Best Vaudeville Poems
Written: February 3rd, 2024
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Existence for him,
should be the shivering,
a fantastic cymbal beat,
beaten with a firm stick,
then, at the time of closing,
all the lights are turned off,
there is no soundtrack at all,
and destiny struck,
vacuous vaudeville
eternity is a halted horn,
and yesterday, a tumbler of spirit,
drunken long ago.
I sit tree-side every night,
anger, grief, and key loss
I wait, hoping someone cares,
I realize nobody will ever come
I sat by the weeping willow,
Its lushness and gloom calm me,
tears fuel my restless dreams
still, my aloofness is illusory
I didn't grasp when it started
I had no friends or affection,
my heart broke and rotted
my echt days are gone,
I'm weary of crying and aching,
smiling, they toss me a chair and cord,
they feign to care for a while
and shut the doors to lie by the bay
their dismay while I live,
how do they pardon my curse?
their love scenes are fake.
Why must I suffer?
why is finding my tears a chore?
have I merited this?
what can I do to delight you?
allow this to conclude,
love me or befriend me
let this misery cease soon,
nights I weep, days I feign,
I bestow joy with my words
why can't I relax and relish?
why do you often depress me?
you don't care as much as others
You're teasing me from above,
I recognize I'll never improve,
I have no love or paradise,
let's hope for the best,
Isolation is a long path to hell,
my life isn't awful, but no one calls,
I may stay as hate sweeps the earth,
stay with my weeping willow.
Categories:
vaudeville, analogy, appreciation, cry, life,
Form:
Free verse
As the tempo lifts unto a spotlight
releasing a pulsed dangle where limbs,
arms, and hips gyrate on flamed waves
of a lambent dance: skirts mounting
through Chicago musical’s tones…
and like splashed paint, each raced jiggle
turns vaudeville into fireworks of air-brushed strokes
illuminating the arena with raw movement
as every tap enters a kinesthetic pore;
while I, between suctioned gasps,
quiver inside my belly…intoxicated!
For Contest No 227: Brian Strand
Categories:
vaudeville, art, dance,
Form:
Free verse
There, parked in rows
like overused commas
or German prose
or mothballed bombers
lay ranks of rats
as if on drill,
but quite as dead
as vaudeville.
Someone had slit
each ventral hide
and pulled it back
to peek inside.
And there they lay,
flat on their backs,
guts on display,
paws pinned by tacks.
Ashamed, they were,
like party-crashers,
with gaping fur,
like little flashers.
Those organs, packed
so coral-fine,
would soon be hacked
by Class B-9.
Unseeing eyes
stared at the ceiling,
but woke in me
a fellow-feeling.
We’re all the same.
We want to live.
Why dish out blame?
Why bring a sieve,
sort sheep from goats,
grandly decide
who lives and dies?
To my distress,
those little guys
with upturned throats
and parted coats
were nothing less
than crucified.
Categories:
vaudeville, life,
Form:
Rhyme
How big you seemed, how bright your stage
how loud and funny, in my little boy's eyes
you were larger than everyone else's life,
even a lifetime later, your memory still is
Those amazing vaudeville routines, with new
command performances for each gathering,
were rehearsed in daily kitchen pantomimes
while we children sat in wide eyed awe
An Irish version of the Honeymooners,
so funny that you didn't need Art Carney
so real that sometimes, I held my breath
....to the moon, McGinty, to the moon!
He would bellow and I would nervously ask,
is she really going to the moon, Mommy?
Then they'd be off on another rollicking
road in the evening's riotous repertoire
The quieter types would roll their eyes
when the curtains would part on Act 1
while everyone else laughed and wished
that they could be just like you two
To the moon, McGinty, to the moon....
Categories:
vaudeville, childhood, dedication, funny, growing
Form:
Free verse
All the gym's a stage
And all the pale boys merely players;
Unconvincing ones, too.
At the theatre entrance
I part with pride
For a curious form of Vaudeville.
The maxims of inertia invert.
