The Humor of Life

“A sense of humor… is needed armor. Joy in one’s heart and some laughter on one’s lips is a sign that the person down deep has a pretty good grasp of life.”
~Hugh Sidey

Remember this, dear fellows: if you don’t have a sense of humor, you’ll never get out of life alive. Humor is divine in its way–an outlet, a defense mechanism, an escape. It holds at bay the devil of reality as sure as any intricate dose of reading, any flashing sea of lights we call the big screen. It softens our interactions toward others, steels our own resolves.

Writer or no, it’s something we should embrace. The soul yearns for what little lights it can get. Jokes go a long way. Do you think half of the writers of the world would have such endurance in the face of rejection without the ability to laugh? Don’t let the world get to you. Let it in, but then let it back out–with a laugh, and a smile.

Because if there’s one thing to remember about life: we’re all just passing through.

“A person without a sense of humor is like a wagon without springs. It’s jolted by every pebble on the road.”
~Henry Ward Beecher

Decaying in Orbit

We are drifting

You and I

I can see it in your eye

This sifting

Chasm lengthens

And the shadowed fens

Are growing.

That smile you once held for me

My smile

Is now a vacant stare

We look to one another

But there’s nothing there

Just silence

In the space

That once beheld our laughter.

Older, wiser

Colder

The child slithers from us

And so do we

These shadows lengthen

As we pull apart.

Still we look

Captive to memory

Unable to let go

But unable to remain

We are gripped and we are broken

And I am decaying in orbit

Around the very stars

That made my

Universe.

Nothing is as it seems

I woke up early this morning and literally rolled out of bed with this one on my mind. If it was related to dreams I had last night, then it’s probably a good thing I don’t remember them. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy:

Nothing is as it seems—

The old die old,

The young die young,

One perpetuates the other

In waves of maddening

Disillusion not withstanding—

We are players and audience

The stage ours to watch

And ours to play.

But where is the director?

The play plays on in

Such maddening discourses,

There is a plot twist somewhere—

Is this how it was written?

Read somewhere that parents should

They should never have to bury their children,

But the children fight their wars

And the children fight each other

And the old have lived it all.

The mind reflects in odd ways—

Always they remember the old days as better

Days, but they are gone.

Where is the proof?

The mind is fickle, it remembers

What it wants to remember

So the monologue seems better—

There is no difference.

The old are tired.

All they want to do is to lie down,

But they are watching and waiting—

Am I to die?—

But the young are restless

And in their roaming the world

Every moment and monument is theirs—

But they hasten to sleep

And they do not arise,

And the old weep and laugh in terror.