Best Wisecrack Poems
Oh where could one sweet person go
Who craves a phrase to ebb and flow
Or meanings' depths as oceans know
How could it be, oh could it be ...
A world bereft of poetry?
Oh how could joyous laughs be heard
But naught for play of word-on-word
A whimsical wisecrack smilingly slurred
How could it be, oh could it be ...
A world sans punny poetry?
Oh where could loners take their tears
Or troubled souls find hopes to pierce
The roiling blackness feared and fierce
How could it be, oh could it be ...
A world without dark poetry?
Oh where would lovers hope to chart
The grandest coursing of their heart
The dreams that bind and tear apart
How could it be, oh could it be ...
A world with no love poetry?
How could the human race e'er find
The artful words of heart and mind
That poets craft of thought refined
Of urge, intent and dream entwined
The deep expressions oft' designed
To phrase what can't be yet defined
Oh ALL the things left blank and blind
How could it be, oh could it be ...
A world bereft of poetry?
Thank heav'n that world ... won't ever be.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "If There Was No Poetry" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
Near my house in the back,
bit lost on a sidetrack,
along the grassy track.
Turned a bit to backtrack,
closer is the right tack,
near my house in the back.
Yet things went out of whack,
more lost was a setback,
along the grassy track.
I put on a soundtrack,
and I thought to kickback,
near my house in the back.
Thought of how'd I attack
then there was a throwback,
along the grassy track.
A song that I playback,
"Get right back" ... [Bleep] (wisecrack)
near my house in the back,
along the grassy track.
The crack of dawn
The crack of the bat...
A crack in the pavement
Fall through the cracks...
Crack cocaine
A crack fighter pilot...
A clever wisecrack
That cracked me up...
Crack your knuckles
Jimmy crack corn
Crack a smile
Crack the whip...
To comprehend this little ode
You have to crack the language code
Knick Knack Paddy Whack
Can’t take back a wisecrack
If you wanna be a crackerjack
Earn a greenback from blackjack
Gotta buyback your backpack
Need to blister pack your flapjacks
Evident ebbing of drawbacks
Raises the bar for the sad sacks
The good life, so Kodak
So long as you don’t sidetrack
Selfie people hide in haystacks
Hoarding their golden tie tacks
Shall we ponder how to give back
Go beyond the dusty knickknack
Respect deserves a worthy payback
Not a flimsy whimsy kickback
Society requests a comeback
When Will Anyone Ever Learn
Have learned while going out on a limb;
We may become suspicious of her or him,
Wondering what next they soon may say;
Separate sand boxes when sexes play.
Mind may have made a cruel wisecrack;
If anyone is black must ride in the back,
And also they could be a person of color,
May be misfits who have become duller.
Each time my heart slowly started to sink,
Boys must wear blue while girls wear pink
Then a green yard by we would walk pass;
Sign said Sailors and Blacks keep off grass.
People were full of much anger and hate;
Each Southern State refused to integrate;
They beat a drum and a guitar did strum;
Black women President would become?
Could hardly bare and was hard to repeat;
Blacks should stay on other side of street;
Only reason women we would love and laud
Have big boobs and awesome beautiful bod.
Love living at home in America here on earth
But to you, for whatever this may be worth
The concept of WASP find it difficult to grasp,
As we become infuriated and start to gasp.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Based on my consulting this year’s almanac
June 30th being the best possible day for a BBQ out back
I sent out invitations to everyone, I didn’t hold back
There was the lumberjack, the nymphomaniac
The humpback, the hunchback and the hypochondriac
The kleptomaniac, the hemophiliac and the insomniac
No reason to leave out the egomaniac and the pyromaniac
Ooops and how could I almost forget our local amnesiac
I proposed a neighbourly exchange of paperback
I asked them all to contribute, call back or at least provide feedback
Eve of June 30th, gotta prepare my shack
Start to clean vigorously with ammoniac
Wash my floors and dust that miscellaneous bric-a-brac
To make room for guests, park my hatchback in the cul-de-sac
Find bowls for every possible sweet and snack
Think of various games including kayak and piggyback
Think I might serve some type of aphrodisiac
Put together a musical playlist of 60’s to 70’s flashback
Get all set for a promising night of banter and wisecrack
I think I’ve thought of everything and I’m right on track
O gotta go… I think I hear the doorbell- must be Jack
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on February 22, 2018
HRC and You and Me
Bill retired and did ride off into the dust
Return again we always knew he must
With Hillary wo happened to be trusty
Even though great shape not very busty.