No longer are the masters
Of the ruling class.
To make up for their deficit,
They perform:
Cackle, strut, and prance disgustingly,
Strive insensitively to sound “street,”
To be street.
(Street actors.)
It must be black magic
To float over concrete,
To steer balls
Into circles.
Audience: the girls and I,
But especially
The dark magicians themselves,
Who either sponsor their imitators,
Or disapprove and sneer.
Cheated of my cash again,
I hurry backstage
And recognize the actors
Without their costumes,
Sporting familiarity: Hollister, Jansport, Abercrombie.
The bell rings; they exit;
The shoe polish
Washes off their faces;
They morph
Into rich white boys
Once more.
Categories:
vaudeville, america, basketball, school, social,
Form:
Free verse
In Philadelphia, in the year 1929,
an actress was born that had a career that was fine.
Grace Kelly, the daughter of Jack and Margaret Kelly,
came from quite a distinguished Irish Catholic family.
Her father was successful as a self-made millionaire;
her brother, an Olympian and town councilman there.
Grace’s uncle Walter Kelly was a vaudeville actor,
and Uncle George Kelly, a Pulitzer-winning writer.
Any film critic would tell you her acting was quite good.
She was one of the beautiful women in Hollywood.
Among her films were, “Fourteen Hours”, “High Noon”, and “Mogambo”,
and Alfred Hitchcock’s “Dial M for Murder” and “Rear Window”.
For “The Country Girl”, she won the Oscar for Best Actress.
In several other major films, Grace made great progress.
Included with “The Swan”, her other great pictures would be
“To Catch a Thief“, “Green Fire” and “The Bridges at Toko-Ri”
Her last film would be with Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby.
This was the Cole Porter musical “High Society”.
Later that year, Grace would marry Monaco’s Prince Rainier.
She retired from the screen and became a princess that day.
Grace had three children, Albert, Caroline, and Stephanie.
With her husband, she ruled the tiny principality.
Grace’s life ended abruptly when she was fifty-two.
Her life was like a storybook fairy tale dream come true.
Categories:
vaudeville, dedicationfilm, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Unlike a magician
real magic I weave
It's not a trick
nothing up my sleeve
No abracadabra
no sleight of hand
No vaudeville act
or stunt preplanned
No mumbo jumbo
no hocus pocus
No smoke and mirrors
to make eyes lose focus
No prestidigitation
no attempt to deceive
No optical illusion
or make believe
Real magic exists
it's not hard to find
Just close your eyes
and open your mind
Categories:
vaudeville, magic,
Form:
Rhyme
(Baldassare Galuppi was a music composer
in 18th century Venice. Johann Pachelbel
came a little earlier. Maurice Chevalier and
Mistinguette were vaudeville artists and
on-off lovers in Paris in the 1920s.)
Your filigree correctly fret,
those perforations, so correct!
And how I love that dying strain,
suggesting sadness, feigning pain!
A twisted, coloured paper chain,
a love both sacred and profane,
your melody's a silhouette:
imperfect pleasure, sweet regret.
Your sharp and sugared vinaigrette
is like a Pachelbel duet,
a sorbet made with fine champagne,
or raindrops on a window pane,
the fragrant soil of southern Spain,
a grief I still can't ascertain -
Chevalier and Mistinguette?
That wistful chime! I hear it yet!
Categories:
vaudeville, music,
Form:
Rhyme
Jerry
George
Kramer
Elaine
They're my favorite show about nothing;
my jolt of funny,
my cup of insane
They're my telly four friends,
who are the nuttiest
A distinct comedic blend
of vaudeville vamped sluttiness
I love 'em to death,
they make me laugh so hard
Insane of the hare brain
is their ensemble calling card
Jerry Seinfeld:
the ringleader, the funny man
George Constanza:
best friend with the simple plan
Kramer Cosmos:
weird and wacky, dresses oh so tacky
Elaine Benes:
best girl ever in the mold of Dennis the Menace
Jerry and George,
Kramer and Elaine
Everything you wanted to know about nothing ...
