The Rules of Humor
He had always been told by neighbors, friends, strangers in the market:
"You should be a comedian!" He was an irony, of sorts; what with his oversized
body and undersized shirt-he was bound to produce laughter. What was unknown
was his innate ability to remove the jester from the thief, to unmask the
dark fears hidden deep in the darkest regions of those whom we often go
to for joy. His sadness had always been his motivation. A silly cacophony
of laughter and tears would swell in the cobwebs of their tea-and-coffee
afternoons while she would fill his mind with images of a brighter future.
"One day," she told him, "you will dance, you will be the reason for a life
less ordinary." Of course he listened, she said everything he wanted to
hear. But this future, he would soon find out, was held together by the
weakest of threads. He would never see her smile again. He would never smile
again.
Alex Lambert, St. Louis, Missouri
The Rules of Humor
A persuasive and invasive beast
will hail from the East,
a funny soul to say the least.
And we won't mind or matter,
for only our values have decreased,
and yet, all the world is in our reach.
sitting in the palms of death,
stripped of your beauty and zest,
a time to taste our flesh.
A pound to be sure,
and then we'll fodder West,
Reaping and Sowing the pain, birthed in the Year of the Jest.
A Testament to our sharing--Drink me.
I could let you be me,
but only for a moment.
Misty Ellington, Plant City, FL
Humour
Oh, Japanese how you jest? Oh, woman how do you feel? I was once Samurai
warrior, a mighty man of steel. I now sit in your palm and you tell me
thoughts of life. I wish our roles were ever reversed, know also I wish
you were my wife. I think I've tricked my mind, with words of long ago
of Ming Dynasty, Khans, of mountains tall but how on Earth to show? I
balance, big on nimble feet, when I know I can only fall. I smile so
wide when inside I sob and weep. Oh, for a long gut laugh to serenade
the mountains, the sky, your face but I can't sing my dear I'm so mixed
up with care and fear, no cheer. I long to tell the truth, all of it as
it kind of grew , from something small as mustard seed into a thing like
an oak, a thing we all kinda knew. But my wise words turn to lies and
never catch your ear. Now all I know, my tie- knot Samurai Joe , is
farewell and how to die.
-Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, United Kingdom
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