Best Skits Poems
PARTY VINE
The Sweet Pea is a social climber,
behind your back, a wisenheimer.
In the night it wields its powers,
Sweet Peas strangle other flowers.
Sweet Peas think the rainbow's somber,
they use the Fall to upstage umber.
They twirl tulle skits in every tint,
cheat the rose and pungent mint.
The splendid buoyant burgeoning pod,
is full of seeds it dumps with a nod.
Sweet Peas are fervent fertile bunnies,
they tease the bees with shameless honeys.
This pea legume will make one drunk,
it throws loud parties from its bunk.
In sweet perfume and showy dress,
it's backwards with oblige noblesse.
Sweet Peas smell like Orange Crush tastes,
It weaves green tendrils like Irish lace.
When breezes blow so soft and heady,
they throw their blossoms like confetti.
By Edlynn Nau
November 8, 2015
Categories:
skits, celebration, color, flower, happiness,
Form:
Light Verse
Zany and free spirited, Mr. Bungo is a one man show
Yodeling any song you like, doing the "old soft shoe"
Xenial to one and all, he can always charm the crowd
Wild and crazy is he, in a world of his own fantasy
Verily, a man of many talents, with his skits and tricks
Under a bright red canopy, he performs amazing feats
Tickling our fancy with imaginative tales of wonder
Somersaulting through hoops, landing on heaps of feathers
Rides around the ring on a wild, high strung ostrich
Quickly, Mr. Bungo jumps up onto tall stilts and
Parades through the crowd, while playing a kazoo
Odd and quirky, his clothes are colorful, bright and loud
No telling what Mr. Bungo might say or do next, he can
Mimic voices, impersonating a host of sounds and noises
Laughing, he loves to hear the audience roar and cheer
Kind, he tries to hide it, but has a soft spot for little kids
Just watch his face beam as he gives them animal balloons
I can spot tears forming behind his sad, light blue eyes
He has a soft heart, but doesn't want to show it, so he
Grabs his tall, silly hat, and springs back into action
Flinging himself into a rocket contraption, we watch
Eager to see what Mr. Bungo will do next, now sparks blast
Daring and brave, he rockets up into the air so high
Careful, Mr. Bungo, we don't want you to crash and die!
Barely, he escapes a tragic collision, he finally lands
And then Mr. Bungo bows, leaps up and does a hand stand.
Categories:
skits, children, fun, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Il Pleut
It rains torrentially
after long drought and disorder;
it rains drenching the empathetic
scraggy soil of the heart
it rains moistening the rocks of anger
crags of revenge and cracks of depravity
it rains covering the jealous holes with purity
healing the undesirable crevices of the being
it pours incessantly to cover and clean
the gaps of deceptive caves of life
it rains inside me constantly
stretching the cramped limbs
softening the being;
it skits with a susurrus
leading me to the lee
when all on a sudden
something goes wrong
influenced by someone’s lewd smile
or a serein’s half-hearted dampening.
Rain of grace falls and falls
to soothe my ruffled feelings;
it corrects, it helps, it leads me
always to the right way.
When it rains in the forest of my being
where the tallest trees touch the sky
and the moon shines bright on the leaves
through the gnarled branches
lighting the dark parts of existence,
life becomes wholesome
peaceful and serene.
Removing the dryness and darkness of life
rain of grace falls and falls
perpetually to revive.
Categories:
skits, imagery, life, metaphor, rain,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Miles of broken, sunbaked seashells,
resembling pieces of porcelain of lesser value,
lying across a populous beach subdued by misty blue,
as hungry sea-gulls pounce the fiddler's crabs..
The beach entertainer draws huge crowds;
singing funny songs and making comic skits
by spicing up his unique modus operandi,
and modestly mocking his modus vivendi...
He has never made lots of money,
but settles for dollar bills to earn their sympathy;
dressed in tight and colorful ministrel's attire,
he amuses the public with his monkey-shine...
And he pulls out his fiddler and the crowds go wild,
awakening, by its high-pitched sound, a dope fiend,
who has built a temporary shack threatened by the blowing sand;
He puts on his sunglasses and disappears in the groovy sunshine...
The beach entertainer follows him, leaving everyone behind
saying," Sorry, brother...I didn't mean to wake you up, the bum turns around taking off his lenses.
and exclaims, " Music doesn't fill an empty and aching belly...and cheer up a feeble mind! "
" Here's all I got...take it and get something to eat!" He says stretching his hands.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
skits, beach, character, funny, hope,
Form:
Quatrain
Penning wrangled mime
and wared out of my skits,
I’m poked in serspiration,
My mind’s in fisted twits.
It’s not the way I spike to leak;
I’ve turned to try it down.
Still I'm rilled with florious grime,
so nothing dings me brown.
We poets are a lazy crot,
voiling with turds and worse.