blank pictures in a cranial frame
Then come plunk your money down,
and taste this cup of cappuccino insane
The four stars are truly iconic,
but they got memorable supporting characters too:
David Puddy and Mr. Peterman,
George's parents, Frank and Estelle
Jerry's parents, Morty and Helen,
Lloyd Braun and Jackie Chiles
are an odd assortment of characters as well
If you've never seen it,
check out the show
Here's a few of my favorite episodes:
The Little Kicks
The Apology
The Puffy Shirt
The Serenity
Now funny is always fresh,
and funny is always good
Here's a few more episodes,
now that you're laughing like I knew you would
The Foundation
The Library
The Strong Box
The Soup Nazi
Should you let this zany crew
become a part of your must-see view
Have a blast,
have a ball
Just be prepared
to be left in stitches and all
Jerry
George
Kramer
Elaine
They're my favorite show about nothing,
my favorite cup of insane
Categories:
vaudeville, funny, humor, humorous, tribute,
Form:
Light Verse
Assailed upon all sides; trapped, like a rat without his cheese.
Though I wore quite fancy shoes, there were no socks upon my feet,
When I fought the heathens and, met defeat, at the Pillar Of Muhamete.
Through a wall of living flesh I hacked; my trusty hatchet, my only tool.
On a bloody muddy Monday morning, before the Temple of Kabul.
Great green spiders big as tanks, did we ride to meet enemy ranks,
And the sky was the hue of lemons, as we made war on the Plains of Singahlee.
When the cannons melted, I said "chuck it", then with a broomstick and a bucket,
Did I storm the castle of the Great Caliph. With a cabin boy creeping , at my knee.
With a lantern strapped to my head, I broached the tower gate to set the captives free!
When it seemed our lines would crack, I urged the regiment to the attack;
Our war wagons pulled by eight foot frogs, imported from the gates of hell.
When bullets ran low, we threw rocks; til at last we waved our members.
To show ourselves unafraid, we stipped to aprons our mums had made,
Then went raging down the hillsides, with a shrieking girlish yell.
One Bullock Pete he died that day; Big Dick Willie; hewed in twain in the fray.
But the blue balls boys of Bingham held the line! The blood flowed like cheap wine.
Smoke and screams filled the air, like cheap perfume in a whore's lair.
Amidst the fire and the smoke, I did a softshoe and told a joke.
And an old vaudeville routine nearly saved the day on that battlefield afar.
We ran like possums through the trees, In our boots and BVDs.
We may have lost the bloody battle, but we won the flipping war!
Categories:
vaudeville, parodywar, war,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
They sing; they bring
That Beatle-fab scream
Of love-change-spring --
New, quick-beat theme.
A change like Revolver.
My heart's Rubber Soul,
That gear autumn solver
I won with hand-in-bowl.
Predecessors who inspired:
Richard, Storm and Berry;
Presley and Dylan (wired);
Perkins and Donovan (very).
Indian, vaudeville, ragtime:
Music-videos are the future.
In Pepperland awash in rhyme,
This "All Together Now" looper....
https://youtu.be/2FLde6Shxq8
September 2, 2016
Rock 'n Roll Rhyme Fest - Poetry Contest
Categories:
vaudeville, celebrity, england, guitar, hair,
Form:
Quatrain
I often wonder slightly,
as I close the fridge door nightly,
is there more to know about produce,
so innocent next to juice?
Does the mayo fight the milk jug?
Does the ketchup dance out on the rug?
I swear I hear it faintly,
from the kitchen floors below!
Are the leftover pizza slices,
charging outrageous ticket prices,
to a vaudeville pickle show?
But everytime I creep,
to see what company bagels keep,
my eyes can only see,
silent eggs,
a quiet scone,
and a dormant block of provolone!
Hmmmm...
I'll get the tea pot to tell it all to me...
