Poetry (pen) Pals #44
Poems that make you laugh
I realised earlier this week that what I am craving right now is laughter. I love being made to laugh. It might sound a bit against the grain, maybe even insensitive with what’s happening in the world but actually, I don’t think so. There are numerous poems which articulate better than I can the importance of retaining joy during darker times (“Joy is not made to be a crumb” - the line from Mary Oliver’s poem, ‘Don’t Hesitate’ that I think of often). And laughter for me is joyous.
This realisation came after stumbling upon a piece of writing that was light and exquisitely crafted, one of those essays where every line is a triumph. You know? One of those pieces by a genuinely impressive writer making their craft appear effortless (sometimes I do adore Substack). It was perfectly observed and very funny. Not punch line funny. More, ‘realise you’re smiling and even doing the odd chortle as you go’ funny.
“Ooh that felt good,” I reflected.
I think I can do funny (you should know at this point that I sometimes have this wildly misplaced confidence in my own abilities. Not a solid, built-from-experience, backed up confidence that serves me well at work and in general life but more a sort of random giddy puppy-ness that leads to me saying things like, “I can start a women’s football team” - when I’ve never kicked a ball in my life. Recent true story).
In fairness, I think I could write funny when everything felt a bit funnier and less apocalyptic. Or maybe that’s not true. Maybe funny is a muscle we exercise and I’ve just not been to the gym of lols enough recently. Tbf, the funniest writing I think I’ve ever done was during early motherhood when I was fairly close to the edge, exhausted and totally flummoxed at how you could go from feeling like life was perfectly achievable to staring blankly at this precious newborn wondering how the fuck you get a vest that is literally dripping in shit over a head.
Hmm, perhaps not that dissimilar to current reality then.
The day before said essay reading (of the accomplished writer) I’d read another titled, ‘20 ways to survive the ‘broligarchy’ (new word to me, shudder, there was a lot about online safety). Accomplished for a different reason (scary as shit). I’d read it and forwarded it to my brother for his thoughts - he’s the most tech savvy person I know - he’ll happily admit to being more tech savvy than me but less tech savvy than his 14yo son - so you know, that’s the level we’re working at here. Musk has his work cut out.
He’d sent me back some witty retort (not only is he tech savvy but he’s also one of the funniest people I know) which meant that my husband was saved from another light, “we’re all fucked” chat during our ‘working lunch date’ of ‘whatever we can find in the fridge’ eaten stood up at the kitchen side to a backdrop of, ‘teams meeting you should really be listening to.’ I know, romantic!)
Again, for a few minutes the edge was taken off. I laughed out loud.
My body un-tensed.
The line, “If you don’t laugh you’ll cry” works perfectly here. But maybe replacing cry with, “never get any sleep, or do any work or let your kids out the house/watch any sort of media ever again.” Actually, since I like to use therapist speak to lecture teach my kids important lessons over breakfast, I’d probably keep the word cry in, you know because crying is a necessary vessel for cleansing the soul (I also like to sneak in poetic language, damn their lack of poetry loving, I WILL wear them down). No, but genuinely, I am actually laugh crying most days over here, so maybe it should be, “If you don’t laugh and cry you’ll…” O.k, ignore this whole last paragraph, this line is not working at all.
Look, we absolutely don’t want the edge taken off forever, we need anger and rage and all the gritty emotions that instigate action. We couldn’t stop the full range of emotions if we tried. But notably, one of the last points in the ‘20 lessons to survive the broligarchy’ piece (you still following me?) was, “Take the piss - humour is a weapon.”
Humour is a weapon!
And I’ll continue to quote, because it enhances my point nicely - “Any man who feels the need to build a rocket is not overconfident about his masculinity. Work with that.” Would you look, I was mainly going down the route of humour being a weapon because, ‘laughter saves my sanity’ and a whole second reason to keep on with the comedy swooped on in.
So, we’ve established laughing is good and necessary and ok, back to poetry.
Ooh so poems that make you laugh. Rubs hands with glee (giddy puppy is back).
Not read many of those for a while. I went off hunting. The ones I’m going to share might lead a good old belly laugh / tea snort (my favourite of favourite things to happen) or they might not make you laugh at all, because what we find funny is fairly individual. I have quite a dark sense of humour, I’m probably not quite the one making the joke a bit too soon at the funeral (that’s my brother) but I’m definitely the one still laughing at it when everyone has returned to respectful silence.
Recently at my kids trumpet concert there was a joke about ‘feeling your instrument’ (actually it wasn’t a joke, it was a child’s trumpet concert, the teacher just said these words and it had been a long morning) which started me off giggling and ended up with my husbands eyes pleading with me to pull it back together because people were starting to stare. In my defence, when you are told something is not funny or appropriate to laugh it becomes at least fifty times funnier instantly. True fact. I was on the verge of having to leave the hall. I’m not proud. I was a well behaved kid at school but I do recall being asked to leave classes for laughing too hard. What did I say at the start - I just really like to laugh.
But hopefully at least one of these will bring a hint of a turned up lip. Go on, let yourself. We’re allowed.
‘Frau Freud’ by Carol Ann Duffy and her collection, The World’s Wife.
‘If Only Out of Vanity’ by Staceyann Chin. Brilliance.
‘An Invention of Collective Nouns’ by Brian Bilston, who of course was going to feature. I think he’s a great example of how humour can disarm a reader. His poetry is so often funny and light and I’m sure he has so many fans for purely this reason but don’t doubt he also has some important stuff he wants to say…once you and him are on good terms.
