A Dark and Stormy Night

As I was talking to a friend
One dark and stormy gloomy night,
He asked if I had ever tried
To write as funny as I might.

I knew this had to be something
That I should never try to do.
But my friend was so insistent
I sat and penned a line or two.

It was kind of weird and spooky;
The night, of course, was Halloween,
And ghosts and goblins lurked about;
Lots more than I had ever seen.

But writing at this late hour,
I found I wasn’t even tired,
Which now causes me to wonder:
Was I demonically inspired?

I tried to read the lines I wrote,
But try as hard to as I might,
My laughter caused my eyes to tear,
And then completely blurred my sight.

Next day I showed it to my friend.
I’d tried to write as he had said,
And as he read the first two lines,
I watched his face with hidden dread.

A face that never laughs nor smiles
Now broke into a toothy grin;
One that started at his forehead
And reached all the way to his chin.

The next line caused a slow chuckle,
Then laughter brought tears to his eyes;
The kind of laugh one can’t control,
No matter how hard someone tries.

I watched him read another line
Before he fell upon the floor.
I took the poem from his limp hand;
I saw that he could read no more.

Then 9-1-1 hung up on me;
They said no one can die of mirth.
His body shook and writhed in pain,
Just like a woman giving birth.

Two days and nights, without control,
My friend just rolled and tossed about.
That I could write a funny poem,
I’m sure no one will ever doubt.

And as I watched the agony
Of that suffering, wretched man,
I swore I never would again
Try writing funny as I can.

Everyone who writes must surely want to sometime start a story with ‘One Dark And Stormy Night.’ Well, I did it; it may not fit but I don’t care.

We have a friend in Louisiana who requested that I start writing funny again, after Ruth sent her several of my more serious poems. Now everyone is asking me for a copy of the poem that killed the poor guy. Seems some people just like to live dangerously.

Just for your information, he spent a week in intensive care and then died happy. So rather then having to register it as a dangerous weapon, I destroyed the poem. I keep forgetting that this is a Halloween poem and not one for April Fool’s Day!

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