Categories:
vaudeville, fantasy, humor,
Form:
Couplet
Comedy Cruggily
Robin McLaurin Williams
Actor, comedian
drug addiction
Troubled with Dementia
with Lewy bodies DLB
vicissitudinous
Mork and Mindy
Debonair Demeanor
Archibald Alec Leach
Vaudeville comic, Actor
Grant Best Actor
A troublesome childhood
Connubiality
Zeppo Marx role model
Freelance actor
1/12/2021
Double Dactyl Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Categories:
vaudeville, truth,
Form:
Double Dactyl
Who would have known,
your roots were hidden, deep,
beyond the shadows that would keep you,
dancin'in the street?
Being just a bum when it all began,
when you were very young.
And who knew the circumstances...
of your own poverty?
From a mother
who couldn't cope,
and left you all alone...
and abandoned?
And you found yourself,
sleeping...
on those park benches
in Kennington.
But then, you met the organ man,
there in East Street,
where you tapped into the lightness...
of your own dance.
Creating that special place
in your imagination,
and you would escape...
and become the vaudeville man.
Living with a plan,
that would bring you fame and fortune!
With cane and hat, strutting your stuff,
along some promenade.
Yet being so afraid,inside,
you couldn't hide that sadness...
on your sleeve.
But it would all appear in your dress,
what a mess!
And there, along some tavern street,
you would meet and greet the ladies,
and find yourself again,
tapping into your own ballet...
With a glimmer in your eye.
and driven to succeed,
who knew the suffering you would face...
from your loneliness melancholy ways?
On stage,
you were on...
never ceasing
to play a part.
But off stage,
was a tale of a whole different guy,
being lonely and shy, and rather
reserved.
And you became the comedian in your time,
when mine struck the ultimate chord for your success,
and you imitated...
the inebriate!
Categories:
vaudeville, celebrity, clothes, community, fantasy,
Form:
Classicism
Pick up the plaid skirt curly,
ride to the rave party on the down low
Sneak out the lame pimple place early,
take the cutie to the Hush Hush ‘Mo ‘Mo
Trying to act playa Romeo ... like he know,
but those fumbling hands show
And the honey he brought,
she don’t know too much mo’
Amateur young lovers trying to be pros ...
mature triple X adult for the first time
But they be talking too much,
don’t know when to put the tongue
in the plug
How to get wired ... get electrocuted love
They don’t tell each other that they really don’t know,
so they continue to put on a clumsy show
She talks a titillating tart Juliet,
but she ain’t a grown woman yet
Her body says she’s good to go —
but she don’t know how to pick up the pole,
and vault to the next love level tho’
And the rookie Casanova, with the limp bent noodle,
ain’t got a French poodle clue what to Irish lip doodle
So they continue on with their comedic vaudeville shuffle :
Dumbo gives the bimbo Bambi girl
a hasty, upstairs wardrobe malfunction
This gets dizzy Dolly’s bra flapping like a pigeon
runway model at a pantomime luncheon
Fanny Panty Brice and Klutzy Superfly
starring in a “Dingbat Does Doofus” short sex life
Silly-o omelette loving ... screw ups by the dozen
Doh boy’s first diddle muffins never got into the oven,
cuz he couldn’t get the rise inside the Twinkie to grow
Donut hole girl never got the cream-filled poke ladle straddle,
cuz she couldn’t turn the soft soft wood into hard hard paddle
No tell no ‘mo
what you say you know ... but don’t
No tell no ‘mo
what you say you can do ... but your IQ won’t
No tell no ‘mo
what you say you know ... but you really don’t
No tell no ‘mo
what you say you can do ... but don’t know how
to
make the bosom udders give up
the moo-moo
Baby woodpecker wearing a baby chef rubber hat,
take your baby beaver apron
unloosed string bow
and naked fetch the how-to-milk stool now
No tell no ‘mo
what you say you can do ... but don’t know how
Get the ‘Mo ‘Mo
moo-moo tail tongue pail — Right now!
And go out to
the barn and learn how to milk the cow
Categories:
vaudeville, humorous, imagery, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Burlesque