A Dose of Laughter
I'm not well. Can't you tell?
Kinda low, so,
give me a dose of laughter.
Mirth will heal my every ill
and give me rest from my distress.
Now, give me a dose of laughter.
Glee can revive, keep me alive
and give me chance to happy dance.
So, give me a dose of laughter.
I'd crawl a mile for a smile;
but to get relief from my grief
I need a dose of laughter.
Isn't it plain that I'm in pain?
You can relieve if only you'd please
give me a dose of laughter.
Laughter is pure and can surely cure.
What ails my heart would soon depart
If I had a dose of laughter.
I can't be strong for very long.
I'm sinking fast, unless at last
you give me a dose of laughter.
I don't need a pill for my ill.
I'm just spent in lament
and require a dose of laughter.
I must retain what still remain;
but don't delay, I'm in a bad way.
Bring me a dose of laughter.
Though insecure, I want to endure.
But I'm drifting and need uplifting.
Please, give me a dose of laughter.
Even though, I don't know
what it contains that kills my pain.
Just give me a dose of laughter.
It works somehow, so come on now;
Let go of doubt, I can't do without
My healing dose of laughter.
If you wait around I'll surely be found
lying dead in my bed.
Rush me my dose of laughter.
Rev. Saundra L. Washington, is an ordained clergywoman, social worker, and Founder of AMEN Ministries, http://www.clergyservices4u.org. She is also the author of two coffee table books: Room Beneath the Snow, Poems that Preach and Negative Disturbances, Homilies that Teach.
MORE RESOURCES:
 New York Times | In a Poetry Event's Title, Fuel for Debate on a Slur New York Times Sandra María Estevez is participating in El Museo's poetry series, although she dislikes its title. Now that word forms the title of a poetry series — “Spic ... |
 Times Online | Politics needs poetry – so hooray for Herman Van Rompuy guardian.co.uk First let me say this: on balance, I would far rather that people in politics were writing poetry than not. Where are the poets in the House of Commons? ... EU snub for Blair is bad news for Ireland Profile: Herman Van Rompuy: eu's new president ROMPUY ROMPS IT |
 Irish Times | Brown professor wins national poetry award Providence Journal AP / Tina Fineberg The night before he won the National Book Award for poetry for his experimental work, “Transcendental Studies: A Trilogy,” ... Providence Poet Wins National Book Award Novelist Colum mccann wins book award Colum mccann wins major US fiction prize |
 Spicezee | GCU resonates with Faiz's poetry Daily Times Prof Dr Nabeela Kayani of the English Department presented a paper, describing Faiz as a pillar of Urdu poetry. Faiz rejected fascism, she said, ... Faiz's poetry - a beacon of light for oppressed GCU pays tribute to Faiz “Faiz was a revolution who is evergreen” |
Pick-Up Lines In Rome: Sexual Harassment Or Poetry? Huffington Post (blog) It was a beautiful summer day and that sentence was a joyful verse of poetry. I wasn't at all offended by it: it felt more like a serenade rather than a ... |
Poem of the day – Death of a little girl StarNewsOnline.com A PLACE FOR YOU TO SHARE YOUR POETRY, ANYTIME, ANYWHERE. Welcome to our online community of poets! I am an aspiring poet myself and would love for us to ... |
Poetry with a passion Honolulu Advertiser This was the venue for October's First Thursday Slam Poetry event. Over 25 poets read their work. Poems ranged from graphic to heart-wrenching to beat ... |
Medford students to read poetry, show art during Navy concert Dec. 4 Medford Transcript Anne Thompson, professor emeritus at Bates College, conducted two poetry workshops on Nov. 11 at the chamber office. About 30 students from grades 3 to 6 ... |
Cowboy poetry gathering at Whitman center Grand Junction Sentinel Two days of poetry, music and stories will fill the Whitman Education Center for the Grand Junction Cowboy Poetry Gathering. The Museum of Western Colorado ... Cowboy poets gather for weekend performances |
bad poetry a hit CU Columbia Spectator The Philolexian Society kicked off the 24th Alfred Joyce Kilmer Bad Poetry contest tonight to celebrate the shameful pleasure in good bad poetry. ... Bright life in US inspires Amherst poet In Litchfield, Poets Are Gathering |
Google News
Beautiful Dreamer, Stephen Foster, Americas First Folk Song Writer
"Beautiful Dreamer" was written by Stephen Foster just before his death in 1864 at age 37. The song became one of his most famous and most popular.
