Long Comic relief Poems
Long Comic relief Poems. Below are the most popular long Comic relief by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comic relief poems by poem length and keyword.
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
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!
In the quiet whispers of dreams,
I dance with shadow's ebonescence,
as photonic particle - collider,
photosynthesis derider,
unveiling entities,
of "agents provocateur" to seize a "visitation"
upon the dimensions precipice
per chance to lay siege.
In the depths of "our present darkness",
petra-charred and invisible against the oiled skin
of night.
Chameleon sins-
spiders its neural network
across the fruited plains,
trading insiders
like it was the New York Stock Exchange.
Black domes in the rock of jig altar,
to sire getaway mountain dens and tunnels
for BlackRock Pfizer Op -Executions.
Their golden boy, will spotlight meteoric,
the proverbial fly in the ointment,
Act III lift of a-weighted curtain-lifting back wings,
showing a defyning eye and marionette strings.
Les Miserables-play on words-play on heartstring phantoming our opera, staged in
Anti-Christian cryptonite.
History channeled redirect
rhetoric dialect of reflected subject to chain,
and the death of fiat currency,
just a coincidental theme?
Freedom is a currency isn't it,
a Hallmark card from the Corporation
to the People- to read,
between the lines of allegiance-
swearing till blue in the face,
alliance against malfee-seance in press release
of 3 letter agency.
As Apollyon waltzes in from the bottomless pit.
Social credit scored to fit the bill.
Cloaked in fine Kingly robes of industry.
fact checked by the Ministry of Information.
When will love speak it's instinctual dialect
in a neon sign language not lost in translation?
When will hope weave it's august majesty,
Seraphic-wings spread over as a covering tapestry.
In cure of a cerulean sky with
hope diamonds of open transparency,
lifting us in perpetuity.
Till that day,
with each intrepid step, a nightmare before Lent
their Black Christmas unfolds
a returning echo on the steppes,
etched in our collective brains like petrified mold.
In an apology of words,
emotions coagulate churns sour worm meal,
acidic curdling of my stomach, a larvaeic curd-
cysted curse to the soylent green new deal
of New World sufferings
and pain, of UnitedNationsBurntOfferings,
with a disdain for comic relief
or cosmic entymology.
Prior To Commencing Poem, I Dreamt Contretemps Escalating fusillade...
Galvanized hotheaded idealists (jaded
locals - kindled moderates) nursed
oppressive proletarian quavering riot
spearheading triumphant utopian voice...
whether contrived right here and now,
or purportedly fragmented remnant
occuring during REM sleep
beside the point, asper conjuring atypical
bent arising within mindscape,
sans garden variety *****sapien.
he laments instantaneously forgetting
intricate webbed tapestry comprising
unconscious manifestations nearly every time
reluctantly opening eyes,
whereat realistic landscape within noggin
vanishes without any trace
try as I might to induce recall
asper impressive world within
hydroelectric powered illusory windmills,
despite non cacophonous disruption
i.e. natural awakening processes,
yet for the life of me
after effect bruited
within entire body electric,
hence envisions some contrivance
mebbe mental construct
prior to awakening
to captcha essential details.
Ah...mother lode of ore ridge and hill
elusive material could perhaps yield
adequate money order to pay one bill
alleviating penurious state, so I can chill
without succumbing L'chaim going downhill
fast, especially since monthly social security
taken in toto with more'n
one bitter medication prescription pill
(father's little helper) eases panic/anxiety attacks
plaguing yours truly since...reciting
storybook rhyme 'bout Jack and Jill
argh, how an overdose quite tempting
escaping once and for all where little doth fulfill
me, cuz thankfully individual choice of freewill,
not banned by pro life fanatics,
imagining to wrest free millstone
formerly revolutionary war gristmill
sitting idle (billy me) bidding one final goodwill
to deux daring daughters,
ditto same number twisted sisters mentally ill
papa and bro respectively
understandably justifiably, emotionally deserted
detached baby boomer whole existence a standstill
overly cautious livingsocial,
what...repeating mundanity till...
death, a tragi/comic relief.
