Laughter, with us, is no great undertaking,
A sudden wave that breaks and dies in breaking.
Laughter with Mrs. Reece is much less simple:
It germinates, it spreads, dimple by dimple,
From small beginnings, things of easy girth,
To formidable redundancies of mirth.
Clusters of subterranean chuckles rise
And presently the circles of her eyes
Close into slits and all the woman heaves
As a great elm with all its mounds of leaves
Wallows before the storm. From hidden sources
A mustering of blind volcanic forces
Takes her and shakes her till she sobs and gapes.
Then all that load of bottled mirth escapes
In one wild crow, a lifting of huge hands,
And creaking stays, a visage that expands
In scarlet ridge and furrow. Thence collapse,
A hanging head, a feeble hand that flaps
An apron-end to stir an air and waft
A steaming face. And Mrs. Reece has laughed.
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Comments
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Mrs. Reece Laughs
From guest CherryB (contact)
I did choral speaking at Secondary School in Trinidad and I've always loved this Poetry. It always makes me laugh. Thank you. -
Eisteddfod
From guest Derrick Roberts (contact)
I recited this poem in an Eisteddfod as a child and it has always stayed with me! -
I can visualise Mrs Reece as a 'cuddly' lady as she is described here as a 'great elm'. An infectious laugh i feel and very comforting to be around when she erupts into laughter, creaking stays and all!
A delightful poem.
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Armstrong has captured the delightful image of a carefree soul delighting in some unknown jest and laughing with complete abandon. A rare but infectuous sight.
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