Best Quick Wit Poems
Enter the Everest that devastates
as he never ever rests and demonstrates
his quick wit picnic of traits that place
with lickety split flicks on the page
the tricks of a contortionist wrist that emits embers at pace
as he commits and performs on the centre stage
with the impact of a storm from the biblical age
the act of an adorned prolific rampage.
Irresistible talent abundantly apparent
you thought you'd witnessed
ability but until now you hadn't
when the rest in the business
appear to be unskilled
and transparent
as their best rhymes diminish
right here to be unfulfilled
and redundant
thus divested of finesse
while it's clear to see you're thrilled
in this moment.
my time is torn with thoughts of love
labors worn from pretending
things i wish to come
hopes tied up in the labyrinth
of my mind
wishes all used up
prayers running out of time
writing lots of poetry using the line
"a relentless search to find"
the other half of myself, all mine
The One
the want, the need, the answer to my greed
who? is the question the quest is launched for
what? is the subject. irresistibly amore
i cannot quell this instinctive quarry
it must go on for eternity
until i feel whole
only then will i reach my goal
when? you know the answer is always now
where? anywhere
How? with all my heart and everything
i have
with quick wit and foolishness to make her laugh
with repetitious revisions or romantic gestures
with elocution of vows and phrases
make her believe the end of my days is
when she leaves me alone
If they have to point out it is banter
cus you didn’t realise it as banter
As they left no clue it was banter
The simple fact is it’s not banter
Banter’s quick wit the sort with charm
not blunt brain dead comments which harm
banters apparent with its own alarm
you know to reply with words not arms
Some will insult you then say what it is
banter they say but the humour's a miss
the standard they bant to tells you just this
have they a brain or a head full of piss
One reason banter is something some hate
Many don’t get it run their lip like an ape
after an insult “it’s just banter mate”
pointing it out then banter it ain’t
Acting a prat is a different thing too
don’t justify actions stupid you do
a prat you are and stupid are you
It’s not banter not close I tell you true
Banter only works against a near IQ
you can’t banter with someone much dumber than you
Banter is something the dumb do different
They are not canny or clever they’re just a blunt
I know how to live off the land
I'm a survivalist
I make do with whatever's at hand
I'm a survivalist
It's a mindset,
it's a lifestyle
You must have a soldier's discipline,
be able to endure hardships for a long while
I'm a mountain man,
got no time for guile
I can ascertain your true motives,
sense the truth behind the smile
I was trained to be a scientist,
I was trained to be a fireman
I was trained to be a field doctor,
but right now I'm a lumberjack
swinging an axe in my hand
I worked on a railroad,
I worked in a cooper mine
I worked at a shipyard,
I was a mean cook when I did a little time
I'm a mountain man,
got no time for those corporate city slickers
I can deduce your true identity,
sense the lies behind the smiling boot lickers
I was trained as a scout,
I was trained as an engineer
I was trained as a wrangler,
but right now I'm a mechanic
fixing a truck with busted gears
I worked for a big law firm,
I worked as a small company machinist intern
I worked at a high-tech factory,
I got recruited by a low-level military attache
Those are just a few of my credentials,
but here is what you really need to know
I'm a student of studying people,
I got a quick wit, but I like to appear slow
Being in the big outdoors
is where I really feel most at home
I love to test my skills at surviving,
I love to operate my satellite phone
Check the cloud patterns,
constantly scan the terrain
Calculate the tide shifts,
learn every animal, know every grain
I know how to live off the land,
make the land work for me
I make do with whatever's at hand,
let the land give me what I need
I'm a mountain man,
I live in an untamed world
I'm a different kind of animal
I'm a mountain man,
who's never gonna get trapped
by modern barbarians ever again
You are now past “Hogwartz age”
Time to let you out of childhoods “cage”
To turn your life’s book on a new page
So get ready to take center stage
Witches’ brew and Wizards spell
Joyful ringing of heaven’s bell
It’s now the time, can’t you tell
To cast on you a Birthday Spell
Age old wisdom from Dumbledore
Pouring out to you from heaven’s door
All good tidings endlessly pour
Making sure you need not ask for more
A kiss of courage from Harry Potter
The strength of soul is what really matters
Quick wit and charm from Hermione Granger
To preserve you from any danger
Minerva showers you with luck
With misfortune you will not get stuck
From Ron Weasley a friendly smack
That will always protect your back
Snape sends a potion of notion
To ward off all kinds of temptation
From us, our endless love and devotion
A love that is deeper than any ocean
May you always be as glorious as a queen
May your life always be serene
As we cast this spell on you Josephine
On the day that you turn eighteen
Note:
This poem was written for my lovely niece Josephine when she turned 18.
