A free-verse poem about the sound of a baby's laughter.
Most adults find a baby’s laughter
to be adorably delightful.
Upon reflection, a baby’s laugh
is remarkable because it is free
from the constraints adults place
upon their own laughter.
Adults let learned concerns taint
their ability to laugh: Will my laughing
draw unwanted attention to myself?
Will my laughing make me appear
foolish? Do I have an unusual-sounding
laugh? Will I offend the person whose
actions I am laughing at? Do I laugh
too loudly? Is my laughter inappropriate?
A baby’s laughter is pure; it is a natural,
instinctive response to some stimulus
that surprises or pleases the baby.
A baby’s laugh is genuine, unforced, loud,
and free; it is simple, unadulterated
joy unleashed.
Introspective adults hear in the laughter
of a baby something they have forever lost.
Strange, although you seem to show the difference between infant laughter and adulthood, I've never analyzed my laughter like that except, perhaps, when I saw myself being rather foolish on a video.
While talking to my 91-year-old mother recently on the phone, I have found that her voice has become rather high-pitched and childlike and she laughs at the end of every line.
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
Contraband Marriage, traveling along the hemline of loving after incarceration, is a love story written in lyric and free form, set in reality with a different ever after.
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While talking to my 91-year-old mother recently on the phone, I have found that her voice has become rather high-pitched and childlike and she laughs at the end of every line.
Ron