Best Uproarious Poems
In a room that once commanded great respect,
stage lights began to hiss with heated anticipation.
There were sounds of alcohol infused rumblings
and laughter rolling through the rows of seats
from the tongues of young fancies whose foibles
await the reverence paid to tales that may last
a lifetime.
A baritone voice boomed in imposing prominence
that demanded attention. With such articulation,
trained by years of experience spent in circus tents
and speakeasies, the once proud barker's monologue
cracked from age and fifty years of bad whisky.
He had a past filled with evil deeds and dashed hopes,
but on he stumbled as the introduction to tonight's
show surged from his lips.
A young lady emerged mid-stage from behind a curtain.
A single spotlight bathed her every titillation,
perfectly choregraphed to a pulsing rhythm.
All eyes were fixated as imaginations were provoked
beyond reality. The white feathers of her costume
teased senses and libidos raged while she strutted,
ending with a peek that would even give a preacher
reason to pause.
As the lights dimmed and the cat calls subsided,
backstage an old women picked up her broom and slumped
upon a stool. A tear fell, caressing her weathered cheek.
Breathless, after performing the dance she'd practiced
a thousand times, the young women took her final
curtain call to an uproarious standing ovation.
As she dashed toward the dressing room,
the old woman rose from her stool and the two embraced.
The joyful exuberance was that of a child at Christmas.
Her voice cracked as she exclaimed,
"I haven't felt this alive .
in fifty years!
"My dear sister, may I wear this enchanted costume
again after your next show?" "May I, May I,"
the young girl implored.
"Of course", the old woman replied,
"twins share everything."
C.W.S.
03/25/2020
M ystically making magical mountainess memories
Y outhful yielding yachting yawns younder
N ewborn Nightingales nesting nervously near
A mbient animals auditioning against the airwaves
T imorous trees that tirelessly tower throughout time
U niversal uplifting of uproarious undying unions
R ivers rhythmically running revitalizing romances
E arth elegantly euphorically evolving eternally.
Oops!...had to adjust..reread...poem must be minimum 8 lines maximum 24 lines
Aug.08.2016
Wordscapes - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
(With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, author of "Casey at the Bat".)
The Mudville nine and Casey have their chance for sweet revenge;
They play today in Dirtburg, their misfortune to avenge.
Two mighty Casey homers have us leading, five to four.
The bottom of the ninth arrives: three cheers for three outs more!
The lead-off slugger, Bugsy, flies to right: out number one.
But Smith and Jones both single; now the worrying’s begun.
So when our pitcher, Nelly, loads the bases with a walk,
In shaken insecurity we hush our hopeful talk.
We badly need a strikeout—better yet, a double play.
But cleanup batter Brutus may have something more to say.
Old Nelly sure looks nervous as he winds up for the pitch,
And Brutus eyes him coolly, and we see his muscles twitch.
And now our hearts stop beating as we hear the bat’s report.
And ahh, relief—we breathe again; he’s grounded straight to short!
The shortstop throws to second for the force: out number two.
The easy lob to first will end this rematch, right on cue.
The Dirtbag Coliseum is erupting in a din:
Uproarious cheers reverberate as Smith and Jones jog in.
The joyful, jubilant half-gibes behind each haughty face
Proclaim our Casey still a bum; he’s overthrown first base.
A sub human waste dump named Pence
Has thoughts that defy common sense
And who wants this chump?
The assinine Trump
Who thinks with his rump so immense
What is something uproarious?
Her plan to be victorious
Who must to us speak
Since democracy’s Greek?
Hilarious Clintorius!
Dear parents, don't you agree
that you all quite regularly see
Your tiny pranksters shouting loud -
Higher and shriller than they are allowed?
So here's the solution to end all your worries -
When your naughty little poppet stealthily scurries
To make blood-curdling, spine-tingling, uproarious noises,
Just scare them to silence with their headmasters' voices!
Dear Sir Thomas:
Angels
never fly
too far away.
