Laughter is Love Too

Laughter is the best remedy. My professor in Comic Spirit taught me this and it is the only lesson, above all the Shakespeare and Latin learnin’ I did in college, I keep and apply in my everyday life. I didn’t get to truly apply the lesson to heart until I went out into the workforce and witnessed man’s misery firsthand which surrounded me from job to job. Not too many people laughed. Not too many smiled. Not too many went out of their way to make someone laugh or smile. So then I understood why it was my professor was in such a frenzy for his students to learn the ideas behind the Comic Spirit, how the gift of laughter dismantles the individuals’ well-fortified facade which then enables him or her to participate in the human experience in a more communal manner.

This world swarms with selfish tendencies. We only think about ourselves most times, what we’re in it for and advancement at any cost. It may not be half bad, but when it compromises the well being of another human being, that’s a whole different story altogether. Without the ability to look at ourselves with a comic filter, to be able to laugh at ourselves, selfishness snowballs. Instead of love, we become hateful, detestable and miserable human beings ready to betray, ready to disregard, ready to dismember for whatever selfish cause we hold close to us.

Imagine then having just a touch of joy in our lives… the willingness to share joy with others, inspiring laughter/goodness in others, making an effort to connect with one another through laughter, perhaps mortality will be cut in half. The pain that at times encourages people to commit heinous acts against one another, may also be cut in half if not more because for once we decided to evaluate the love that reverberates from laughter. Laughter is connection, in essence, it is love too.

if it were laughter
i can wrap inside
a box and give to
you, i’d regift
myself over and over
if only you didn’t
shrink away, scare
so easily, disappointed
over my efforts
to make you laugh
because you refuse
to see how i can
unravel your sadness
with true elation

poem©mrg 3/22/17

turn the volume down

turn the volume down
(if you please)
stop this crescendo and
mute this noise you stir
in me, this elusive music
you taunt me with, even
as i detest the boldness
in which you infiltrate,
then disappear.
phantoms, i think, are
better at pulling cords,
and never did i cherish
how readily you unplug
and rip me, useless,
off your wall

poem©mrg 3/14/2017

the places we have been

the places we have been—
Jericho to Rome, Kathmandu
in Tibet, were never right
as rainstorms, and water
won’t recede in sinks clogged
with hairs, but an embrace
from you is enough to keep me
afloat as my spirit escapes
one last time into the
atmosphere, concerned over
the putrescence and the
ignorance which holds me
back from surrendering you.

poem©mrg 3/14/17

In The Plan, We Trust

Why is there this eagerness to get ahead of God’s plans? The need for us to take control and take over… well, it’s not His style. It was never His style and yet we try to bypass the rules and rush it anyway. It makes me laugh recalling all the times I tried to do this because the follow through and all the things that went wrong with it only returns me to square one where I needed to be in the first place. The world will unfold and everything will happen in accord to His plan, and all He asks is that we adhere to faith and trust that He has a better, well- written story for us to walk on. Despite all the challenges and struggles, the path shall mold us into the better hero or heroine. He usually does have the better story, except we’re always trying to interfere every time we get antsy and impatient.

let me be stricken
down to humble if ever
i try to pass the finish
line before my time.
unfold me away from
all the senseless
rigmarole, the long-
winded and complicated
talk which borders
rumors, fiction based
on cancerous tumors; how
fantastically i become
hideous and tedious
in my expectations
that i rush to end you
even before i can begin…
(i beg)
strike me down to humble.
strip me my pride.
flay me my ego.

poem©mrg 3/13/17

i’m trying to make sense of time

i’m trying to make sense of time
and this watermelon i have committed to,
never seeing through the age of prime.
i know i went too far slicing cantaloupes,
and i closed you off from my mind.

helplessly i observe the cycle go on,
leaves from branches drop to the ground.
never have i felt this rejected or blown
as when the trembling underneath makes you
impossible… i can’t want you for my own.

torturous nights naked with desire,
this solitude weighs in on my emptiness;
the constant yearning sets me on fire…
at night, i make believe you are mine,
but your absence turns me into a liar

poem©mrg 3/8/17