Laughter Schmafter

Laughter Schmafter

I used to roll with laughter most every day or so.
My parties were all riotous. No one would ever go
back home again till two or three or four or five or six.
And some would stay for breakfast, prerhaps hoping that I ‘d fix
my special chocolate waffles or orange berry strudels
or curried eggs or cheesy pie or strata made with noodles.
We’d story-tell and play charades and I admit, we’d drink
and stage our paper yacht races within the kitchen sink.
The guests might come in costume and some might bring a friend
for I had grown notorious for parties with no end.
When I was a teacher, I’d invite the whole darn staff.
Away from school, our hearts were gay. We dearly loved to laugh!
But this was years ago, my friend. Our hearts were young and gay.
Now that we’ve lived past sixty, we live a shorter day.
When I have my friends over to play a game or dine,
some find the spices don’t agree and others shun the wine.
Some have little dogs at home they have to feed by five.
Others have eye problems and find they cannot drive
after dark at all and so they have to leave by seven.
I guess our laughter’s done on earth. Perhaps we’ll laugh in heaven.

Daily Prompt: Roaring Laughter—What was the last thing that gave you a real, authentic, tearful, hearty belly laugh? Why was it so funny?

9 thoughts on “Laughter Schmafter

  1. Pingback: Little Man | Prairie Views

  2. grieflessons Post author

    Thanks, Cindy. This was a fast one and not entirely the truth. Occasionally there is still a great belly laugh–usually the result of a comment by a friend, but the days of loud riotous parties really are over. Perhaps just as well.


  3. Pingback: King Joffrey’s Meme = Roaring Laughter | Understanding and Embracing Diversity

  4. Ann O'Neal Garcia

    Fun, fun poem, fine rhyme and scan….what gets me is that you not only gave those crazy parties, but you’d get up and cook elaborate breakfasts for those who stayed till dawn? Weren’t you a little woozy?


  5. grieflessons Post author

    I don’t remember how elaborate the breakfasts were (the menus were, I admit, poetic license) and I seem to remember waking up and hearing noise downstairs and finding Patty Martin down there, cleaning up!!!


  6. Pingback: No News Like Really New | lifelessons – a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

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