Best Comedienne Poems
Why Oh Why Oh Me.
Oh why oh why do have so much bad luck
My hands are tied
My feet are stuck
I’d be much better off being Mr Bean
Or Donald duck
Than me
I try so damn hard to move forward
But I always get knocked back
And if the road ahead was paved with gold
I’d fall between a crack
Nothing goes right
Everything goes wrong
I’d come last in my own lookalike completion
And I’m as popular with women
As King Kong
Why me what did I do wrong?
I feel like a caged songbird
Who never had a song
I wanted to be an Eagle
But I'm more like a Beagle
With a very wet nose
I’m fed up and frustrated
Condemned and so underrated
Unwanted just not good enough
A hasbeen an emotional punch bag
A failed comedienne
Without a gag
A sinking ship
A Rat caught in a trap
Ten steps forward a hundred back
An unwanted puppy
Drowning in a sack
A penniless beggar
With an empty cup
Only dark clouds and rain
When I look up
A prisoner on death row waiting to die
With no lookalike
Why oh why me
Cursed at birth
To live a life of misery.
Peter Dome©2019.
A sweet poetess, most worth reading!
Not only prolific, but in her heart-moving words, terrific.
She waltzes far above professorial,impressive words,
Expresses herself above overdone imagery, that is absurd.
Does not try to be a poetic comedienne!
But pours her soul’s stars out, as softly as she can.
A great poetess, I am happy to say.
As sure as the sun rises, she lifts my soul each day.
How I admire her tender, genuine humility!
A woman who was raised with utter gentility.
Eve enjoys humanity, it’s so wonderfully obvious.
Roses to you, Eve~ we find you, a poetess, glorious!
With love and respect, Panagiota
7-6-2022
~1~
.
On Wells Street in Chicago, is a sweet comedic treat.
Second City Theater for laughs and where many found their beginnings on plain stage, their life's heartbeat.
No "Phantom of the Opera" no lines, no costumes, no staging.
All actors had to do was improvise.No heavy make-up, yet one in an
instant learn how to disguise.
As in jazz, whether Brubeck or Davis, we all played off one another.
No fixed lines like Henny or famous the Smothers Brothers.
I never understood this magic of improvisation,
But once I learned it, what a phenomenal source of excitation.
This was a true gift how to act in the now.
It has served me in relationships, as I can't be a fake no how!
The censor that dances in your head keeps you from being free,
as if your head is stuck in a tree.
Most get stuck inside their heads, improvisation sets you free.
~Biography~
Poetess is Graduate of the famed Second City.
Was on stage for their Childrens Theater Troupe every Saturday for two years.
After that, moved on to be a stand up comedienne.I was trained by Tom Dreesen and Tim Reid("WKRP in Cincinnati."
I worked clubs in Chicago. Later in San Francisco, at Holy City Zoo. **Women comedians in the 1970's were not to be gross as they are now.
Tim and Tom were the only black and white comedy act ever. No grossness was ever displayed...best experience of my life!
Dedicated to Tom Dreesen and Tim Reid. Tom went on to be the opening act for Frank Sinatra and helped in the HBO movie on Frank. Also, launched The Comedy Store in Los Angeles. Both humble men....and friends,
ON STAGE DREAMS
On rare nights, those bubbling dreams return.
My heart, thumps madly, tummy all achurn.
For I once again get to relive that joy, it’s so splendiferous.
To make an audience, happy, feeling I make a difference!
The stage lights blinded me from seeing the audience, like a
thick San Francisco fog.
But I was able to make them laugh, never mind the smoky billowing smog.
It’s miraculous to create a relationship with people I could not really see.
Was I ever nervous~ surely, you must be kidding!
Every time I walked up the stairs to perform,I would have preferred
to be on a mountaintop, skiing!
My back ran with water, it felt like Niagara falls, but that had to be
ignored, because it was with them, I wanted to score.
The appreciation and love by an audience is the biggest gift ever.
Braver ones, came to me to express their friendship and appreciation,
later.
If only, I could do it all over~ I can’t, the times on the clock cannot be
rolled back.
Writing humor, for this poet, lacks the intense joy of immediate
human joy and interaction.
I wish I could do so, but my brain finds writing it, dull with
no stage light refraction.
I admire the poets who can pen funny poems with professional
hilarity.
But for this poet, the lack of human laughter is such a great
disparity.
So, thank you poets who have this gift, write on, do~ it gives
this retired comedienne, a joyous lift!
Thank you, Fellow Poets
Panagiota
9/24/2022
Here are my instructions for when I leave this world to go into the “magic realm of possibilities”, the heaven on another plane. For it will be so much better, it will make this Earth life seem like the bowels of hell. Some of us are doing our best to create a heaven on earth here, but it’s still not heaven. Right?
When I pass through to my next adventure, I do not want sadness. I do not expect and will not appreciate wailing or whining. This earthly body which is worn out, and toothless does not want or need an expensive casket or a tombstone. Have you met me? Would I want you to give people a sad place to go and feel badly? Here are my specifications, short, sweet, and to be followed by whomever cares.
