I'm secretly
a genius, trouble
is, I'm the only
one who knows
about it.
I'm much too
shy to show it,
and I'm much
too mad to keep
it constant.
I'm either busy
laying in my bed,
missing out.
Or overworking
myself to the point
of exhaustion.
There's no
in-between.
And that,
my friends,
is brilliant.
In moonlight's hush, beneath the elm,
A masked marauder stalks his realm.
With paws like whispers, eyes like coal,
He seeks the prize that fills his soul.
But lo! The bin—his ancient foe—
Stands smug, unyielding, sealed in woe.
Its lid, a tyrant, cold and tight,
Dares mock his hunger in the night.
"Have you forgotten?" he snarls with grace,
"The feast we shared, the sacred place?
You fed me once, you knew my name,
Now plastic locks deny my claim."
He leaps! He claws! A ballet grim,
A pirouette on garbage rim.
Banana peels and coffee grounds
Rain down like war drums' hollow sounds.
Neighbors wake to chaos born,
A furry tempest, rage and scorn.
Yet in his heart, a deeper ache—
Not trash, but trust, was theirs to break.
So if you see him, tail askew,
A poet wrapped in dumpster dew,
Know vengeance drives his nightly plan—
The raccoon scorned by a trash can.
The art of comedy's a sacred thing,
as fresh and precious in its gift of bliss
as when a worshipped one's initial kiss
transports us first. Like Fragonard, we swing
to Lena Horne's delightful rites of spring
on wings of wonder. No analysis
can pull apart a pleasure pure as this.
We humans laugh as nightingales might sing.
We're taught to think creators must be serious,
but humour's both unruly and imperious,
and ridicule's the boy-god's sharpest dart.
We laugh and learn, and don't let worries weary us,
for dreariness is deadly, deleterious:
thanks, heaven, for the comedy of art.
All that
remains
of our
love
is a faded Polaroid,
a carton of cigarettes,
and two cases of beer.
I'll forget you soon,
but for now,
I'm cracking open
another one—
let's hope these
memories
blur!
The warden's dog steals every snack,
The inmates plot to get them back.
A daring heist for honey buns,
'Til Fluffy wins, and off he runs!
The gym’s a war of flexing might,
Larry claims he’s built for flight.
He jumps, he flaps, he hits the ground,
The weights just watch, they don’t rebound.
The prison chef’s the true enigma,
Serving stew with chunks of stigma.
Was that a bean, or was it glue?
If it still moves—you're doomed too.
Tattoo artist, cellblock legend,
Ink by day, regrets by seven.
An eagle looked so tough and wise,
Now it's a penguin with lazy eyes.
The books are old, the pages torn,
The plot? Confusing since day one.
Billy swears it's full of schemes,
Turns out—just grandma's cookie dreams.
The great escape? Just pure finesse,
Using spoons with zero success.
One guy digs for seven years,
He found a pipe—now he’s in tears.
Lights go out, the stories start,
Tallest tales with zero heart.
"Elvis once lived in this cell!"
Sure, and unicorns patrolled as well.
Mother: a wax crayon candle in a starless room
You have many layers, like an onion
And you're coloured, but not green
So a wax-crayon candle is favoured here.
Much more poetic.
Although I bathe in the dark
You sit in my corner
Flickering
flickering
like
this.
And you wish not intrude
In your offers of solace.
No.
You don't set my room on fire
You just light up my corner
With the gift of a place to be seen.
A place of security,
Whether I visit it or not.
AND YES, you are loved. YES, you are valued.
(so don't even doubt it)
And yes, your Crayola hues, your mix-n-match
May clash in the eyes of OTHERS
But parallel to even your Converse shoes:
They complement each other
And though I don't always visit this corner...
...Of candlelight in my room,
You should know you're not alone
With my candlelight, too.