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic comment that just welled up inside my head - why cant we just do something - before many more are dead?How pious those politicians are,When up there on T.V.
Exalted Poetry; Two poem [and commentary]
Bells for Belphegor!..
Cruel World
Azra, Azra,Wake up Azra.Wake up Azra,It is time to go.
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the MagicAs you release old bondage Come out of hidingAnd see the starsFind the MagicAs you expose the painLet the tears flowAnd find beauty in your bodyFind the MagicAs you scream from the beatingRun from the threatsAnd feel the warmth of a hugFind the MagicAs the little girl is silencedTold she is too smart for her own goodAnd she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the MagicAs the ghosts creep into dreamHaunt your daily lifeAnd you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the MagicAs you drift out of your body, avoiding the angerObserve the separationAnd you join the body temple once again to rejoice in this unique wonderFind the MagicAs you listen to the conflicts andWatch in horrorAnd emerge from the water whole and beautiful in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, teacher and author. Contact her through her web site http://www.
Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish]
Lima, City with the Stretched out WingsIt's an ink-black night: no stars: a moon in sightJust dots of: red, green and white-white lightsAs the plane descends, descends, slides down On the long-drawn-out-spun-out lingering city of lights Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The sleepless city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea-Winding through the valley's, forests, and streams Stretches, stretches its naked wings-endlesslyAs,I'm descending, down, over and around the city(descending, descending, and sliding to the ground)The city with stretched out wings-and endless lightsDown, behind, around, the ground, it's immune to meI'm just part of its evening, a baptism in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights;People: walking, talking, sleeping, eating by the dotsPeople: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and another tomorrowThey say-:you are ruthless, and I know this to be trueAnd they tell me you have thieves and murders-And this, I dare say-but shall-is also true, very trueBut show me a city to the contrary of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with strong and hungry hearts;I say, show me one that sings in poverty and smilesProve me one that celebrates year-round of its heroesShow me painters that are as good-that sell on streets-As good as: Picasso, Dali, Rembrandt, and Yang YangAnd that welcomes the world with stretched out arms-Show me all this, or some of this, and I will say no moreWith this,I descend to its streets, its crowed winding streetsAs well as, to its neighborhoods with dust and soiled air,And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofsSights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the numerous food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, covering all-My Lima, Peru with its renowned Cathedral:Golden yellow with towering crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its wrinkled aged men, lovely women,They all stand tall and bow to its Inca history, its glory-Its world that once ruled all, like the Roman Empire,Like the American Dream, they were the noble, the kingsAnd now, from drudgery and toil, sweat and strive, all, all Grinding, grinding away, each and everyday, lover of the, King of Kings: Jesus Christ-this is the Lima I know today; a mighty ship that has already sailed the seven seas, now resting!?Spanish VersionLima,La ciudad con las alas extendidasTranslated by Rosa PealozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avin desciende, desciende, bajandoA la larga-extendida-plana persistente ciudad de luces Plana como un panqueque, encendida como un rbol de navidad-La despierta ciudad, con sus alas extendidasExtendidas desde las montaas hacia el ocanoZigzagueante a travs de los valles, bosques y riachuelosEstirando, estirando sus alas desnudas-interminablesMientras,Voy descendiendo, abajo, por encima y alrededor de la ciudad(Descendiendo, descendiendo, y deslizndose a la tierra)La ciudad con las alas extendidas-y luces interminablesAbajo, Abajo, detrs, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a mSlo soy parte de esta noche, un bautizado en su oscuro ocanoInvisible: gente, gatos, perros, pjaros, y ratas, infinidadIncontables: puntos, riachuelos de luz, puntos de luz; Gente: caminando, conversando, durmiendo, comiendo bajo los puntos de luzGente: esperando, matando, robando, rezando bajo los puntos de luzPor maana, maana y otro maanaEllos dicen--:Tu eres implacable, y yo se que esto es verdadY ellos me dicen t tienes ladrones, y muertes-Y esto, me atrevo a decir, que esto tambin es cierto, muy ciertoPero mustrame una ciudad de ocho millones contraria --?Sacudo mis puos y digo: "?mustrame," pero nadie lo haceTan viva, tan valerosa, con corazones fuertes y hambrientos:Digo, mustrame una que canta en pobreza, y sonrePrubame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del ao a sus hroesMustrame pintores tan buenos-que venden en las calles-Tan buenos como: Picasso, Dali, Rembrant y Yang YangY que recibe al mundo con extendidos brazosMustrame todo esto, o algo de esto, y no dir masCon esto,Desciendo a sus calles, atiborrada, zigzagueantes callesAs como su raro vecindario con polvo en el aireY oigo la risa de los nios, los perros en los techosVista de los lustrabotas, hombres y muchachos, en los parquesY los numerosos carros de comida, msicos y vendedores de peridicosY con su desnuda y desplumadas alas, cubriendo todo-Mi Lima, Per, con su renombrada catedral:Amarilla dorada con su coronadas torres, yDentro de su plaza cuadrada, una celebrada piletaBajo su piel, con sus arrugados ancianos, tiernas mujeres,Todos ellos parados altos, y reverenciando a su historia inca, sugloria-Su mundo que una vez gobern todo, como el Imperio RomanoComo el sueo de Amrica, ellos fueron los nobles, los reyesY ahora de pesadez, y esfuerzo, sudor, lucha, todos, todos extenuados, fatigados, este y cada da, amantes delRey de los Reyes: Jesucristo-esta es la Lima que conozco, hoy; un poderoso barco que ya naveg los siete mares, ahora descansando?Author/Poet Dennis Siluk, web site: http://dennissiluk.