‘People Who Say Life is Short Aren’t Wrong They’re Just Kind of Annoying’ by
who goes by Mary Olivers Drunk Cousin on IG (you already know she’s funny, right?) I included this one mainly because I think the title is brilliant and might help us out in the next part. And also because I really like her as a poet.Your Poetry Writing Prompt
Surely to goodness you’re not going to go there and suggest we try and write something funny? I mean how do we even do that? Are you a comedy writing genius who is going to guide us through the process step-by-step?
Yes, and absolutely not (as noted I’m a very tired woman who finds mild innuendo amusing).
No idea mate. Nothing. But as I said last week, having no idea is bang on trend right now, so we’re just gonna have to go with it.
I did read yesterday (in another great post about joy actually) that comedy relies upon two things: a subversion of expectations and a perceived truth. I don’t know if that helps at all. I’ll be honest it mostly makes my head hurt but I am going to muse on it a little more.
I also have this to offer up, again by
which I think leads us towards allowing ourselves to be silly. Argh…child-like. That feels a bit weird doesn’t it (just me?)
I’ll tell you where I’m going to go, incase it helps. First up I’m probably going to try and write about something funny that happened in the past, as a sort of prose style poem, because I’ve done that before and it worked out ok.
Then, because that is clearly staying firmly in the old comfort zone, I might try and do something a bit more Brian Bilston’esq. URGH, it is so not my usual thing. I might employ the kids to help me out (already hearing excuses, tut, tut). I do not find it easy to let go of serious misery.
But I’m looking forward to it actually.
Might feel like a breath of fresh air. Anyone else need one of those?
Nelly xx
P.s This is a light-hearted take on a topic that I actually could spend a lot longer discussing with you. I think comedy genuinely does hold power and purpose. I think it’s really interesting. And also, if you’re not feeling like laughter is available to you right now, I get that too. I do. I’m sending love.
Dishwasher Wars: The Utter, Total Collapse of Civilization
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Picture this: me, a noble champion of order, standing before the open maw of the dishwasher. It’s a warzone. Plates sprawled like fallen soldiers, mugs doing headstands like they’ve joined a ceramic yoga class, and—oh, sweet mercy—a colander just hanging out on top of everything like it owns the place. Enter my wife, the agent of chaos, the dishwasher anarchist, the Picasso of “loading however the hell I feel like.”
.
Her philosophy? “If it fits, it washes.”
My philosophy? “This isn’t Tetris, Deborah!”
(And no, her name’s not Deborah, but it feels appropriately dramatic when I scream it in my head.)
.
She strolls into the kitchen, holding a cereal bowl like it’s a grenade. Plunk! It lands on a glass, upside-down, trapping water in a way that would make Archimedes roll in his grave. She looks at me, unbothered, like she hasn’t just committed a war crime. “What’s the big deal?” she asks, casually tossing a spoon into the cutlery rack pointy end up, which—let’s be honest—is one missed slip away from turning this into a crime scene.
.
“What’s the big deal?” I reply, my voice rising two octaves. “THE BIG DEAL is that dishes need water circulation. They can’t rinse if you pile them like a stack of pancakes at a truck stop!” She shrugs. SHRUGS. As if her apathy hasn’t just set back the dishwasher-loading cause by decades.
.
And yet—and this is where the universe kicks me square in the teeth—the dishes still come out clean. Clean! That mug she balanced upside-down like a drunken trapeze artist? Spotless. The glass imprisoned under the cereal bowl? Sparkling. The colander chilling like a frat bro at spring break? Not a crumb. And every time, she gives me that look. That “see, it worked” look. The same look you’d give someone who’s still hoarding VHS tapes “just in case.”
.
Now, I’d love to say I’m the bigger person here, but let’s be real. This is the hill I will die on. The Dishwasher Hill of Righteousness, where plates are vertical, bowls are angled, and justice reigns supreme. So every time she leaves the kitchen, I swoop in, a stealthy dish-ninja, rearranging her mess into art.
.
But here’s the kicker, folks. Here’s the zaniest, most infuriating part of all: she knows. SHE KNOWS I’ll do it. Which means this whole thing? It’s just a game to her. A game. And that, my friends, is why the Dishwasher Wars rage on.
.
Because this isn’t just about loading dishes. No, no, no. This is about pride. It’s about respect. It’s about the principle that a colander has no damn business lounging on top of my coffee mugs.
.
So yes, I’ll keep fighting this ridiculous battle. And when I’m 90, still rearranging her chaos into perfection, she’ll still be there, grinning, plunking a spoon in upside-down just to watch me lose my mind. And honestly? That’s love. Twisted, dishwasher-destroying love.
Thanks for sharing this. It made me write a few lines down, drawn from the short story “The circular ruins” by Borges.
In short, I agree that laugh is an essential part of our lives:)
What is so serious in the world?
I met an image of me
on a Monday—
It was busy office hours,
he was pleading to be forgotten
by all those demands.
I watched him get lost—
in that subtle fog,
like a musician,
looking for his instrument.
A dreamer—
waiting to awaken.
What is so serious in this world?
This painted canvas,
this fleeting moss
of now and then?
While on that noisy morning,
of trains and rushing hours,
in sorrow and relief he saw in the mirror—
a vision only he was,
A dream of someone else.
And laughed.