You laughed too hard in 1996/
Thought I'd trip and stay down for kicks/
But I climbed back up, twice the size/
Now I shred, watch the sparks fly/
My drummer joked, said guitars are lame/
Left him roadside, questioning fame/
Why does a guitar need a case, he asked/
To contain its stringed up past/
Steel strings bend, the pick obeys/
My solos melt minds in dazzling rays/
You call it noise; I call it fate/
Crowds roar, my riffs attack/
Like a clown with a vengeance strapped to his back/
Why did the guitar cross the road/
To escape tuning abuse overload/
Strumming stainless, lyrics sharp/
Every chord bite, every note barks/
What's a guitarist least favorite job/
A fretting accountant, stuck in a fog/
Clowns don't cry, we shred and slay/
This guitar doesn't play, it dictates the day/
Why did the guitar get detention in class/
It couldn't stop playing tricks so crass/
Now I roll into your town, no disguise/
My solos make statues blink their eyes/
One last joke before I'm done/
Why don't guitars ever tell lies/
Because their strings keep them strung/
I'm a Ghetto clown, a fool for the cash/
Juggling dreams while the world does a dash/
If laughter's a crime, then call me a crook/
I'll steal your frown with a single look/
They call me a lamb, said, Take the fall/
But I laughed so hard, I shook the hall/
Crucify me? Sure, but here's the thing/
I'll go out laughing, like a jester king/
Got kicked out of Hell, the Devil's in tears/
He said, Man, your jokes are my worst fears/
Now I roam the streets, a clown on the run/
Turning gloom to giggles, one by one/
In the Ghetto, I'm the eternal jest/
A clown with a flair, I'm the very best/
Life's a circus, and I'm the main act/
a fool for eternity, that's a fact/
My punchlines hit harder than life's cruel blows/
I'm the comic relief when the tension grows/
So laugh with me, or laugh at me/
Either way, I'm your comedy spree/
So here I stand, a clown in the fray/
Turning dark nights into brighter days/
If life's a joke, then I'm the punchline/
A Ghetto clown, forever divine/
Real comedy is bold
it's straight and blunt
there's no white gloves
or polite niceties
Real comedy is harsh
without playing dirty
it smacks you in the face
and punches in the gut
Real comedy is dark
looks head on at society
points out what's wrong
and shoves it in your face
Real comedy is hot
enrages those with a soul
infuriates those who claim
to have a conscience
Real comedy is cold
sure it gets laughs
make no mistake
it's on a mission
Real comedy is brash
addresses those who
care to make a difference
and want to change the world
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
George Robert Newhart
was pretty darn smart
one of the greatest comedians of all time
his humor and timing were so sublime
I love Comedy
Yes, I do
to read a clown
spewing humour
what the hell can I add
when a man defends feminism
and then bends over for trump
he's asking for praise right up the rump
Lets be clear, and honest and true
he not only supports genocide
he's raped women
abused them with Epstein
a trait Zionists love to do
I have no idea, none at all
why a human would support
rape
theft
murder
fraud
stealing from child's charities
robbing his own country to arm Israel
That's what he seems to adore
I'd rather, given the choice
be human, not a glorified bore w
upon his tower dark and tall
malakar stood to doom them all
with lightning flashing, cape unfurled
he cackled, "Now I rule the world!"
he pulled the lever, struck a pose
but fate, unkind, had other woes
for with a snap, the lever broke
and hit his minion (Grubnuk croaked)
his robots sparked, began to dance
one juggled fire—badly, perchance
another whirred, then high-fived air
while malakar just stood and stared
“uh… that’s not right,” he mumbled low
as sparks set fire to his own robe
he tripped, he tumbled, with a groan
and soon his tower stood alone
for down he fell, a mighty crash!
right in the king’s grand pumpkin patch
now in the dungeon, sipping tea
he plots his next catastrophe
Coco is a Maltese who weighs about nine pounds,
She is most happy when her family is around.
Her heart is bigger than she and full of love,
Her kisses are as soft as the voice of a mourning dove.
Though her kisses are sweet, they come with an aroma of death,
For they are wrapped in dragon’s breath.
"Comedians are magicians."
Turns sad dull faces to jolly and cheery.
I am alone in this presence,
And others moved in the future.
Flourishing petals on me,
Scent allows me to breathe.
It's you, but now you are not!
Moved into someone's dreams.
Say my name, call me there,
Where people are humans.
It's very hard to be a human,
After five years of birth.
I am among the magicians,
Be with me,
I will make you laugh.
Ever since I was a youngster, I loved my comedy shows
So, I've wrote about some comedy that most everybody knows
Remember watching "The Honeymooners" late at night tucked in your bed
Remember watching "The Flintstones" with Barney, Dino and Fred
Remember Soupy Sales, Red Buttons and Benny Hill
And don't forget about Mr. Rogers, and good old Mr. Bill
Remember Laurel and Hardy and remember Charlie Chan
And remember all the "Bowery Boys" and the "Little Rascals" clan
Remember all the "Munsters" and the "Addams Family" too
And remember watching "Tom & Jerry" and the classic "Scooby-Doo"
Remember all those comedy shows, I really loved them all
But still my favorite is "I Love Lucy" starring- Lucille Ball
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