Best Comedies Poems
History shows us throughout time,
their main objective is the same crime,
from Nimrod, Alexander, Hitler to Stalin,
all these men and then some have one thing in common,
Having only one thing on their one track mind,
is to take over and rule all of mankind,
be it by creating wars in different countries,
order out of chaos means more power and money,
Today the wannabes are more deceptive,
behind the scenes mentoring our elected,
you will see them from time to time on the news,
not just playing church as you sit in the pews,
They're like CIA spy's who infiltrate,
their minds like a chess game as they contemplate,
thinking only of their next worldly move,
coming across as pious and holy as if right on cue,
Wanting nothing more than a new world order,
merging all the world together losing our sovereign borders,
planning for one ruler, religion, currency among other things,
this oligarchy in secrecy working behind the scenes,
History will unfortunately repeat itself,
informative books collecting dust on our shelfs,
as we sit and watch situational comedies, etc. in our homes,
forgetting or not realizing that all roads lead to Rome.
2-18-17
Act III, final scene, psychodrama script-
the world is ushered off into history's crypt.
All the super heroes lie slaughtered on the floor
while apocalyptic addicts are screaming out for more.
A handful of patriots ride the airwaves into night
broadcasting dire warnings to bring the truth to light.
General population is glued to the TV set
watching situation comedies, smoking cigarettes.
The program's interrupted by a special news update
"World War III declared" more details at eight.
General population pumps his fist hard into the air
grabs himself a six-pack and settles back into his chair.
Less then twenty cases later he is morgue decor
from the radiation resulting from the war.
The tube becomes his headstone, body decomposing on the floor
beneath blue light TV flickering...1984.
There are many good people from Hollywood. Hollywood is a working class district of L.A. (1 of 42 districts). Celebs don't live there which includes the Epstein ilk. Bad people are all over the place, especially the Red States and their people who voted for the bad leaders. There are bad dictators all over the world, repressing the women, not just in America. I've never heard of KKK members in Hollywood, I have in the Maga States. Let's not bundle all people in Hollywood, that is ignorance!
A good Ambassador Hollywood, to the world along with Jazz music, Hollywood movies, with their dazzling musicals, bright comedies, and intense dramas, and Si Fi, has been the dream maker for the world! Even those working in the movie industry were by and large hard working Americans. Glamorous actors just a tip of the ice berg. For those conservatives, they should remember Regan was a product of Hollywood. Thank you very much.
Bristling yet beguiling winds are
driving snow sheets through the dark,
and, secured by brick and lamp,
I draw a comforter to my breast,
one woven by humanity.
I sense that each quickening gust
is pulling through the loom of time
life's many multi-colored threads.
A hickory brown is borne to me
of ships defying depths and dangers,
carrying dreams and heartaches.
Glistening now--the lucent blue
of fertile, percolating minds
genome maps and software.
I feel the orange of affection,
hearth and smiles and homecomings,
the warmth of song and story.
The blinking silver of fantasy,
visionaries, piercing sterility--
castles, stars, utopias.
Here is a filament of frothy pink
comedies, dances and levity,
play and spontaneity.
The looming strands of swarthy black
necessities, death, and armies,
relentless in their marching.
The golden promise of sacred texts,
altars, candles, hope,
encoded and translated.
Emerging, the green of recent growth,
rites of spring and passage,
learning and inner progress.
With such a large and lustrous blanket
in which to sink, like a new-born babe,
I'll toss some folds to you, as they will
easily stretch from here to there.
John Steinbeck won the Nobel and Pulitzer prize
For his stories about struggles of the common man
His novel “The Grapes of Wrath” will bring tears to your eyes
As a family in the Great Depression seeks new land
Although Shakespeare’s comedies are still enjoyed today
Romeo and Juliet’s tale of star-crossed lovers
Grabs the reader’s heart and renders so much dismay
A powerful cathartic relief is discovered
Comedies give laughs that last only for a moment
While tragedies often leave a deeper impression
The characters and their stories seem far more potent
They stay with us longer and lead to introspection
Although we delight in O’Henry’s witty stories
The impact of tragedies remains with us always
*For Dr. Ram’s “Tragedy Is More Enjoyable than Comedy” contest
She sat on the dark stage, where long ago
She played the part of Juliet to his Romeo.
