So you think you are funny

So, You Think You Are Funny?

Right then, deciding to become a comedian

Involves the task of deciding what type you’ll be,

A simple buffoon or a sesquipedalian

Have motives to get you to look at what they see

And method to do that and people they think will agree,


If Humour, as such, is the kind you desire,

Discovery leads, simply draw back any veil

To sympathetic audiences who require

Astute observations of life’s epic tale,

A laugh at ourselves when we’re great and when we fail,


When Wit is the aim of your smart intervention,

Light up a somewhere, somewhere no-one’s gone before,

Intelligent listeners will get your intention,

Surprise is essential to make its motives sure

And what wouldn’t we give to be witty to the core?


Should Satire take your wandering imagination,

You subtly want the world to this time get it right,

The self-satisfied, whether person or nation,

Accentuated absurdly, to great delight,

Are source and cause for satire’s somewhat dangerous plight,


If Sarcasm stands at the top of your wish list,

Inflicting a pain on a victim’s essential,

You’ll need a witness, so none of the good stuff’s missed,

A bitter inversion that’s ‘them referential’,

We get it, the victim is inconsequential,


Maybe Invective is your way to bring laughter,

You’re out to discredit, someone, or thing, brought down,

The public, in general, the listeners you’re after,

Want direct statements, like directions into town,

Bordering on a brutal or abusive clown,


Don’t forget Irony, plenty of mirth power,

Hiding away in exclusiveness’ high chair,

An inner-circle from the same ivory tower,

Very mysterious for those who are not there,

A two-tier joke where neither about either care,


And, of course, Cynicism, well worth attention,

Look for the smug and the ones that self-justify,

Then, to the respectable, be sure to mention

An expose of the former’s nakedness by

Sneering, mocking, of humanity drain us dry,


Finally, Sardonic fun, at this we’re quite good,

We’re looking here at self-relief, if I may say

And being almost as someone on there own would,

You wallow in pessimism, all is dismay

And God knows how you get to the end of the day,


What a palaver, deciding on which way to go,

With different reasons for playing a certain part,

A range of vast provinces, each a world to know,

We all laugh; we don’t all share funny in the heart,

So the mastership of methods is where I’ll start,

Or maybe not.

Sean Openshaw
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