Am I slow?
I've asked for quite a while
Everything I do
Always seems peculiar
A minor fault in the way I'm perceived
I felt left out
My words
My thoughts
My expressions
They were different from others
I thought hard and well
Though not quite like the rest
Processing seemed hard for me
A slow dismantling of how I was taught to think
Like i needed time
I felt I was ok
The environment didn't think so
I got quiet and awkward
Loud and talkative
Not quite like the others
Like I was always the opposite
Stares from all angles
Emotions I couldn't understand at that age
In my way of life
My writing
My advice
It was twisted
No one seemed to understand
Only the villains in pages
I lived in reverse
I wanted friends
But we didn't have the same ideals
I was approached
I seemed different they said
Not like them quite enough but funny to be around
Like a comic relief
I want to change
Or maybe find the right people
Paint a smile on my face, until mid-poem
a grimace arises and the acrylic peels.
What are these dark angels that cast such shadows
over my cheer,
force my hand to sketch
the grim roots of charcoaled teeth?
The sun is struggling to rise over a pastured valley
while ravens pluck at my eyebrows.
Dark wings and meadow daisies mix and blend.
Death Head moths now emerge,
a word-canvas is once more lacquered over
by a dark and deep-throated coloring.
As quick as lightning, a clownish grin
flashes forth from singed paper,
such comic relief begets a portrait
of my surprised
and beamish laughter.
Paint a smile on my face, until mid-poem
a grimace arises and an acrylic peels.
What are these dark angels that cast such shadows
over my cheer,
force my hand to sketch
the grim roots of charcoaled teeth?
The sun is struggling to rise over a pastured valley,
while ravens pluck at my eyebrows.
Dark wings and meadow daisies mix and blend.
Death Head moths now emerge,
a word-canvas is once more lacquered over
by a dark and deep-throated coloring.
As quick as lightning, a clownish grin
flashes forth from singed paper,
such comic relief begets a portrait
of my surprised
and beamish laughter.
I'm a Ghetto clown, a fool for the cash/
Juggling dreams while the world does a dash/
If laughter's a crime, then call me a crook/
I'll steal your frown with a single look/
They call me a lamb, said, Take the fall/
But I laughed so hard, I shook the hall/
Crucify me? Sure, but here's the thing/
I'll go out laughing, like a jester king/
Got kicked out of Hell, the Devil's in tears/
He said, Man, your jokes are my worst fears/
Now I roam the streets, a clown on the run/
Turning gloom to giggles, one by one/
In the Ghetto, I'm the eternal jest/
A clown with a flair, I'm the very best/
Life's a circus, and I'm the main act/
a fool for eternity, that's a fact/
My punchlines hit harder than life's cruel blows/
I'm the comic relief when the tension grows/
So laugh with me, or laugh at me/
Either way, I'm your comedy spree/
So here I stand, a clown in the fray/
Turning dark nights into brighter days/
If life's a joke, then I'm the punchline/
A Ghetto clown, forever divine/
Can't believe I'm penning this mess,
but I must address the gifted poetess,
Jan Allison has a degree from the
distinguished Poot-Toot University,
she has a PhD in Fartology.
An expert she is,
and, gee whiz,
anyone who writes of farts
so funnily,
is the "Queen of Flatulence,"
a PoetrySoup decree!
And yes, I know some are offended
by potty humor,
but we need comic relief in
the literary til we laugh ourselves
into a stupor,
as this world has much strife,
even if it's gaseous,
laughter heals life. ~
Quiet and beautiful is the day,
where reflection adjoins -
with bustling children,-
adorned,- with bright,- happy colors and a sense of thankfulness, glory.
It is a stark reality, that must be approached
with Family, Community and the support
of self invited Black Birds and
"just in the neighborhood"- Blue Jays,
comic relief streaking squirrels,
Cats and Dogs on their best behavior,
rolling eyes at each other, like Brother and Sister,
"you can leave it to us, don't be a doubting Thomas,
we have this handled,
save for a containment twitch of tourettes or an acquisitioned snack."
It is a big day for them to chaperone and oversee,
this takes calories.
I witnessed a few quiet moments and reflective genuflective blinks from each in this gallery of motleys,
they know.
How proud the children are that you confided in them.
And your heart is captured here and until your dying day.
He Is, Risen
As if in a blink
Gone are the days
Rolling in the grass
Scratches, bumps, and scrapes
As if in a blink
Memories play like a movie
I am the hero, the villain
And oh yes, comic relief
As if in a blink
Awakening to the sunrise
Back pains and achy joints
As I rub my hazy Red eyes
In a blink
I am suddenly old
And gone are the days
When time was forever
The sonnet is a tricky thing to write.
Quatrains, exactly three, must come before
A pair, a couplet, rhyming nice and tight:
A rave of fourteen lines, no less, no more.