Pursuit of happiness for me is watching Fresh Prince.
Carlton makes me want to cringe, duck and wince.
The cool cousin from Philly gives me oodles of pride.
Come on, home boy. Come on in. We’re already inside!
He sparkles in his outfits, all flashy, with pops of old.
His comic relief is stunning. It simply never gets old.
Will Smith, you truly made that show what it was for me.
You were amazing in your sheer brass and hilarity!
When I saw the Independence Day movie rushes I said no.
Will Smith, how in the world could you be a super hero though?
After watching the movie in the nineties, on the Fourth of July,
I was wrong. You were an incredible action hero, you made me cry!
I was not going to go to Disney’s Aladdin until I found out
You were the voice, and I gave a happy satisfied excited shout!
I am Legend? I do not want to say anything bad so I shall clamp my mouth.
Men in Black! Oh, man! I have told all my cousins of it, the north and the south!
You’re a great guy, and your wife is adorable and keen, your kids so coo.
You can come visit me in Kansas City, whenever you want barbeque.
If I ever saw you guys in a store I would go crazy with glee!
And hopefully bring you home to have cobbler with me!
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.
Courtesy of Marx (albeit Zeppo,
Harpo, Groucho, and Chico), whose
acts (along Seuss iz Zacks Fifth
Avenue) brought generations of
laughter to Vaudeville, and then
the Silver Screen adlibbed, linkedin,
and ransacked skits zoid material
Bing very loosely based on his best
known writings (Oh Pee Yet Of The
Masses) by Karl Marx (no relation
to Bros Grin), and Friedrich Engels
whar they whiz instrumental qua
Cingular Capitalone political philosophy
paradigm as spit, and (shoe) shining,
seducing, and salivating players trans
formed Msn Netzero Linkedin Petsmart
Aleck outlook and pinterest, when their
collective insight did cents how masses
(i.e. bourgeois) took a rakish (otherwise)
up standing Norwegian bachelor farmer
for comic relief to break monotony of
agrarian obligations, and serve up one
heaping healthy portion per production,
sans whatever whims would crop
up by infusing thespian showdown
incorporating commune nic cache shun
(disproportionate) app peals studded terrain
with locked havens avast re shtetl ment.
Hoi Polloi re: common folk in sore need
of distraction and belief in a brighter side
of life, than saliva dehydrating brute nose
to the grindstone pathetic existence, yoked
as oxen to plows, where plodding tattered
shod feet scraped a pencil thin line, whence,
seeds sprinkled into futile ruts forecast angry
birds to shutterfly, twittering like bada$$
beastie boys Dharma bumming while On
The Yellow Brick Road.
Inn ascent bystanders avian avatars initially
supposedly sprung from ergot, mushroom
and/or smut spores, whereas the myth of
one mortal idol (Matthew Scott Harris) did
rival Vladimir Ilich (frequently corrupted into...
She always wondered how it would be
If she, a black girl starred in a romantic comedy
Where she wouldn't just be used as comic relief
And she would be desired by the male lead
She dreamed of being comforted
And not play a strong black girl where she wouldn't be punished for being seen as 'weak'
She could be an inspiration for little black kids where they finally see
A black girl on the TV
Finally feeling seen
As their eyes are glued to the screen
She hoped one day this would become a reality
If not her
Then another black girl
When she was a kid
There was little to no representation
Only seeing white people in all the shows and movies
She had hoped she'd find someone who looked like her
She remembers how she questioned her worth
And how on earth
People who shared her skin colour
Were just background characters
Or to bear the weight of their white best friends burden
And being forced to carry their problems
A one sided friendship
Where her friend reaps the benefits
And the black girl has to settle with crumbs
She knew that sounded to radical
For a world that wanted her to be invisible
But she couldn't stop thinking
How all the black children would feel
If they saw themselves being
Represented on TV
She thought for them this would be a victory
For them this would make history
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
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/