Cherubs
are
pious messengers
cloaked in
ribbed-serpentine
streamers;
bathing
themselves
in a bemused
shower
of rainbow-lit
banderoles.
Stifled
in an unseen
internal silence -
a clandestine court
of guardians;
our private angels,
unassumingly,
fold their
winged extremities
and gloriously
chant messianic
chorales without an
operatic note
perceived.
No gestures.
Nothing mumbled.
The chosen few...
we know better.
Dear Sir Thomas:
Weren't we
uproarious then?
Biting our lips
and neurotically
watching re-runs
of Laugh-In;
it reassembled
our gamed hurt.
It provided us
with focus,
but now - I'm
acting as a
disguised charlatan,
borrowing
strength
from the cinders
of a simple
nature like yours
(to camoflauge )
my own
internal
disfiguration.
As for the
brokenhearted -
they silently
weep.
Dear Sir Thomas:
Our heads are
turned towards
your smiling face.
Remind us not
about an
unspoken unwanting
or a silent forgetting -
yet submerge us in
the rememberance of
continued happiness.
The grins you
spread upon our brows -
were instantaneous
and infectious.
Your wonder.
Your magic -
irrigates our
veins like a
remembered
shuffle
of a
whispered
solitaire for
two.
Happiness -
you reminded us
not to forget about -
the enjoyable
outcome of an
upturned frown.
For it is our time -
it is
our moment...
to grasp
a minute
in our hands,
within a second,
and
ponder it's memory
for an eternity.
We all trip
upon stupidity.
We all shoot
and
stumble upon
the benign.
Dear Sir Thomas:
An anonymous
angel
spilled my soul
into tomorrow's
chalice
drowning me
in your
splendid
miraculous dreams.
For that
special invitation -
I wipe away my
prayer-filled tears
and thank you -
as you now romp
within an angelic entourage
of embraced
enchantment.
Goodnight, Sir Thomas.
In memory of a dear poet and friend - Thomas Bell
Shall I relay a sidesplitting hoot from my “care-free” on campus fun phase?
It entails a laboratory session involving three mystic world colossal oafs.
One had an unerring penchant for Laurel and Hardy mishaps, the other this beautiful dreamer whose attention span rambled for miles.
a meandering focal point tourist with no yen for one spot or one task.
As for me the fault-prone narrator I had comic book deficits too.
Pulitzer Prize petty fog pinpoint, fastidious fat head by gum!
At the hearth of this tale is a chemistry prep that was doomed from an innocent outset.
It was aptly enough “Anodyne,” this soon to be splitting head bushfire.
From uproarious weighing scale howlers, to starter material gaffes, to say nothing of sequential missteps, Mount Everest blunders galore.
Our ill-fitting glassware threw tantrums, miscellaneous beaker’s burst dams, reactants rose up, a calamitous farce, they shed buckets of organic stuff down the sink.
For all my precision I seemed a right goof with this risible maximum brownie point fetish.
My beautiful dreamer close comrade who by turns Walter Mitty pale stand-in now immune to chaotic abandon at large.
That accident-prone other pal
would be every insurer’s worst nightmare.
Nearby class mates could barely restrain widespread glee at us laughing stock hapless quaint bunch.
The poor teacher in charge had a seizure, quite gormless, green faced and gobsmacked.
“I wonder what next can go wrong.”
“Quite frankly I shudder to think as you merry buffoons soldier on.”
This thunderstruck teacher was known as the “doyen of do it right down to the dottiest detail.”
After a humorous pause his eyeballs rotate in jocular mode then made a ginormous grand gesture.
“Put this jinx ridden self-destruct day in some tuck away memory file.”
“Write a one page report, say the gremlins prevailed and I’ll give you an average mark.”
“For goodness sakes don’t blow this offer like you’ve nearly blown
up my whole group.”
On an ironic note “doyen do it right” gave a brief safety course start of term.
It seemingly fell on deaf ears.
