why?

The hall of banking’s full of angst and fear
Pale people sit in  the once  empty chairs
Will we lose our money, our treasure?

Will Donald Trump press buttons nuclear?
Our ghostly anguish suddenly lies bare
The hall of banking’s full of angst and fear

At every level, we are  what we hear
And what we hear is not  quite  what is there
Will we lose our money, our treasure?

Possessed by image of  the great Shakespeare
Macbeth and Hamlet, recall old King Lear
The hall of banking’s full of angst and fear

We ponder  what is worst and what is dear
We wonder whether  Satan’s left his lair
Will we lose our money, our treasure?

But we are wealthy, we have all that’s fair
Compare us not to Murdoch and his Sky
The hall of banking’s full of angst and fear
Why not give some  money on  the poor?

Did you like Mrs May’s leather trousers?
Is Theresa May a strong person?
Do you like Trump’s hair?
How did you like the Urgent Care Centre?
Did you break you leg or was it always bent?
What do you think of the new buses.I fell over backwards on one.
Wow, there’s a new bus stop.If only  there were enough buses
Do you listen to music on your phone?I can’t stand up on mine!
Would you  emigrate to the USA?
Do they have Chip Shops over there?
Do you think it’s ok to forcibly pull passengers  off a plane?Only Asians, you say.Have they not suffered enough?
Did you see a new butcher’s shop has opened?
They sell smoked haddock
Were you always a vegetarian?
Have you got a postal vote?
Why not?
Are you tired of politics,elections and referenda?
No,I’,m not showing off I was born a like this.
My mother tried to send  me back but we didn’t have Amazon then otherwise I’d be a book!

Does God exist? What can this question mean?
Existence  is a concept  of the  mind
Who can weigh or measure the divine

We wonder if God ever has been seen
He was there before  the eyes unblind
Does God exist? What can this question mean?

Who was here before our voices screamed?
Was the essence of the world designed?
Who can weigh or measure the divine

Someone wrote a story , set a scene
The Burning Bush  spoke in its own  good time
Does God exist? What might this question mean?

We may meddle outside of the lines,
The danger of hubris is well  defined
Who would weigh or measure the divine?

I write with my old pen on paper lined
Infinite the resources of the mind
Does God exist? What will this question find?
Can we approach or kill what was divine?

Though the berry’s rich and sweet
As are its siblings from bright flowers
The old blackbird  disdains to eat

Like a human in defeat
Paralysed, inert for hours
Though their life is rich and sweet.

From  outer life, they now retreat
Yet the mind has purpose, power
So the dark bird will not eat.

The conscious mind in its conceit
Thinks it’s all and then will cower
Sad  since life is near and sweet.

Still, in me, my heart will beat
And petals decorative shower
Oh, the dark bird will not eat.

All around, mature trees tower
But the human world’s ordure
Though  red tberries are still sweet
The old blackbird for hate won’t eat

Doctor may I have a word
My head’s confused, my visions blurred
I walked into the wardrobe door
And all  my clothes jumped to the floor
I had nice burglars but they left
I had no  riches for  their theft
I have  cheap pendants and a watch
Nothing much for them to touch
I burned my dinner  and the pan
I don’t know when  all this began
Could it be a UTI?
Will you please test me today?
My feet are   dry ; my hands still  sweat
So my gloves get  much too wet
I think I’ll  lie down  and forget
The gelatine will never set

More Shel Silverstein

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/sick-by-shel-silverstein

How to Write Funny Poems

1. Read Responsibly: Never seek to copy the work of others. As read your favorite poems, pay attention to what you find funny and humorous. Often you’ll realize that your favorite poems are the ones that display the personality of the poet. The majority of funny poems come from funny people who do not care whether or not their poems are considered funny. In other words, you must find your own unique sense of humor.  Learn to make yourself laugh and the others will follow. Humor is purely a matter of opinion. Read responsibly. Read poetry to entertain yourself but never to get new ideas for your own poems. If you do, your new poetry will be someone’s old poetry. Some of the greatest humorous poets of our day contribute their success to writing their own unique poetry without contaminating their style with that of other writers. That being said, you should still read my poems. 😉

2. Make a List:Most poets suff

I feel soft ghostly hands around my throat

That want to pull me to the darkest deep

My husband cannot leave or be remote

He wishes me to join him in his sleep.

I shall resist for I desire to live

Though blind now are my hours without his face.

I have no more I hope to give

Since he withdrew from me his kind embrace.

As lonely as a swan without its mate.

As tired as swallows after they migrate

I must accept my unconsoled fate

I’ll not accept this be a constant state.

From my loss, I shall recover when

The birds return and summer comes again

Nowadays people have got the idea that writing helps one emotionally.Sometimes they have carried out experiments on groups of people and found the immune system was better on those who expressed their problems in writing.The scientific way  is one way to look at  it or we can use our experience,
With trauma writing or talking about it soo soon can make you feel worse.If it is an emotion like sorrow or anxiety it may help simply because if you start writing it is a form of distraction.
Apparently writing in form is better than free verse as it creates a  psychological container for the emotions.I read  Sylvia Plath might have been less depressed if she had written in form in her last year We can’t prove that
Another idea I have had is to use the energy of the emotion in your writing but write about something else.Using the energy is good for you.I think.I have done this and it helps because when we are upset we need to soothe ourselves.Some people clean out a drawer, for example.So if you write a letter about something different the act of writing  has a soothing effect.I assume you will not write a nasty letter or email as you will feel worse and upset the other person.
Poets have a higher suicide rate than other people but it’s hard to know what is cause and what is effect.
All writers spend a lot of time alone.Leonard Cohen needed that and it made his relationships hard for his partners so often they left him.He suffered from ssevere depression but said suicide was undignified!He managed to have a long career and certainly shared his feelings of love and loss and about politics.