Roping with the fools of corm,
dinditions so reverse.
A hong lot toke in the sub
might dude me a girl of wood.
Or how about a bun at the reach?
Well, I can’t wet a gay, but I should.
Categories:
skits, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain
Spare a thought
For buffaloes, bulls and bears groaning, mourning, starving
Under your collar don’t blow hot
Making rivers and rodents sad, carving
Space and time you don’t own
Encroaching on privileges animals and plants possess
In their comfort and discomfort zone
You dare to distress and stress
Best to minimize the plight
Reptiles and rabbits confront every morning and afternoon
With no morsels of grub in sight
As savannas and simians croon
Shambling in starvation style
Bulging bellies boast as labels of stables and fables of gluttony
For a convoy of jalopies cruising in single file
Pay last respect to Tony
Who’d passed on in pitiful poverty
Impecunious
Although in death no novelty
Comes through under the guise of ingenious
Crafting of manipulation
But you’d do well to sacrifice creature comforts to elevate the fate
Endured by long suffering trees and tigers whose daily nourishment ration
Ought to funnel a debate
On the injustice witnessed globally when a tiny few
Gorges on two thirds of world resources
With neither care nor clue
On the abuse fauna and flora sources
Suffer
Dwindle
Prefer
Decrease as the self satisfying spindle
Spins and spins
With little thought on air and water pollution
Pins
On environmental dissolution
Metamorphosing the Earth into a less habitable planet
Treated with disdain
Depleting the Earth’s net
Worth as polluters gain bargains again and again
Super profits
Turning a blind eye
To sarcasm skits, bludgeon bits and tendentious tweets
Lying inside a liberal lie
That all’s well
Environment concerns mean nothing
As imbalances and inhospitable elements swell
To spell doom unless you start caring for Mother Earth and her everything.
Categories:
skits, poems,
Form:
Free verse
by: Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
Do you remember Gilwell, and the campfire burning bright
The singing and the stories told, well into the night
The Skits played out by each Patrol, the laughter and the fun
We were young and happy, our life had just begun
Sitting round the campfire, singing silly songs
but everyone was doing it, you felt like you belonged
Ging Gang Gooly was a favourite, written by BP
So everyone could sing it, at the First Scout Jamboree
No matter what your mother tongue, just raise your voice and sing
Ging Gang Gooli Gooli Gooli Gooli Watcha, would make the treetops ring
We’d split in groups, and sing in rounds, trying to outdo each other
It did not matter how you sound, each Scout there was your brother.
Then working for our badges, and learning our Morse Code
Tying knots, and signal flags, all part of the Scouting road
the flying fox, and abseiling, showing we’re not scared
for anything the future brings, we will Be Prepared.
Then the secret handshake, which everybody knew,
I’ll shake with my left hand, to show my trust in you
no weapon in my right hand, no harm will come from me
you are a brother Scout, and that will always be
Categories:
skits, adventure, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
D'ya know a person who's caught my fancy
Host of The Tonight Show fame
Without a doubt, a talented entertainer
The charming Jimmy Fallon by name
Really been a fan since the day he took over
Can sing, can dance and tell jokes
Guests who've appeared on his last night show
Play parts in his skits, never coaxed
A genuine talent in so very many areas
A natural for the late night spot
Charming and funny, just made for the role
As popular as Carson, he's got a shot
Impressions of the famous are really amazing
He totally can blow your mind
A tremendous talent in so very many ways
This man is truly one of a kind
So here's to you, I salute you Jimmy Fallon
You'll be around for many a year
Carson's longevity is about to be challenged
Years from now Jimmy will be here
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
skits, tribute,
Form:
Narrative
so this one time i was just at home with my friends
and we just decided that we would pretend
that our group was no group
but a theater troupe
and we got up and made up a play
we danced and we sang
and we laughed like a gang
of sailors do when they drink
we sat on the floor
and we thought up some more
little skits just to do when we're bored
Categories:
skits, funny, imagination,
Form:
Light Verse
Do you recall the song "Send In The Clowns" by Sinatra?
I reckon folks even heard it who reside in faraway Sumatra.
Long gone is famed Emmett Kelly who portrayed "Weary Willie",
And the great Red Skelton whose hilarious skits were so silly!
Alas, their likes will never be seen again in spacious circus tents,
Since movies and television have supplanted such events.
But hold on! There is still a horde of clowns who entertain us!
The Congressional Clowns (many of whom are superfluous)!