Many experiences Hillary had been through
Yet still firm not changing point of view
With voice we heard that was so stern
Said, "Back to White House I shall return."
Has all of the qualities that are essential
For person who likes acting Presidential
Making everyone feel safe and sound
Whenever we will have Hillary around.
Some day too her second term shall expire
And like husband Bill she also did retire
Hoping never again to hear some wisecrack
Made by Bernie about another Super PAC.
What I positively really meant to say
Was, "With HRC it has to be the only way (Not LBJ)
And always know what Bill and Hillary mean
When they start talking about SWEET SIXTEEN.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Watched All of My Belongings
Some say of liberalism sure was to smack
Which is what I had said in my wisecrack
There were also other people who said
They think I should have dropped dead.
Lacked any ability of being eloquent
Even said I sounded like an elephant
Budding behavior was unpredictable
That ended up becoming despicable.
After into strange story I further read
As usual, down the path again was lead
By the time I went around the bend
I then did end up being at a dead end.
What can a dead end be deadlier than
Took some time and only a short span
Bare big bosoms had been on my brain
Died because I couldn't stand the strain.
James Humorous As Usual Horn
These last few years I have witnessed many changes in my being,
Some were expected but others I had no way of foreseeing.
If someone would have said I’d be writing poetry a few years back,
I probably would of laughed and made some silly wisecrack.
But now I’m thankful of the gift I’ve been given and enjoy what I do,
And I am especially grateful for the wonderful friends I’ve made this last year or two.
And Poetry Soup is probably one of the best sites on the internet,
I can honestly say becoming part of this site I have no regrets.
It’s a fun site and all are welcome but please keep it clean,
And now someone is trying to destroy this place, that’s just downright dirty and mean.
There are plenty of sites out there that probably need destroying but give the Soup a break,
It’s just a place for us old foggies to get together and communicate for goodness sake.
Why don’t you take your computer skills and use them for good instead of bad,
Be a non hacker and try starting a new fad.
Most people when they get older truly regret the bad things in life they’ve done,
Destroying someone else’s property is wrong and I can’t imagine that being fun
who should be used
sin seems to be like some sediment
ending up becoming an impediment
in life that will try to hold you back
when you were making a wisecrack
it could be cunning cutting remark
to a forest fire soon sets the spark
a big one and is roaring and raging
as if an animal you could be caging
animals try to walk back and forth
from east to west south and north
at least they are not on a long list
of animals once here now missed
my poem may be quite confusing
a sin when animals are misusing
down long path are we being led
use people as an example instead
james horn
retired veteran
no capitals or punctuation
is the new modern style
White House Possibly in the Future
When my wife had looked at her clock
She was in a complete state of shock
Seemed like the usual same old song
I again had been sleeping all day long.
After I finally found myself wide awake
Another nice nap I did decide to take
Which was restful, peaceful and sublime
That it had lasted until supper time.
Wrote this poem somewhere in between
And was never sure what it may mean
When the sun down soon started to creep
I again fell into one more very deep sleep.
Discovered that I had slept for forty years
And when all my hopes along with the fears
Were waiting there ready for me to greet
What should I do with them after I meet?
My destiny tried to choose and was picking
And I ended up doing was some politicking
That to do it all I had carefully planned for
When some said seven add ad to four score.
Which had been how many years ago it was
To memorize address in school everyone does
(Or else you wouldn't find your way home.)
And not only that I have heard some say
It all occurred in Gettysburg good old PA.
Imagine me marrying a good looking babe
Actually married none other than Honest Abe
And when we had looked at her picture again
Not only was she ugly but worse then sin.
Her ugliness caused bark to fall off of trees
For the whole winter were in a deep freeze
When all of the frozen water saw her face
It all melted and ran all over the place.
After we then had gone on a real long hike
To see what new first lady would look like
Abe was killed and Congress gave their consent
For his ugly wife to be the next new President.
Due to her lack of beauty we were thrown back
Then we heard someone else making a wisecrack
God had visited Congress and He was hinting
Next women in White House should be a Clinton.
It have been a pleasant, nice day and also very
Which was on twentieth day of merry January
And adorable Hillary came to enter the scene
Now in new year of twenty and seventeen.
You will have to check out my math for me.
Also, can you actually believe that I wrote
all of this? James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
He’s a broken leg performer with a crooked second act.