Laugh loud and hard, tell funny stories, pretend I was a comedienne. Be glad because I am in a very jazzy, graciously wonderful place. Dance and whirl and twirl and hum. I want you to celebrate my life with a “party.” If you make my grandchildren cry, I will hunt you down, and you will have the next party.
I want you to play my favorite songs –“99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall- all verses, and I mean it, “Puff the Magic Dragon”, and Cher’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves.” If you really want to get carried away, you may play Liza Minnelli’s “Liza with a Z”. But be careful; this could easily hook you forever on her music.
If someone loves me enough to do this, please read Samuel Coleridge’s poem “Kubla Khan” at my celebration of life party. I guarantee I will be there, and I will love it! Thanks in advance.
I remember the first day well,
with your glorious bright red hair you burst into the room
like a struck match,and everyone's face lit up.
Model, comedienne, everyone's favourite Auntie, crush,
paramour in dreams, happiness in stilettos, all bundled into one
like a Swiss Army Knife.
Watching you smile was like opening a Christmas present,
and when you laughed, it fizzed and popped like party wine.
When you boarded my bus, akin to some lovesick schoolboy
I'd cross my fingers
and wish and wish that you'd sit with me,
and when you did, though I sat still, my whole insides went 'HOORAY!!'.
From Reiki healing to old Hollywood musicals,
whatever you spoke of
I was held rapt.
You could read the ingredients off the back of a tin of curry
and you would still enchant me.
I'm sure that the moment you were conceived, the Good Lord,
like a bomb disposal expert,
cut the wires marked 'sadness', and you emerged not with a cry,
but a giggle.
If you were any lovelier, you would have exploded,
and the whole town would have been covered
in a thick, gooey layer of lovely.
What a magnificent disaster that would have been.
Instead, you were taken cruelly-
Cancer isn't fussy whose friends it takes,
and on the clearest days my sunshine seems dimmer now.
Grief that soaks like cold rain only lessened by gratitude in having known you.
Just wish we'd crossed paths sooner.
Or I could live my life backwards.
Miss you x
Gaynor Wadsworth R.I.P 2017
For contest 'I wish I knew you when you were young',
sponsor Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
“Seriously,” the comedienne rasps: “can we talk about coffee?!”
The palms of my feet grind the beans in my sleep.
My bathrobe ties dangle, my hair’s unbrushed.
Can of spinach don’t do much, but caffeine aroma lifts me up.
The tilt wand opens my eyes, i can barely see through the slats
Sweet savory cream kisses my Olive Oil lips, Popeye laughs,
“A-gah-gah-gah-gah-gah!”
After two gallons, the pull cord opens the theatrical blinds, full strength.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Popeye and Olive Oil are cartoon characters created by Elzie Crisler Segar
hexastich with rhyme
I drink my coffee standing on alert
knowing that my tasks move this chunk of dirt
on its axis... my world, my family.
Of necessity, I grab at moments
attacking life (with God) at faith's expense
wringing out each ounce of kids' energy.
I am a mother raising young children
as a chef, cop, coach, and comedienne.
Past these headwinds, I see in the distance -
a doting old grandma, coffee in her hands
Bible in her lap, waiting in the stands
sharing words worthy of God's remembrance.
W?rdz sp?ld k?'r?kt 'v?rs?s f?'n?t?k'sp?l??
alternately titled fun with phonics
'?lt?rn?tli 'ta?t?ld f?n w?ð 'f?n?ks
analogous when like first learning how to spell American English words
?'næl?g?s w?n la?k f?rst 'l?rn?? ha? tu sp?l ?'m?r?k?n '??gl?? w?rdz
I thought to feign not knowing how to spell American English words
A? ??t tu fe?n n?t 'no??? ha? tu sp?l ?'m?r?k?n '??gl?? w?rdz
and quickly realized the daunting task,
Ænd 'kw?kli 'ri??la?zd ð? 'd?nt?? tæsk,
thus sought magnanimity, gratuity, courtesy...
Google search (phonetic transcription of words) to assist me
Ð?s s?t magnanimity, gr?'tu?ti, 'k?rt?si..
'gug?l s?r? (f?'n?t?k ?træn'skr?p??n ?v w?rdz) tu ?'s?st mi
Words spelled correct versus phonetic spelling
(the latter appended after poem concludes).
Thus now begins feeble attempt
to render rhyme for no reason
appended with phonetic translation
mainly as playful tease zen
synonymous imagining teaching
said exercise to eager children
reminding readers that young
and restless with spotty attention
hear spoken word while in utero,
post natal, subsequently when
he/she parrots parent(s) and/or
guardian, a more deliberate yen
arises to acquire greater cognition,
intuition, question (quest ja hen)
quickly devolving into faux ken
barbed riotous laughter analogous
trying wits of patient comedian/
comedienne resorting quite often
to repetition, remonstration,
reiteration... which frustration
might necessitate taking ten,
or so minutes of intermission
mindful mentor praises pen
ultimate verbal adroit ability
earning healthy treat for recitation,
perhaps recipient exceptionally
eager to advance passing golden
milestone able, ready, and will len
to tackle writing correct spelling,
whence learning to hold pen(cil)
(without being vain) begin men
till process, which next step den
allows, enables and provides sen
sit heave hands on guidance
helping preschooler - all liven
and well with enthusiasm clutch
writing implement fingers open
before gently grasping above ren
during kudos with an amen.