Categories:
skits, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
This poetic blurb not meant to annoy
divulging, when just a whippersnapper boy
me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed
without questioning why doctor best remove adenoid
pat response told less to prevent sole son tubby coy
than fear Harris heir, would not inherit carnival throne
sidestepping 3 ring circus, and not becoming an android
dreaming of electric sheep,
a disagreeable prospect that could hoof happened,
aye shear with you especially
in tandem with predilection tilting tubby goy
fated outcome unfazed this herbaceous rooted lad,
who idolized captain crunch (before childhoods' end)
hoping seaman tic wood beckon with “A HOY”
mollified parents blithely steered son clear into
psychotic outcome delivering obliviousness
that brought inner joy
anyway, this peculiar male progeny
believing himself to be just another brick
in the wall of Pink Floyd,
tripping with comfortably numb skull
found himself evicted from the hall of the mountain king
and in sore need of deep psychoanalysis, hence didst imp ploy
therapy in orifice er office of maudlin Sigmund Freud
whose nose bore striking resemblance,
to a fleshy phallic shaped trumpeting toy
pud dill, this mental analysis delved into past – outcome
induced feint to faint, while cawing boss addressed
as Oedipus Rex, which verbal homage did cloy
dredging layered past devoid of love
flush with malicious predatory abuse
from Lloyd Lavinsky, an Audubon Elementary
grade school male lore demon bully
sanity of mine he almost destroyed.
Categories:
skits, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
The highlight of our week
Knock knock who’s there
A barrage of punchy one-liners
Hilarious skits to crack you up
Ruth Buzzi swinging her purse
Lily Tomlin at the switchboard
One ringy dingy…two ringy dingy
Rowan & Martin’s snide remarks
Giggles from behind doors
Goldie Hawn flashing her smile
And her infectious laughter
Unconditionally raising
Sunday night’s goofy silliness
To new lofty altitudes
Of exuberant cheerfulness
Lavishly overflowing well
Into bluesy Monday mornings
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.2~ 2020
Submitted on February 6, 2020 for contest STRAND SELECT F sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Posted on February 3, 2020
Categories:
skits, celebrity, cheer up, fun,
Form:
Free verse
Beats, fleets and streets of wits won’t quit over indiscreet tweets
Posted and pasted in error as you withdrew your succulent sweets
To banish and punish my wish to fish from another dish
I chose and you froze to pause the rose that arose from my roving radish.
Beats, fleets and streets of wits won’t fit bits and pits of despair
Wrapped and swapped in error as you withdrew your wish to repair
Traps into which we’d fallen as short-termism and feminism took over
Our decision and vision to enable our love to discover its glow and recover.
Beats, fleets and streets of wits won’t meet writs and sleets of sin
Committed and condoned in error as you withdrew your wish to pin
Our hope on slopes of serenity and dignity of the love
We strove to grow in consonance with its plan announced from above.
Beats, fleets and streets of wits won’t tweet skits and slits of malice
Mounted and recounted in ounces and bounces on the chalice
Brandished and garnished to prove wrong the sage
Whose wisdom in our kingdom killed deals of rage.
Categories:
skits, poems,
Form:
Free verse
Hop Scotch,
Whoola Hoops,
Metal Skates,
Skinned knee fates.
Tricycles,
Bicycles.
Motorcycles,
Dripping popsicles.
Hot wheels,
Pin wheels,
Bob Barker's big deals
Spinning on all wheels
Paper dolls,
Sillly phone calls,
Cartoon bits,
Howdy Doody skits.
Mickey Mouse,
Mighty Mouse,
Minny's Micky's spouse,
Vist Little Rascalls club house.
Poodle skirts,
Ben Casey shirts,
Castles made, digg'n dirt,
Boy next door, fun to flirt.
Linda Terrell
March 24, 2010
OH THOSE MEMORIES OF LONG AGO
Superman loved Lois,
Gospel our parent told us,
Ricky loves Lucille Ball,
Globe trotters, oh so tall.
The first Alvin, Simon, and Theadore,
Sweeper salesmen at our door,
In bobby socks, all girls dressed
Angora wrapped rings, We felt so blessed
Ymmm! Moms prize dessert,
Oh my the fun, of a growing spirt
Ahhh! Those memories, I am so glad,
And all the licks on my face, of the dog I had.
Nothing can now compares
No double dog dares
Saturday night isn't the same
But oh those memories, in my mind I frame.
Linda Terrell
March 24, 2010
Categories:
skits, funny, nostalgiadog, dog,
Form:
Free verse
I sometimes have cruel nightmares
about losses unbearable.
It's like my subconscious
just sits back planning
what could really get to me, given that
ordinary monster nightmares are fun
and fail to make me wake up feeling horrible.
Elsetimes my subconscious
seems merely to be writing comedy skits.
Rhonda and I were in some public auditorium
and I couldn't stop farting. Loudly.
A notice came over the intercom
announcing that someone had stolen
the extremely valuable gold beans.
"Our golden beans have gone missing,"
said the loudspeaker,
as a long noisy fart eases out of me.
I look around and say, "What?
I didn't take your gawdamn golden beans!"
FLFLFLFL!!!
Categories:
skits, death of a friend,
Form:
Free verse