She clutched a bouquet of red roses, now dried
Lost in her memories, and once more she cried.
I am no stranger to the cause of her sorrow.
I know I'll find her here again tomorrow.
My misty lady gives me leave to tell her story
of days when acting brought fame and glory.
ACT I ~ SCENE I The curtain opens ~
Enter Juliet Capulet; a young and lovely miss.
Then Romeo Montague, who craved her kiss.
A romantic interlude between lover's hearts.
This is when the romance of misty lady starts.
As actress and actor, they played many roles.
Being happily married was their highest goal.
Their lives were like plays, but of what kind?
The lady could never be sure of or define.
Sometimes a drama with unwritten script,
those times when the stage was dimly lit.
But those were never her favorite parts,
She loved ones with the actor of her heart
If they could've starred only in the comedies,
her world wouldn't hold such tragedies.
Her tears would not still be falling like rain,
And her love would not have been all in vain
The lady cries, but she can no longer sing,
No role of queen for she's lost her king.
No more bows to take or curtains raised
No standing ovations or fans who praise.
She was never an actress with him, I know
For the misty lady has often told me so.
She cries now because of his acting skill,
and for the love scenes he chose to kill.
He found a new leading lady, on another stage,
but the misty lady was not filled with rage.
Only with sadness does she reveal her emotions.
He fooled her when speaking of his heart's devotion.
So now you know why she mourns and grieves,
Why her tears still fall like golden autumn leaves.
The bouquet of roses, she takes with her each day ~
Romeo gave them to Juliet at the end of their play.
~ The final curtain falls ~
Never watch any comedies
while recovering from surgery
because you can laugh your stitches out literally
which will be not only painful but also very bloody.
This is one of those situations when laughter can be deadly,
as opposed to hightening one's spirits joyfully.
“Sir, Sir, why are you smiling, so happy and glad,
If you do not mind to answer my simple query,
Please teach me how to be urbane and merry,
I am so tired to be labeled as gauche or mad:
It is so scary to look at the moon and feel sad!
The days are so long and the nights too dreary
The comedies too silly, the dramas too eerie,
Who would guess that a Romantic soul is bad?”
“But my dear friend, there is no secret at all,
No mystery in the rainbow for you to find
Unless you look inside your own good mind:
I have just answered a surprising phone call:
It was not Calypso or a holy archangel above,
No, it was just the voice of the woman I love.”
Fool’s Quest
By Mark Spencer
We all wish to be accepted
For what we say and do.
But if we overstep our bounds
We should receive our due.
For if we must invade the space,
Of someone’s comfort zone,
Should they respect the space of those
Who don’t respect their own?
But that’s what some people expect,
That none critique their deeds.
They tell us their behavior is
What modern culture needs.
They judge the souls their deeds offend,
And tell them they’re uptight.
They speak and act without concern,
And meet complaints with spite.
And all the while they still demand
No judgment from their peers.
Those peers are living in the past,
We’re on to new frontiers!
Their adversaries need to keep
Opinions to themselves.
Throw their bibles on the bonfire,
And hide their faith on shelves!
As judgment after judgment rains
Upon opposing views,
They act as though they are the ones
Who wear the victim’s shoes.
Our comedies should be raunchy,
Our music should as well.
We should vilify God’s angels,
As if they came from hell.
We’ll make champions of monsters,
They’ll sparkle in the sun!
With the undead as our heroes,
Our movies will be fun!
And don’t you ever dare complain!
Your judgment has no weight!
We’ve already convicted you,
And charted out your fate!