I wish her all the best this world has to offer.
JEB
You've graduated with honors, you're over the hump,
with not many hoops left through which to jump.
You've left behind all that you hold dear
and stepped forward blind, but never fear.
We've set no traps for you to fall into.
We're harmless, benign, kindhearted and true.
We like your style, we love your quick wit,
but we're keeping track, we freely admit.
We're writing it all down for a future roast
and if ever we share, your name'll be toast.
But we promise you not to draw blood,
just want you to know, your name'll be mud.
I have a bright smile
And my eyes do twinkle
it's so easy and fun.
to make people wonder
As to what I have done.
Laughter and quick wit
I also possess,
So much pleasure I get
When a smile or a giggle
I do coax.
Just giving some fun
On a Tuesday,
Some ones blues day
But not mine.
You think you're Godzilla
but you're just a Gorilla,
that's what happens when you've got gonorrhea,
my skin colours vanilla
my skills are killa and real
you're run of the mill, a fail
can't you tell you didn't do well,
that Kartel manure smell
of Kountry music don't sell,
a wannabe that wants to be on X Factor
in a field riding a wrecked tractor,
tracks that no mind will capture,
you're no rapper, a can't act actor and no rhyme writer
with poor rhyming from your core
the fact is you naturally bore,
getting done by amateurs
that means s**t for sure and below my stature,
take a step back and see the big picture,
there's no record label coming for your signature,
you should turn around and head for the door
and not turn this battle rap into a war,
snore, pass out snore music,
20 years and there's still no use for it,
your rhymes are insignificant
your average skill's no different
stop thinking you're magnificent
and realise you're just a hunt.
Yet you think you're good,
umm missing a nail or screw
let's face facts your music is poo,
can you not make a beat with flow?
Your music makes me sit in a seat depressed and low
through ignorance your skill's seen no grow,
so excuse my rant but your music is pants,
professional status, you've got no clucking chance.
You're so unlikely to upstage my quickly written
lickety split thermonuclear lit quick wit
with whatever you pick
to pull out your bag of tricks
because I'll make it unstick
quicker than thumbs can click through your music,
making videos in which you go on the phone,
cliche prone, stereotype replica
look at ya forever inferior,
making out you've golden interior,
but Postman Pat out delivers letters
and is better with more under the hat
you've empty space where your brain sat,
writing rubbish, getting fat,
one year in I'm getting published
you skank like a grandad with one wish
you long to be served a contract,
take note of the situation
you've been rhyming for a generation,
and you'll never be a sensation,
just a symbol of humiliation,
........ cus Rosko thinks he's the dogs bollocks,
while the rest of us just think he's bollocks.
That's all bossco, that's all I have to country cartel you.
Over and out, they call me Sue.
I know six languages,
The one I write in
The one I speak in,
My mother’s words,
My father's verse,
And those of my brothers.
My mother speaks quickly
In baking terms and 80’s slang
She speaks in sewing materials,
Starbucks orders,
And references to Bon Jovi.
My father speaks with nature,
I just happen to hear him.
He converses with trees,
And pebbles worn smooth by time.
His language is filled with bar chords,
Childhood lullabies,
And culinary jargon.
The words he shapes are crafted by knowledge that I won’t admit I see.
Two years younger than me is an entirely different language,
Though one I understand.
Covered feelings form a language
I used to know quite well
Spoken in anger
Or begrudging hope
He lives in a pixelated world
With his eyes glued to a screen
He speaks in accordance to what is thought,
Usually not his thoughts guiding his actions
Strict participant in social norm,
Too much is said about what he hasn’t done and not enough about what he has
The youngest speaks in an entirely
Too innocent language
One I have come to detest
For the unwelcome flashbacks it brings
I don’t speak his language
Doubt I ever will again.
His quick words are full of legos,
Cartoons,
And Kung Fu Panda.
His actions are a reminder of a song I have forgotten.
I speak in limericks,
Dramatic monologues,
And Iambic Pentameter.
My words are full of colors and grasped by few
For they float by much too quickly
Full of mentions of J. K. Rowling
And pop culture. My wonder is stuck
In the impossible,
For I have yet to believe it is so.
I speak in song lyrics and quotes.
