Long Comedians Poems
Long Comedians Poems. Below are the most popular long Comedians by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comedians poems by poem length and keyword.
A fade factor that is imperceptible in its licence.
“Did we set in train something that day we met?
The law is an ass.
The lawn is an ass and maybe ASS we are reminiscing like?”
Nigella wistfully with a gratuitous grin this time.
This day was a nab and seize for a second pause for solid recount.
Oh what a different mystical era it was in Nigel and Nigella’s formative age.
The simplicity of this area, though a shelter, fed off the pervasive advent of black and white television, electricity pylons, and familiar tone presenter radio.
How Nigel and nigella whilst living in birdnest style buildings didn't succumb entirely to a drab rut though they found themselves cramped.
A store of light tinge whimsy memories linger against a backdrop to a burgh whose population were in a state of flux with an element in a sneaky outward creep to an “Elsewhere Nirvana.”
At least for the time being though suspenseful.
The town itself was sandwiched by a concentric vista of numbingly lush pastures with gates for a suite of animals, donkeys, among the more popular pet of choice despite being on the receiving end of comedians and their rustic sleights and barbs.
An idyllic garden ringfenced this condensed area which once had an ample size but a quiet trickle exodus that might be a chimera.
If you think whatever anyone says, is true,
There is something horribly wrong with you.
Grown adults know there are good, and
also, some twisted folks.
They laugh when an honorable person is
destroyed by despicable, untrue jokes.
In a world of media, the propoganda fools
the best of our people.
Jokes hide murderous intentions~a brain
is needed…not a tall steeple!
These “harmless “people, they are actually
going to the polls to vote?
How dangerous this is~ like going out in the
winter.minus a coat!
Viciousness, a vice, in great abundance,
Hitler and his youth had it to the max!
So 17 million Jews were killed as poeple
did not know opinion from fact.
A good comedian does not destroy anyone
with smears nor irresponsible lies.
But those who think opinions are facts…
are dangerous people in disguise.
10/20/2024
Natural Born Comedians
I had a class of sixth graders in Chicago,
Absolutely like no other.
Never a class so full of smiles and
hilarious pranks.
Their boundless joy rolled over me like
a huge Sherman tank.
I think they had their own student
lesson plan book,
Whose main topic was: "Let's make
Mrs. R. look like a schnook."
Don't ever tell them, please promise?
It was the best year of my life.
Anyway, I got all the silly kids no
teacher wanted.( The tight-***ed
teachers, I mean.)
To me, these children were sunbeams
of joy in my life, each day undaunted!
At times, they made me laugh so hard.
They were far more creative than any
Second City Improv.
So thank you God for a class of sparkling
sunbeams you gave me for a year.
Only one thing remained on my desk
when they all were gone!
Stillness, silence, empty chairs,
And the splash of my salty tears falling
on my barren desk!
Panagiota Romios
3/22/2019
Dear 2024,
I hope this poetic vow
wouldn’t be shunned,
as I block negativity
from my phone,
like my bitter exes.
And forgive my sense
of humor that
resembles sour grapes,
like a dash of salt
and pepper sprinkled
on top of old drapes.
Perhaps, as this
year bids adieu,
I’ll find the right
ingredient to concoct
sparkling wine infused
with giggles that
age like
chucklesome limericks,
as I fine-tune the
empty spaces
of my scribbled
pages with hilarity.
I’ll learn to laugh a
little louder and hope
the ebb of every
comical tale can flow.
Maybe a stricter
chocolate diet would
help me see the
sweeter side of
powdered comedians,
sharpening my wit
as endorphins enhance
my ability to spot
the depth of puns
punctuated
with bizarre tones.
And as December rain
drizzles in symphony
of the darkness
my quill flaunts,
pardon these
peculiar metaphors,
I’ll raise a glass
of crocodile tears,
a toast for
more concise poetry,
and faces I’ve phased,
that I’ll no longer
vent about in vain verses.
Cheers to the
festival lights
on wheel of laughter,
may the florescence
forever flicker as
souvenirs of amusement.
I’ll dance into the
rising sun of a new year,
in an odyssey adorned
with shimmering dreams
embalmed in
tickling mint leaves.
Thou Shalt Love the Children:
A request from Panagiota,,,please?
You remember that time when
you were twelve?
How the world was blossoming
like a flower to you!
People loved you, just for for you.
Perhaps your dad was a physician,
Perhaps Mom was a musician.
Or maybe both were addicts?
Was that your fault?
Whatever they were?
What kind of age are we living in?
When we poets down 12 year olds
Of being born to certain men?
Or women, for that matter.
I guess being a grandmother of a
terrific grandson, age 12,
I am heartbroken when poets here
Use 12 year olds as the butt of
jokes.
Poets are not late night host comedians,
who will do anything for ratings.
I see poets here groveling for fame,
By destroying a 12 year old,
Whose done no harm.
Loathe the parents if you must.
Children? Never harm them with your
words.
Many of you have or had 12 year olds.
Please remember they are kids.
You don't need to love them,but of
Disrespectful words, please stop.
Panagiota Romios
4/23/2019
2:15 pm PST
I reckon I'm revealing my age when about radio days I pen,
But I fondly recall listening to our Philco radio 'way back then.
What wondrous tales, mysteries and pure comedy from it flowed,
By simply tweaking the tuning knob on the dial that brightly glowed!
I sprawled upon the floor nigh the Philco letting my imagination flow,
As cowboys, pilots, pirates and comedians performed their show!