Non-bachelor (batch chiller)
"FAKE" horror thriller
available Netflix starring
ghost of Phyllis Diller
stand up comedienne killer
brought down haunted house
witch sea hunt accompanied
theme song referencing Argonaut tiller
Greenwich Village location Barney Miller
lite precinct brewed fare of corpse
unearthed dead comedy duo Meara and Stiller
with surreal stalking candy corn canes
as bon appétit gnashing
gobbledygook filler.
Ice scream aghast with
blood curdling shriek,
the dearth of satisfactory
FIOS shows bleak
readying jump into polluted creek
thus, I bury alive yours truly
except his sharp pointed beak
exhuming him after rotted
flesh doth reek
perfectly tricked out
for Halloween treat
masks long haired
pencil necked geek
October thirty first when freak
alias Gadshill gadabout
poetaster doth sneak
feigning antonym anthem of meek
oh my dog, I lyft hind
uber leg to take leak
hoop fully haint nobody dares peak
urinate kidding ma bladder weak.
I long since waved
channel surfing adieu
much prefer silence
meditating under blue
skies peering into
infinite space nary a clue
intellectual conversation many disvalue
perched edge of seat and hunched over
how riveting story doth ensue
ah... time for commercial break
culinary wizard abracadabra
whips up fondue
easy as pie (are squared)
with consistency of glue
methinks Elmer stole patent,
cuz secret formula Hebrew
what with identical hue
as aforementioned adhesive liquid
doubling up to keep igloo
air tight even against
global warming, anyway would Jew...
aye betcha already knew
yes believe Yahweh endowed Semites
like me with high ike kue
of course after dumping
a load (reed) I feel sue
per ream intelligence dumbed down
(mine), especially after using loo
naturally decrease smarts
stings like poisonous
scorpion size of Eee moue,
which aforementioned papa's
poetic poppycock nonissue
saturating plethora home entertainment
most people overvalue
linkedin - shoot all stemming from
"idiot box" I rarely view.
Can someone give me the address of a princess?
The fires of my loneliness fills my life with much distress.
Destroys my dreams and all my happiness.
I know the love that's buried inside me;
When explored will be Universal Poetry.
Come on PoetrySoup, I desire a lady friend.
Who would you guys recommend?
My words aren't to difficult to comprehend.
I would be a very passionate boyfriend.
And no, I would never offend;
But undrstand I tend to be a comedienne.
How long 'til she comes along to save me emotionally?
I need to be fed love because I'm hungry.
Can I swim in your spirituality?
Yes you! Don't look around, I'm talking to you!
My name is Jimmy Matthew....
Can I enter your canoe?
Will you share with me your virtu?
Can I possibly taste your honey dew?
I have my eyes on the prize, is that wise?
I can't help but to wonder about the color of her eyes.
I wonder how she fills up a pair of Levi's.
See I've hung on to every "comment" she's made.
I can guarantee that with me this love will be
Taylor-made.
I admit I'm slightly afraid, it's been so long since
I persuaded a woman - where would I begin?
I just want to be her man, hold her hand,
and be her "yes-man!"
Finding my Queen will jsut have to wait.
After all, I am only an inmate!
To see a pic of me, read a brief bio...go to prisonpenpals.com
Find me...Alphabetically or by State...NC
Don't be shy to write and say hello I welcome all poetry soup family. All letters will be
responded to and try to enclose a picture THX!!
President Not Prime Minister
Can thin spaces be created by a Priest?
Closer to God and not distance increased
And about certain things I must be blunt
Trying to decide what I need and want.
How much longer must I have to wait
For standup comedienne to be candidate
Which I really already have actually heard
By them always have to be re-assured.
Will come back later and finish poem.
Am running out of battery.
Jim Horn
I asked my girlfriend- when is your birthday again/
then, she told me March 1st my dear, that's when
around the room I marched first
my girlfriend let out a burst...
and shouted, WOW...you're a comedienne
my soul is so light right now
while sharing a cookie shake with you
at first you gave me the strangest of looks
you felt the embrace of my enthusiasm
then you opened your mind
your shield is so dissipated right now
as i check out the latest lyrics to your latest song
at first i roll my eyes thinking you were the latest comedienne
i felt the sincere enticement of your passion
then i opened my eyes
I have recognized many old ladies, but I know two of them.
They were Florence and Duno, both crackerjacks.
Their sense of humors rose in the sky and went to Jupiter.
I saw lots of old ladies with lavender hair and lavender dresses at church.
They sat with their half way hose sticking out below the knee.
It was a funny sight, but we dared not snicker.
I had no idea old ladies could be funny until I met Florence.
Which is why I gave Duno a chance. Florence was a story teller.
Duno was a comedienne. They got me over my fear of old ladies.
Now I am the old lady, sitting with burgundy hair,
Trying to not giggle at silly stuff,
But not at church.