My words are full of grudging resilience,
Quick wit,
And sarcasm.
It does not matter what language we speak,
Or what percent Irish we think we are,
We are alike on what matters,
Like our love for literature,
Our patriotism of Gryffindor,
And our intrest in politics.
The languages we speak tie us together,
They are what make us unique.
I write like bakers bake
my rhymes make earth shake
Going into contest with me was your biggest mistake
I control the earths plates, tectonics, your rhymes are bollocks
I cause land slides and earthquakes
I don't hate but I do devastate,
Is the rhythm of your rhyme hidden?
I'm going back and forth with my decision
I'd like to think it's something I'm missin'
but I cant see it in what you've written,
You stagnate rhymes
I contemplate the punishment for these crimes,
don't harp that you'll defeat me
I'm a giant you can't even see me
Now back and forth like red and meth I hand you over to little missy,
you pissed us both off so we share a rhyme to make you look silly..........
Your rhymes don't even matter
my pockets is gettin' fatter
Yours getting flatter
When you heard the glass shatter
That means me and my homies gathered
Now you bout to feel the wrath of
Somethin' that you wished you hadn't of
And all I can say is back up because I'm bout to act up
It might not concern you but
I'll thermonuclear burn you, you're a human sacrifice
Cuz I be smashing mics with the Passion of Christ and
Stay fully loaded, equipped with action devices
Me n trim shady here to party like Tom Brady
We stay cooler than an Eskimo baby
V is for Victory, we mastered your trickery
Tryna clock like dickory, get smoked like hickory
So please stop the bickery, you can't get rid of me
Fire colabs from here to infinity
you heard her infinity
even with a radar and map you cant find our reality
we're in another galaxy
you've barely the ability of a fetus
how dare you compete with us
and this U S U K special relationship isn't putting you at a handicap
it's natures act, you can't rhyme or rap
put your dick between your legs and make a tail
walk away with your head down cus your insults fail,
the only insult that landed is that you went up against us
with terrible stale dribble
that you squiggle
all brainless and minimal
like an unevolved mammal
writing without the opposable thumb by miracle
sounding dumb and undesirable,
when I read it I became miserable,
I desire a quick fire high flyer
like me with quick wit that aspires but you were dire
and dim, you aint no Trim,
you're a fool who should return to school.
collaboration with Brenda Chiri
first and third Trim
second Brenda
When fate decides to bring you love,
Your old ways may need a little shove.
Open your eyes and welcome the truth,
That someone you searched for in youth.
The smile, quick wit just closed the deal,
There’s no denying the magnetic appeal.
Standing before you waiting for the word,
Commitment to marriage must be assured.
The Trevi fountain only needs one coin,
For love to flourish and your souls to join.
Actions of love demonstrate true caring,
The time is now to begin your sharing,
Blue and pink candles are woman and man,
The white candle begins the marriage plan.
Together they join, the flames shine bright,
Brought together by two families - this light.
Good times and bad will come to pass,
Now its time to toast and raise a glass.
For you will now become man and wife,
Forever in love - creating your new life.
In the marriage ceremony a pink candle is lit by the bride’s mother and a blue candle is lit by the groom’s mother, then the bride and groom light the white candle together. The pink and blue candles can be returned to parents or just left burning. It’s beautifully symbolic.
Written September 8, 2012
For Janette Fisher’s contest
“When Fate Decides”
There was a girl in seventh grade
Who let the top show on her hose
I was just fascinated to see
I didn't even know I liked those!
About that time was when I heard
"Is that right Pat?", from my teacher
I tore away my gaze to see
I had become, the main feature!
Out of the corner of my eye
"Legs" moved, a new bearing to assume
Great! Why now when...."PAT IS THAT RIGHT?",
Boomed loudly across the big room!
All eyes on me I had to think quick
It felt like my face was on fire
"Yes?", I said, being with quick wit
Could my mouth, be any drier?