I’ll be blowed as my parents once said when life took a damned awful turn.
We three “Einsteins” in technical garb almost were, blowed that is!
Posted ; 11th January 2022
BLUE MOON TREES
whistles and wings
love to cling
to branch trampolines.
like humans, they hanker
for adventurous voyaging.
here’s where the story takes flight.
you see, they wade and wander,
into the genius greenery of central park,
that is on the Oasis ship - docked.
trees are silent at sea,
as little shuttles lift off,
as the vainglorious ship
departs port, and dark deepens.
lavishing love and holding hands,
wet whistles of whiskey and wine.
clapping and high-fiving wings,
in disbelief, of their uproarious adventure,
climb ever higher, as high as possible.
alight on the prime pinnacle
of their favorite trees, to fantasize.
one lone bird, closes his eagle eyes.
as the stars, billow away below,
he stretches his wings and soars,
at tremendous speed, a first bird
landing on the blue moon trees.
he preens himself proud. Evermore -
angels with wings, whistle and wish.
5/10/2017
Congressman and senators forewent
all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers
and firearms as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold
more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs
and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and cock knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint
against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
and verve espoused by fellow delegates, and his hologram ghost bloody
from battle scars outside and/or inside
the halls of government where blows bashed
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate
as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis
of the twenty first century
during the term of Donald Trump
who throve on the cutthroat frenzied
internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon any hope for civilians to escape bloodshed
spilled from without vaunted halls of justice,
the approach of doomsday
writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed
with uproarious coup d’etat,
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
It seems it’s the end of that uproarious tale.
That rosy-coloured story could finally fade.
I’ve been glowing in light and now weary in shade.
These subliminal ideas is what your absence breeds.
I was your everything and now you’re not even taking a heed.
Baffled I am! How could you ossify my tenderness by your deeds?
You’ve curtailed affection and planted distrust’s seed.
O you remember, I was the one you badly need.
Now, I bid you the last farewell, and go as fast as a steed.
Blood from my heart had fled; I am a living dead indeed.
I will drown my ship veering to the dangerous offshore reef.
Let me slay that tender heart that caused so much pain.
Alas, my doting paramour, my heart won’t palpitate in vain.
These bloodless wars and sunken hearts would no longer sustain.
I‘d no longer take part in this unaccustomed play that made me bovine.
If you find another love, just go away and end this dread.
That acutely abiding love didn’t last as you vowed out
This whist is to be ended. I bow out.
I was dauntless, but I am no longer stout.
I waived you all my inviolable rights, but you violated them out.
Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they paint sound and city pastel,
never at a loss for inspiration,
weather neither bar nor barrier,
in the face of whirlwind snowfall,
freezing ice, torrential downpour,
within themselves, he, she, they plod on,
hardship is adopted, never cast aside,
while others brazenly squirm,
wallow in uproarious denial,
wilt before the slightest storm,
taking flight in arid comfort zone,
shelter is their first convenient port,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
alert does not begin an ample portrait,
of this wilful dwindling genus,
genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
they capture worlds sidereal,
under velvet moon imagining bespoke,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
how magical their canny weave lexicon,
for us timid souls to relish evermore,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
vicarious the kismet, excitement from afar,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep
The Concert
In a crowded concert hall musicians stir.
Coming to life, the wind slowly swings a loose screen door.
Half a mile away, the wide open door is but a dot
Diminishing the darkness from the heavens above.
Through, shines a spotlight
a single stalactite of the sun;
A note sweeps across the hall, amidst the chattering of insects.
Hearts pound, fists clench and tremble,
In the desert, heat shimmering carries a whimpering,
awaiting the breaking of drought.
Cumulous swirls. Dust. Blackened bunches of grass swept free from war hardened roots.
The orchestra tunes. A rolling clap echoing off cliff and canyon walls.
Demanding attention. The Chaotic warm-up decrescendos,
falling away and the now darkened hall waits in silence.