We have erased you from our sight,
We will ignore your rules.
Your icons are removed from view,
Your God, expelled from schools.
Yet if you questions their beliefs,
The hypocrites will howl!
Should you return what they dish out,
These children holler foul!
It is a game that will be played
To help win the debate!
When arguments can’t overcome,
The crafty compensate.
Instead of building up their case,
They’ll try to silence yours.
They keep opponents off the stage,
By closing all the doors.
For that is how to win debates,
When neither side is right.
And when the truth cannot be proved,
It turns into a fight.
But upper hands don’t last for long,
Each side will have it’s day.
In defeat the strong get stronger,
Success drains strength away.
So silence me as you see fit,
Yours is a quest for fools.
You’ll understand when your beliefs,
Are not allowed in schools.
my life isn't over as far as i know
there's no enemy chasing me
or disease that have shown
as far as i know i have another fifty years
to march through life and many more tears
i have a wisdom that comes with time
i have a learning that taught me to rhyme
one of the tricks i play with words
a game i play with other boys and girls
i play with emotion when it's my turn
sometimes i play fairly or so i have learned
it's time to pass on what i have been given
help the younger understand their living
for some there is worship a type of praise
and others a picture in which they gaze
periods of life or particular days
some described clearly others in a haze
love our chosen vanity filled many a page
never ending are our stories
but there are only two plays
i the same actor played a few leading parts
modern, Shakespearean, and musical art
comedies and tragedies are the stuff of life
yet only once was i given
that thing i called a wife
but deep runs the river that flows through time
heading for an ocean where it is no more
when it's time to go through it
we don't knock at the door
the game is over, time to tally the score
with words our written testimonies
telling the deeds of souls and hearts
some with solemnity and some with art
asking unanswerable questions
seeking something in the dark
giving unacceptable explanations
for that which was torn apart
we love god, we love each other
but we mostly love ourselves
our hurt that we share with others
our pen at paper yells
our preaching and our pleading
pretending to be spells
repeated down through history
after every love there is a hell
whether warning, prophecy or story
we cannot help but tell
those wondrous things that befell us
while in heaven before we fell
our writing is not for fame or fortune
we don't care if it sells
but it's our turn at ringing
the same old emotional bell
(Dedicated to the memory of Linda-Marie the Sweet heart. )
When he had control of the remote I could get out of sorts
I preferred the dramas and he wanted only sports.
But on one type of programming we could usually agree.
We both got a big laugh from good old-time comedy.
Jack Benny, Eddie Cantor, and Jackie Gleason jokes abounded.
Lucy and Gracie’s antics kept Desi and George astounded.
These were comedies we could watch without getting a red face,
Unlike the vulgar stuff today that is not worth the space.
But there was one special fellow that we both simply adored.
He played so many characters that we were never bored.
There was Clem Kadiddlehopper and Freddie the free loader.
Gertrude and Heathcliff were seagulls. Red just kept getting bolder.
The last time we sat together and laughed until we cried
Was only a short time before my darling husband died.
Red was playing Santa in a silly Christmas spoof.
He kept crawling towards the chimney and sliding down the roof.
It was the last time we laughed together as amused husband and wife,
One Red Skelton episode I’ll remember the rest of my life.
Hippocrene (hip'?-kren‘) is a fountain on Mount Helicon, Greece, sacred to the Muses and
regarded as a source of poetic inspiration.
Mnemosyne (nemoz'ini) is a titan who is the personification of remembrance. She is the
mother of the nine muses: “All nine muses have a science or an art to protect. Cleo
protects the stories of heroes, Urania astronomy, Calliope elegies, Melpomene the
tragedies, Euterpe flute playing, Erato love poems, Tepsicore choir lyrics, Thalia the
comedies and Polyhymnia dance and music.”
“The Muses love to sing and dance. They are superior in musical competitions and any one
who dares to challenge them will always fall short, just as those who question their
importance.”