I laughed as Jack Benny struggled to play his screaky violin,
And thrilled to the music of Glenn Miller and Irving Berlin!
I followed the escapades of teacher Eve Arden as Our Miss Brooks,
And the family sitcom starring Fanny Brice as Baby Snooks!
There was Hopalong Cassidy, The Cisco Kid and The Lone Ranger,
In shootouts with the bad guys protecting the good guys from danger!
I felt tingles along my spine hearing Inner Sanctum's creaking door,
As Richard Widmark began his weekly series with scary tales galore!
Red Skelton's Clem Kaddidlehopper and Sheriff Deadeye kept me in stitches,
And the eerie episodes of Lights Out nearly scared me outta my britches!
The Life of Riley and Fibber McGee and Molly aired on Sunday nights,
And later I enjoyed listening to The Bickersons and their perpetual fights!
Happily, I have many of those old shows on tape that I play now and then,
When I tire of the inane rubbish on TV due to my short attention span!
Oh! No, they should never talk about Borinquén
Puerto Rico, Porto Rico in such an evil fashion
PR swims in the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea
With other exquisite islands like Cuba, Jamaica, and Haiti
Puerto Rico is a gorgeous Caribbean Archipelago
With high mountains. Oh! Yes, wonderful Puerto Rico
Has perfect blue and white sky, tropical rainforests
Crystal clear water beaches, and she’s one of the best
Puerto Rico can never be ‘a floating island of garbage’
She’s lovely with a lot of potential. In this day and age
Some crazy clowns or comedians must have a lot of nerves
To insult such a sweet Boricua with friendly peoples
I’ll be going to Puerto Rico soon to search for my stunning Saint
My Santa, my Queen. I’m going to become an artist to paint
The smile of this paradise island. Borinquén dear, my love
Javier Solis is right. You are the land of dreams, my love
No one can tarnish your unique image. I will visit you soon
With lovely dreams in my heart and with a silver spoon
So I can enjoy your cuisine and seep up your tropical cocktail
While diving deep into the eyes of my dazzling and sexy angel
Our Puerto Rico is a mythological Island for dreamers
Our Puerto Rico is a tropical Archipelago for lovers.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
On my way down to New Jersey
to take care of business there,
I pulled off and up to this place,
where I got out to stand and stare.
This was the Kutchingkord Hotel,
the heart of the old Borst Belt,
looking at the ruins now,
you can barely even tell.
I came here once when I was four,
way back in the mid eighties,
even then, amidst its decline,
it left an impression on me.
They had a daytime kids program,
back then I thought it so fun,
though now I see it kept us busy,
so our parents could soak the sun.
I remember the restaurants,
and the cool covers on the each dish,
they put them atop fine Kosher meals,
and I’m not even Jewish!
But now it’s just a concrete pad,
a weathered hole once was the pool,
there’s broken seats from the nightclub
where comedians played the fool.
Fences still up on the tennis court,
now cracked and without nets,
the pool-house is standing roofless,
haven’t brought the ball there yet.
Over there is the old ski slope,
all two hundred vertical feet,
maybe not the Matterhorn,
but once good enough for families.
Surrounding it all is tall grass
on what was a grand golf course,
twenty-seven holes and sprawling,
nobody plays it any more.
It saddens me to see it so,
but the trend is nothing new,
these are not the first resorts
that the Catskills have burned through.
Once in the nineteenth century,
higher up in the rolling hills,
the Mountain House and Kaaterskill
tourists once proudly filled.
Now there are just displays there,
telling hikers of how it was,
that thought just saddens me more,
and the reason is because
I know next time I’ll see one,
explaining that on this spot here,
a place once called the Borst Belt
welcomed guests for so many years.
Description, O my diatribe?
Stand before the court!
O comedians, with thy jibe!
Paragraphs to sort!
Where is hope on gallows hill?
Couldn't be real sure.
Yellow priestess, queen until?
Revelation tour.
Humble as a humbug?
Pride raises high the pain.
Dancers, rhythm! Cut a rug!
Doom is to disdain!
Death, thy destiny. Live free.
Placards of the plea.
O ye angels, come for tea!
Demons, how about ye?
Tyrant of deep waters?
Alliance Black Abyss.
Daughters, commit slaughters!
No one we will miss!
Rivers, needing rivets?
O lampreys, rub thy ribs.
Deadly are such divots!
Just nibble on the nibs!
Unify the endless hordes?
Bid them sharpen swords!
Watercress, thy water boards!
Mother Sin, thy gourds...
Falling leaves, frosty dawns, crisp winds, muggy nights
Walking through a park on a perfect day
Skating on ice, surfing a wave, going for a drive
Witnessing sun rise, lightning in flight, ocean under moonlight
Pyramid hot desert sand, sweat infused forests, icy glaciers
Illuminated cites, skyscrapers 100 floor plus
Religious cathedral's, emperors palaces remote country villages
Amsterdam's flat tulip colored fields, Everest's grey mountain peak
Victoria falls, north and south poles either side of equator
That perfect shot winning goal, art brought to life on canvass
Knowledge the great minds of out time
Musicians song, comedians jesters
Wild animals roaming the plain, eagles in flight, shark infested waters
Companionship, dog mans best friend
Glittering gold, sparkling diamonds, cold dull steel, grain on wood
This world we inhabit is an amazing place
On which we be
Open your eyes and you will see