True, limericks and haikus, although brief,
Present linguistic challenges as well.
Nantucket does not bring comic relief;
Five/seven/five at times can feel like hell.
Yet nobler is the sonnet’s higher norm;
The quatrains each pack meaning of their own,
Preserving all the while iambic form,
And forcing would-be writers skills to hone.
The words are calling, lovely, dark, and deep;
Alas, the bard could write these in his sleep!
I
Words may be left
Untouched
Undeployed
Unemployed
Unused
Under utilised
In hands, mouths,
Dictionaries
Power pregnant but
Potential
II
Words with heart
Grow wings
Kinetic Energy
Kinesthetics, gymnastics,
Comic relief
Healing and Belief
III
Have you used
Neglected or Abused
Pregnant and potential
Words Today?
I sabotaged my eight-millimeter childhood.
I never knew Sartre
But I contorted my latex face,
Burying my nothingness in family films.
My child was scripted to be ugly, skipped over
In comic relief.
Only recognizable as Menoetius,
My only animation was insolence.
I believed nothing in myself,
I knew nothing.
I sought my masquerade in
Metaverse avatars,
Really just 2D analog shadows,
Swaying waves of gray on ashen tv tubes.
Without convictions, I was convicted.
My craven rudeness landed me
In squalid wreckage,
The debris of my dormant sea,
Forsaken a million or more times,
Rebuffed and scorned,
I succumbed to my dense exhaustion.
I shut down where sleep had no form,
Where space-time is an illusion.
Some hint of dream touched and aroused me.
Some anamnesis so much greater than any containment!
I awakened sweaty, wretched, and authentically flawed,
savoring the sudden phenomenal enigma,
Ready to learn the endless patterns
of all the passions and sciences.
Funny limericks are a welcomed treat
They're comic relief that can't be beat
Jan's limericks are the best
Never dull, I will attest
Reading them makes my sad, sour days more sweet
The trees smell so real, so sympathetic.
A monument to strength and victory.
They seem like a shoulder to cry on.
Something to rely on in an uncertainty.
The birds still chirp and hold no grudge,
but rather stll try to provide a comic relief smile.
They are still playing grabass,
little cocks on the walk stealing radiator bugs.
Adorning our rule over the Earth in circular totem style.
Even though they are dropping from the sky.
Wading in infested puddles, eating Monsanto Rye.
I'm not a cryer but ....
Where did it all go?
Did reality tv and all their ugly
sided indoctrinating Media offerings do ALL this?
Did we really try to kick Lucy's football all those times, and end up on our dumb asses?
Where do we go from here?
Look for a rhyme?
Civil War, Natural Disasters, Rumors of War, Plagues, Massive Animal Die Offs, Seismic Unrest,
Incoming Asteroids.
What are we doing?
What do we do for an encore?
Maybe it is time to believe in something.
Goodnessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
GOOD MORNING
I wake up crying
The birds are not flying;
All kinds of strangeness
From the sun that once
Sustained us.
When I first shook um...
People were drowsy
''Good morning. New day.!
I said: I am not here for pokes
Likes, or as a comic relief.
Poets down played my message.'’
And my belief ‘s.
‘’ God, I gave you my soul to keep’’
In 2011 when I first hit the scene
Much could have been avoided then.
When I came, I came in straight shooting
Exposing malfeasance in
their lousy schemes, 2016.
We constantly are afraid of dying.
Pertaining to ‘’Putin, and all the looting’’.
Now, we all wake-up crying,
About who’s on the take.!
Once again, ‘’I lay me down to sleep.’’
That is, ’if we even dare to wake’’!
Children of the 50's speak…
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2020
I'm sorry, but I'm confident I didn't choose my folks,
And if I did, comic relief! Just fodder for bad jokes!
Not that I'd do much better if I'd had a daughter, son,
Mistakes repeated seems the rule, till human song gets spun!
I will agree it's best if I can own how I respond!
'Old souls' to me are fiction and 'new souls' exhaust earth's pond.
I doubt I'd do much better on another time around,
Feel lucky just to walk, to fly? The sun can burn I've found.
The choice I have, to love or not, I do concur with that,
A dog, a cat to share my home, for doors, a welcome mat!
Though judgment still must exercise and my heart keep in shape,
While man may scheme, cry, lie, or die, can't consequence escape.
So laugh, don't cry, or rail at sky, bliss' blossoms will unfold,
For God's provision's always there like rainbow's pot of gold,
Just take each kiss as one deserved. each lump, a lesson learned
And you may find, the life you have is one for which you've yearned.
Long Tooth
January 23, 2018
if you would just
let me back in
i swear to you that
i could become
a great source of
comic relief
for your tired
soul if you would
only allow me to
i could take all
your sadness
away at least
for a moment
if you would just
grant me re-entire
into your world
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.