In a dream I drink from fount Hippocrene
The daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne
Encompass me while I quench. Nine muses
Guarding their arts from human abuses.
I'm not here to challenge or to question;
Nor I seek material possessions.
My presence among you in this dreamy
State is caused by my love of poetry.
And you, Erato, muse of all love poems
I'm a sleepy poet asleep at home.
It's known by few you sing beautifully.
Would all you muses’ sing a song for me?
My thirst is quenched from draft of drinking cup.
Please! Please sing for me before I wake up.
Surfing, morphing
Through amorous tidal waves
Thou Babylonian scoundrels
Poisoned, ordained
By the blues-begging rasps
Smelting Earth
Caching together as one
By force and virtue
Yielding life's battalions
Seeking solace, fame or gentle ears
What captures me most
About this glazed nuthouse
Riffs and thieves
Throwing down as NYC
The brackish drama
The ink-still-wet climax
Each protagonist
Twitching, bleeding
Their calligraphy carved from
Medieval, spiteful bent
Their tragedies, comedies
Levitating into series finales
Bubbling, screaming
The concrete-clicking pounce
Propelled by the fear of instant death
Each a Willie
Scribes scratching, staggering
Desperate for terminal legacy
Actors drowning, emitting spasms
Powered by flames and sunshine
You don't get here by mistake
Unless leaving is the answer
The acts, verses and curses
Vary by the levels of lunacy
You're willing to consume
So bark and hark
Who goes there
The parade inside you looms
As the audience
Hush, attentive, sardonic
Mouths gaping
Tongues wagging
To taste your wasted drop.
(10/13/16)
For years I'd written myself notes
with names of some I can't remember.
Those I've cheered; stood and applauded.
Protagonists who played Romeo
to my Juliet. Shakespeare would've lauded.
Scribbles that should've been love letters
that would've made me a better person.
There were more than a few endearing roles,
romantic ones, comedies and life's dramas.
Names that have faded on the playbills.
Sometimes I struggle to remember them all
as I recall tears of both joy and sorrow.
There were times when love was undeserved.
Times when I swerved off the virtuous road,
and followed the wrong path that led to heartache...
Regretful am I for having played around
and like a fool, I broke hearts, including my own.
I realized that I had to love myself to be worthy
of love from others. Not the kind that smothers,
but the type that gives free rein to roam and return
instead of burning bridges on paths I'd walked.
Learning to love myself allowed me to see
that there was no need to give up the stage
and wage war in a rage at the time-stealing thief...
the makeup artist who painted wrinkles on my face,
and silver hair that causes a thespian grief.
Age... that sordid bandit who addled my memory.
No standing ovation for comedy that's not divine,
nor for refusing to recite my farewell lines.
My scribbled notes have become love letters
that I should've boldly written to myself long ago.
My emotions are still engaging, for I mourn
the absence of loved ones who are gone
but often appear in reveries and dreams.
I walked in their footsteps but not the light
that gleamed in their eyes on opening night.
Stars still glimmer and shine in mine
but I'm no longer star struck with delusion,
for I stopped wearing the veil of illusion.
It's not what I've done or the words I've said
that I should love about myself. No...
the One I thank and love the most is God above.
When I retire and start living
I am going to stop writing and just live
Live, live, live like Auntie Mame
Or, maybe I will write about living:
A.M.
Drink margaritas – lime only
Walk on pristine beach – white sand only
Take three shots of espresso - Cuban only
Read love poems only by Neruda – NO WRITING!
Recite Shakespeare - the comedies only
Cook healthy vegan lunch and do cool yoga
P.M.
Drink cocktails - with Stoli only
Listen to Andy Bey and Patricia Barber for hours
Have sequestered time - with the LOML
Eat healthy vegan dinner and train for something called a 5K
Watch sunsets for longer than one minute
Go to indie films, live theater, hip clubs
And dance all night with buff gay men in briefs only!
I wonder if that is what living will be like.