The Merchant of Copan [In English and Spanish]
English VersionThe Merchant of Copan[480 AD]Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras courtyard in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the founder of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the spouse of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins.
Mother, I Dont Mind The Pain
I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one deeply loved. We come to accept the death and adjust our lives - rather begrudingly, but we do not recover, we survive.
Satirical Poetry About Tony Blair
All Hail.Is your hospital full of aliens, despite new cleaning firms,Antenna waving buggies, And creepy crawly germs,Then dont waste another second, now were into election spin,Just complain, over and again, and up pops smiley smiley grin.
The Last King of Mars [A Poetic Mytho]
[As Told by the Last] King: it was in the year 23,700 BC that one of the two moons of earth was hit by a meteor that of which, a great part of the moon broke off and hit earth's surface with a devastating impact. Thus the solar system absorbed a cataclysm in unimaginable proportions, from Jupiter to Mars; knocking Earth out of its 100,000-year Ice Age.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Discussion of How Do I Love Thee?
"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was written in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also titled Sonnet XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese.
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru-By the hills of HuancayoBlack Poncho was given A treasure of gold?;By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of scorching fruit;Hence, Black Poncho fooled The goblins of oldBy using his poncho to pullThe sizzling golden fruitThrough the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindledBy a jeweler of dire repute.Thus, his life changed (as so often they do);And now he lives with:Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
A World That Doesnt Care
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land.Hurricanes may devastate and leave us entirely bare.
The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins
Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant unravel time,you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self serving crime,to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed,when its purely posturing and posing, all about vanity and greed,to secure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years,is the extent of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears,when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you,leave relatives behind who see, that nothing you said was true,there is no thought now for those, whose number you dont count,they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount,no thought of resignation, no apology to those left behind,just onward with the ego, fast forward from those times,as if nothing ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok,as if now is what to focus on, and then was another day,lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen,not an affront to the living, not impeachable and obscene,you may want to move on now, and ignore your past infamy,but you should be tried for treason, and jailed for blasphemy.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?NamWere playing cards, singing songs;In a solo-room, back of the hutLay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And watching from a distanceWas his sidekick, Corporal Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fightThis bully of six-foot-twoDog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI wanted to fight him too.
The Art of Receiving Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your little writing fingers to use in an effort to refine your craft. What does it really mean when someone who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Lamenting Poetic Moods [six Poems]
Advance: in Mr. Siluk's poetry one finds symbolist values, sensuous impressions; verbal magic and even childish jingles; at times the popular 8-syllable verse (ballad metre).
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he expressed an interest in spirituality and later in life Kamalakanta received initiation into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
Colorful Talk
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [a Poem]
Daybreak at Pikes Creek[Summer of 2005]Daybreak by Lake SuperiorRising out of the woods like:A swamp mistI'm waiting for breakfast(at the B&B)I pace the groundsThe scent of green shrubbery:Trees, flora, flowers-rain Intoxicates me-Branches like big brown armsDescend?The embankment, to the rightBlue eyed, like mine-reflect From the creek beneath me(my wife says 'be careful'she went to get the camera)The greens and blues touchMy face and blue jeans-Reflections mirrored like Musical notes of a symphony(I'll see them later in pictures)For now, it's daybreakIn Minnesota.#813 8/26/2005Note: the author, Dennis Siluk, took his wife Rosa [me: on my birthday] to Lake Superior, this summer, and I adored the biggest lake in the world.