The conductor, lifts one hand gingerly,
mirroring the gods, lightly commanding the elements.
First violinist appears and bows dutifully.
Taking her seat in the company.
Then, slowly, painfully, music begins.
Soft as down, distant, slow.
All ears crane to catch the first drops lightly falling on sweltering desert stone.
A simple melody, yet boldly wrote
to saturate. Composed solely to touch the lives of those who know.
Picking up speed, loose and free, diving harmonies lifting morale, settling dreams.
Running down trunks and off limbs
dancing down canyons, pattering on tin
Lathering every pattern, every page and music stand
Note and instrument
There, for all in the dim to see
The resounding proof
of a hope that literally floats on the breeze.
Then, brass unwrap mutes and salute,
with percussive cracks, pounding the steaming ground.
Strings float in and out in torrents, near, far, wave after wave.
A thousand voices breaching and expanding beyond the horizon.
Surpassing the sun's intensity.
Then, lightning flashes coda and the final cadence booms.
Uproarious applause.
Without Knowing Your Gender...,
(nonetheless ex post facto still flattered)
Bhutan names defy affiliating,
determining, identifying... gender,
and what a faux pas this dada admits,
when a blessed high school
student did league gully tender
benighted, gifted, ordained yours truly
with sobriquet "Guru"
alluded to in previous poem, render
ring this foolish hearty good fella (me)
falling prey to embarrassing situation,
(I did misrender
as would be expected
from this crash test dummy,
who dented his psychological fender),
vis virtual mind bender,
when an initial presumption
smarted Matthew Scott as offender,
asper online youth NO pretender
by him, aye mean the sender
communicated his admiration,
adoration, adulation for this big spender
of sincerity, viz singular poetic magi - (ha)
made presumption that
unknown messenger slender,
and female, and
upon enclosing appender
referencing person as "lovely princess"
did respondent clarify finding deface
of zee poet here -
logic chops went thru blender
as if slapped by a suspender
experiencing irrevocable shame
as though a contender
attempting to guide false supposition
playfully mistaking sexual
identity of male sender,
he (young kneeler)
bowed as winning scoring goaltender
down as mine professed
metrical feet, he who acquiesced
non Asian minor, friender
NOT seeking moneylender,
nor mistook my heart of gold),
mine apology I did obligingly surrender
and possibly chuckled to himself,
asper an uproarious hellbender
whereat my countenance turned
fifty plus shades of lavender.
HOT SUMMER DAY
hair’s fallen, wet.
clinging shirt with sweat.
shoe’s barely protect
my feet, from the pavement’s heat.
i climb aboard the bus, no
air conditioning, of course,
and head to the bustling city streets.
perspiration stains and inpatient glances
all shout, with the fervor of a wet dog, shaking himself.
i depart this catacomb.
windows decorated with sundresses and sandals.
the dummies never bat their eyes nor stink,
though the steam seeps into every crevice.
i’m glum and irritated,
the heat pressing on every thought.
i’ve come here to find a gift -
and i do i do i do
not in the shops
but in the street.
i hear the uproarious laughter
of children.
the city street has sprung
a fire hydrant leak.
oh those tinkling voices,
like crystal, lifting up my spirits!
oh the joy of splashing waters
and the serendipitous smiles!
oh how i can live
through the glorious eyes
of happy children.
my heart forgets my complaint.
9/16/2017
Eve Roper’s Hot Summer Day Contest
1st Place
Congressman and senators forewent
all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers
and exhibiting the right to bare firearms
as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold
more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs
and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and cock knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint
against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
plus verve espoused by fellow delegates,
and his hologram ghost bloody
from battle scars outside and/or inside
the halls of government where blows bashed
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate
as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis
of the twenty first century
during the term of Donald Trump
who throve on the cutthroat frenzied
internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon
any hopelessness for civilians to escape bloodshed
spilled from without vaunted halls of justice,
the approach of doomsday
writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed
with uproarious coup d’etat,