Went from Brooklyn to Las Vegas with his sarcasm intact.
Does a Smith and Wesson stand-up, voice as sweet as antifreeze.
Tells you how he lost his cherry to some hooker overseas.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
He’s as salty as a used spittoon.
MCs the neon circus
Where he shines just like a plumber’s moon.
Doesn’t pander to his critics. Slanders movie stars for laughs
Wielding heavy-handed put-downs like the jawbone of an ass.
Always orders top shelf vintage; likes his girlfriends under-age.
He’s the truth behind those rumors they found bloodstains on the stage.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
Claims a hammer as his only tool.
A shylock rooked his agent,
Left him face down in the swimming pool.
He’s a smoke and mirrors pundit; all his opinions are strong.
Pegs some yokel as a sucker and he slams him all night long.
Bet the house at Caesar’s Palace; he was shaken, never stirred.
God, I hope that pregnant widow didn’t take him at his word.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
He’s as wholesome as a canker sore.
Don’t ever lend him money.
He’ll just blow it at the liquor store.
He’s a poster child for rehab at the bottom of a slump.
Tried to come back with a wisecrack when Aunt Sophie found a lump.
He insinuates his poison to the marrow of the bone.
He’ll be praying for an encore on the night he dies alone.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
He’s as funny as a dry monsoon.
He isn’t Mr. Starbuck.
He’s just a prick with a sharp harpoon.
Did ya hear the one about those crazy corporate chemists?
They’ve crossed the ebola virus with e-coli bacteria.
It’s being marketed in West Africa by Monsanto as Ebo Cola!
I took my bike on Amtrak, got off at Charlottesville.
Climbed up to the Blue Ridge parkway, the first of many a hill.
I met a Canadian Carpenter as I got closer to N.C.
He was cycling alone; his wife would meet him in Miami.
We shared some jokes and when food ran low
resupplied at the green valley of Shenandoah.
The Laurel by the road is pink and white in spring
But late fall had its charm as well, a bike ride for a king.
The carpenter told me that I biked too long
He was right: I gave out, it was he who was strong.
He kept riding south but not with me.
I turned back just 60 miles from the town of Cherokee.
All I really needed was a day or two to rest
But a foolish reflex made me give up the quest
I had told him I had to get back, which was a lie
He shook my hand; one last wisecrack and we said goodbye.
I got home and there was a letter waiting for me:
the Carpenter praised to the sky the stretch to Cherokee.
Sometimes clear, sometimes fog, on the ridgeline high,
Blue smoky mists blended mountains with the sky.
The road climbs above 6000 feet, there's red spruce and pine:
He said I had to go someday, the views were so sublime
But there were too few blocks of time when I was free
And for those times, storms raged above the land of the Cherokee.
Then dad got cancer, and mom got cancer too
Brothers sometimes shared the load, but the years still flew.
But I'm hoping that there is an opening yet
that I can reverse this particular regret
I'll tear the veil, warp time's bridge
And make my way to that lost Blue Ridge.
But you never know, you can't open every door
There are portents on every scale, and I'm afraid of what's in store.
Asked to write a poem
about Ancient Greece and Rome
The witty student said he would
but he really didn't know 'em
Not one to be outdone
the wily prof shot back ~
Plus a five-page paper
analyzing your wisecrack
** for all poets (and poetry lovers) everywhere **
~
oh where could one sweet person go
who craves a phrase to ebb and flow
or meanings' depths as oceans know
how could it be, oh could it be ...
a world bereft of poetry?
oh how could joyous laughs be heard
but naught for play of word-on-word
a whimsical wisecrack smilingly slurred
how could it be, oh could it be ...
a world sans punny poetry?
oh where could loners take their tears
or troubled souls find hopes to pierce
the roiling blackness feared and fierce
how could it be, oh could it be ...
a world without dark poetry?
oh where would lovers hope to chart
the grandest coursing of their heart
the dreams that bind and tear apart
how could it be, oh could it be ...
a world with no love poetry?
how could the human race e'er find
the artful words of heart and mind
that poets craft of thought refined
of urge, intent and dream entwined
the deep expressions oft' designed
to phrase what can't be yet defined
oh ALL the things left blank and blind
how could it be, oh could it be ...
a world bereft of poetry?
thank heav'n that world ... won't ever be.
* This is a slightly altered version of a form I created called “Cinqopet”, pronounced “sing-ko-pay” *