I thought about me  trapping some  free verse
Where does it hang out when off the page?
I could change it to a sonnet, at my worst.

Humans were once hunters and we’re cursed
We still have the vision and the rage
I thought about me  trapping some  free verse

If verse were never free, it might get terse
Put a sign up saying, I’m engaged
I could change it to a sonnet, at the worst.

Into  slavish  forms we are coerced
Joan of Arc was burned  tied to a  stake
Who thought of her escaping or rebirth.?

If only human actions  were rehearsed
We could change our paths  as do snowflakes
I could change life to a sonnet, verse by verse.

Slit the sentence, take out all that aches
Sew it up and see the world  remade
I thought about me  trapping some  free verse
I could change it to a sonnet or digress

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/glossary-terms/detail/free-verse

Through the pain of grief our love displays.
Like fireworks decorate the sky above.,
The happiness we had in former years

The pain leaks out in tears from reddened eyes
Love too big to keep at a remove
Through the pain of grief this love displays.

But after seas are watered with dark tears
We  climb back  up the cliffs without our love,
Without the happiness we had before.

With the grief, ,we feel a  panic fear
As if the saddest loss were not enough
Through the pain of grief our love’s displayed

So we suffer loss in many layers
Unless our partner was a tyrant rough
We  had no happiness  in former years

All who love   inhabit tragic plays
Happiness  interwoven with  due loss
Through the pain of grief  for love we pay

A kindly friend with sympathy may soothe
And yet our minds are swollen, deeply bruised
Through the pain of grief our love displays.
The joy we took for granted every day

The sunset is pale
Coral with grey finger marks~
No bird sang today

Sensitive  souls don’t enter politics
They’re writers, artists, dreamers, parents, nerds
They would not give  assent to  dirty tricks

A pebble thrown feels like a heavy brick.
They grieve when feral cats catch garden birds.
Sensitive  souls will not like politics

They prefer a   real pen to a Bic
They do  not like to use distasteful words
They cannot give  assent to  dirty tricks

They wonder  whether  “Bricks ” are artistic
But often their bewilderment’s unshared
Sensitive  souls won’t enter politics

They’re resistant to being forced to answers quick
Their pleasure is quite easily  perturbed
They cannot give  assent to  dirty tricks

By news about fierce conflict, they’re disturbed
Feel the guilt  of  Crusades and of Wars
Sensitive  souls won’t enter politics
They cannot give  assent to  dirty tricks

The  hope of loving, guns combusted
She thinks  of love, but never acts it
He thinks  of her and then thinks past her

Laid out, her roses  alabaster
She folds her infants in, what tactics
We live to love, but death is faster

She burned his books, his mistress  mastered
The dictionary charred, now brown and spastic
Was that the smoke in which he’d  tossed her?

The  feel of loving surges swifter
The clothes they wore agon, elastic.
Metric, rhyme thus he confused her.

He  feels her still and feels  it juster
To betray , to  make her more didactic
When he’s the one who marred her lustre

Would you say  the dialogue’s defective
Or is it good to add invectives?
The lust of loving makes us  bastards
He longed  for her but lived on  after

The many coloured fishing boats at dawn
Floated on the cold and Northern sea
They sailed beneath  the  rising sun, adorned

The empty beach looked grave as if forlorn
Yet soon  the  boats would   decorate it free
Those many coloured fishing boats of dawn

These boats were fishing when I was newborn
And rings were  growing in the   churchyard’s trees
Boats sailed beneath  the  rising sun, adorned

I stood beside the window filled with joy.
The image of the boats made me well pleased.
Those many coloured fishing boats of dawn

From sacred moments  images will  form
To help us with our sorrow  when bereaved
We too shall sail beneath  the  sun divine

Unlike  our gold and  jewels none can steal
Our inner wealth, the hand  that turns the wheel
The many coloured fishing boats at dawn
Sailed beneath  the  rising sun, adorned

Trying to digest life’s strange and awful ploys.
Is it merely chance that brings them here?
Send me my mother and my little box of toys

I only wish I had a stronger voice
And a breastplate to protect me from the spears
Trying to digest life’s strange and awful ploys.

When I was a child, I liked to play with boys
As they tormented me, then I began to fear
Send me back to  mother and my little box of toys

For fifty years I’ve known love and all her joys
I have loved men but now  they look unclear
I hope to digest life’s deranged and awful ploys.

Some call me bold and others call me shy
I  wear a dress   like  my mother used to wear
Send me back to  Mammy and my little box of toys

Today was bad and now I feel  you sneer
I’ll hire a boat and row to Southend Pier
Trying to digest life’s strange and awful joys.
I need my Mammy and my little box of toys

We are little leaves upon the tree
We  never did control our  tiny worlds
The tree of life; what power, what  mystery

With metaphor, it’s easier to see
Life is tender, see each leaf unfurl
We are only leaves upon the tree

Singing in the sun we seem to be
Full of joy until the storm winds swirl
The tree of life; what power, what  mystery

Extinguished   candles   smoke at Tenebrae
We are blown to death however bold
We are little leaves upon the tree

Thus we sacrifice to God uncertainly
Yet as the wars continue, we grow cold
The tree of life; what power, what  mystery

Who has dropped us from the hands that hold?
Who has stolen certainty untold?
We are little leaves upon the tree
The tree of life; what power, what  mystery