Amazingly, he just moved on
From "legs" I got a cold hard stare
It was a very long hour
Before I could get out of there!
i.
what am i, what am i?
tea, tea, for that would i die --
cup after cup after cup of vanilla chai.
the romance of caffeine,
the lull of forced time awake;
the feeling of falling in the night,
when your body starts with a quake.
what am i, what am i?
books, books, for them would i die.
o, to curl in my bed, to have a good cry.
here to mask the frustration of a boring life,
arthur, his knights, and a good, long, strife.
what am i, what am i?
loneliness, loneliness, for her would id ie.
i've always been told i'm far too shy.
sensitive as a mouse, picky as a bird--
who cares to speak if their words won't be heard?
ii.
what am i, what am i?
to that, i answer, many a thing.
i am the battered scribe next to the shining king.
i am dreaming of all the fish in monterey bay.
i am thinking tiredly about the end of may.
i am hiding my face in the picture you took.
i am a crude laugh and a shrill, "made you look!"
i am my favorite mug that always burns my hand.
i am the scratched CD of my favorite band.
i am turning the corner in tears & hitting my head.
i am thinking of ways i could wind up dead.
iii.
what am i, what am i?
why, i'll tell you.
my life is made of blue and gray.
i am no she, he, or they.
i am made of those moments in the wood,
when your words will undoubtedly be misunderstood.
i am her gifts, her endearing eyelashes,
the roll of his shoulders, his tales of car crashes,
their quick wit, their excited chatter,
the cringe i cringe when asked, "what's the matter?"
iv.
what am i, what am i?
some could argue i don't know.
too young, too brash, and definitely too slow.
but some could i argue that i do
because i know that i am not a 'who'.
i try to take moments and grab them ;
grip them tight & close to my chest.
i pile the memories up and sit on them
like my own beautiful bird's nest.
i feel only frustration, gratitude, and nothing at all
i open my mouth to speak with unconscious gall.
v.
who am i, who am i?
you tell me, please do.
chances are i know less than you.
you have a name, a life, some cares;
you are eager to pay society's fares.
vi.
so.
what of people who are what?
The howling winds of March
Furious gusts of air
mightily blow bestirring anchored poet
sitting comfortably numb
securely strapped in his hard to maneuver
easy bath chair
while all around him debris
strewn helter skelter everywhere
heavy objects unmoored
pirouetting topsy turvy
defying laws of physics
cue Adam Smith
courtesy his invisible hand
eulogizing, kickstarting, and regulating
unseen cogs and gear
in order to avoid being plucked up
analogous to whirling dervish
ye dear reader best don
top of the line name brand ironware
to fend off soundcloud
analogous to webbed
whirled wide rooky banshee
hounding kingly bishopric
inducing royal knightmare
whereat pawns called play
as damage control representatives
ultimately linkedin to medicare
for bodily harm suffered
and property destruction
doled out courtesy Nationwide Insurance,
nevertheless yours truly
experienced heightened anxiety
cuz I accidentally, casually, easily,
et cetera eavesdropped,
though a polite gentleman (boot no scholar)
loud talking policyholder
anyone could easily overhear
their strident vocalizations
and they owned chutzpah to *****
re: me for listening to conversation
threatening with abominable language to scare
living daylights, which nearly caused
writer of these words
to soil his underwear
such vociferous threats
wrought quick thinking defense posture,
whereby my ordinary shy demeanor
empowered after downing
powder milk biscuits
(cuz heaven's their tasty)
and declaring warfare
against being bullied
versus suffering as token scapegoat
most every year
from boyhood until emerging adulthood.
After crafting above lines
current generated via whoosh;
I sat mine hind quarters
(otherwise referred to the tush),
which signalled to Doctor Quackenbush,
(id est Groucho Marx)
not deficient with quick wit
whose hook, line and sinker
word of the day namaycush
helped one environmental seaman
high (fish) tail to Hindu Kush
where removal from madding crowd
spiritually inoculated one
with a profound hush.
welcome to this game of tug-of-war, where i always fall on my ass and always get back up for more.
(i can’t tell if that makes me hopeful or stupid.)
welcome to this game of tug-of-war, where you are nothing but the apple falling from the tree and i am always the idiot biting into it,
the idiot that always dies,
the idiot who never learns her lesson and takes bite after bite.
in any given situation, i am the idiot and you are the sharp-tongued serpent with the quick wit and all the right words.
in this game, i am the jester, the fool on a leash kept for your entertainment, held hostage by the god complex you hold so dearly.
where’s the story where the fool fights back?
where’s the fable or the tale where eve cuts off the head of the serpent,
the jester spits in the king’s face,
where the silly schoolgirl tells the ******* with the crooked smile to piss right off?
here’s a hint: this is it.
tired of being your plaything, your entertainment system on a leash, i am telling you to get lost.
i am telling you the game is over, and this time, i’m the winner.
this time, you fall and don’t get back up, not with this foot on your chest pinning you down.
this is the story where the underdog fights back.
this is the story where the used refuse to be abused.