Comic Relief Poems | Examples

Ghetto Clown

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/

Poot-Toot University

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. ~

Bearing Gift One To Another

  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

Awaking from Stupor

it’s not desire per say but the clinging ~

that stifles soul and stops heart from singing 

enlivening silence sets our soul free ~

vibrant in the now, joyful and carefree”


Nobody wants to feel truth anymore.
They cry out loudly for “comic relief”
Closing their eyes with a stubborn ignore
to block any sight of sadness and grief.

More pleasing to speak on beautiful things,
stars, skies and flowers, descriptive details.
A river’s fluid dance that softly sings,
floating on a dream, with wind driven sails

How sadly tragic we all cannot be
blessed with eyesight of a rose-colored tint
and that joy is dispersed with inequity.
For a beggar’s life is not Heaven sent

May all caring ears be acutely tuned
to those human songs that hum in the gloom.

1/22/2024

Time

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

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!

Words

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?

Reckoning

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.

Jan's Are the Best

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

Lethologica

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

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

Limited Choices

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

Comic Relief For the Soul

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

Law Is a Comic Relief

LAW IS A COMIC RELIEF

Law is a comic relief
Subtlety amidst ardent belief.

Draconian legislation
That still wriggles out an exception.

Pitiless killer
Yet cleverest healer. 

Law is a comic relief
Deus ex machina  to its own mischief.

Creator of extreme offences
That yet allows supreme defences.

Coercive jailer for life
That still gives freedom for a good strife.

If...
Insanity may be antidote for committing homicide
And intoxication could be a nostrum for patricide
And provocation may be a corrective for matricide
And necessity is a curative for avunculicide
And self-defence is a rectifier for uxoricide
And automatism is a shield for regicide
And necessity is a panacea for sororicide
And fair comment is a cure for famacide
Then Law is just nothing but a comic relief.

--Bolaji Ramos, Esq.
   Copyright 2017

Spicy Leaves the Carnival

So long, Spicy ... 
sho’ hate to see you go
You were the best comic relief in the PT carnival
Prez Trump sez he don’t need you no mo’
So you publicly resigned 
	 after getting the private heave-ho
So long, Spicy ... 
it sho’ was fun having you around
The way you spun those alternative facts
		    was so crazy clumsy cool
How you and Kellyanne would go on the attack,
then backtrack from the shark press pool
Y’all were some kinda funny, 
reverse moon-walking laughingstock fools 
Now Kooky Kellyanne is still here, and you’re gone — 
that just ain’t right, it’s so wrong
So long, Spicy ... 
I’m gonna play another
Saturday Night Live sad, satirical song
Me and the ghetto gang is sho’ gonna miss you
		when you’re gone
(Mr. Robin Harris and BeBe kids will too)
But before you leave,
do me a favor willya please ...
tip your jilted jester cap
		       to the smiling PT freak show,
and give a dour derriere frown,
to the Inepters running this clown carnival

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