Long Schtick Poems
Long Schtick Poems. Below are the most popular long Schtick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Schtick poems by poem length and keyword.
Commander In Chief On His High Horse Haint Budge'n
American democracy go'n
to hell at light speed
breaking into a bajillion pieces
tuffet in a handbasket
sans, lame leader
ship (of motley fools) doth reed
like art art of the deal
gone to the straw dogs,
warren like rabbits they breed
hoppy to curry bone
a fide dirty deed
done dirt cheap selling out
land of milk and honey creed
dough, now wracked with
dissent hair re:
puffed, faked, and dyed golden
locks trademark heed
don his "make America
great again" schtick exceed
ding the speed
of orneriness establishing
mean mien,
where uncouth freed
from being caged within
the restraint of politesse,
thus blithely flagrantly,
and nonchalantly
highjacking manners indeed
setting crude behavior
as class act
to emulate, cuz weed
dont got no need
tubby stately, neither true
equality, fairness, generosity,
most likely teed
trump to spout blatant lies,
when first moment
grabbed narcissistic greed
complacency could
find himself anointing
himself dictator lead
ding this country into behavioral sink,
a through back to mead
evil knights of yore.
* Collaboration of Limericks written by Jan Allison,
Tom Cunningham, Tania Kitchin and Lin Lane
Here's a news flash, the latest scoop
There are parasites in the soup
AI bottom feeders
Poet superceders
Those who cannot write worth a poop
Artificial intelligence is smart
But never uses words found in the heart
Some dolts use it to cheat
Thinking they are discreet
We should hit them in their butts with a dart
They say AI is here to stay
But plagiarism is another way
Some may copy/paste Poe
Or other greats you know
Add their name, it's sorted way hey!
We know you're fake and using AI
Your poems are nothing but a lie
Wanting to be cool
but instead, a fool
Now you can just leave our site, goodbye!
Some poets get Poem of the Day
It's AI, (of course they don't say)
AI contest "winners"
Are poetry sinners
Does admin prevent them - no way!
Real poets write using only their hand
AI users need more'n a reprimand
Deleting their accounts
'fore their winning surmounts
There should be a way they could all be banned
Stay put, no need to get out of bed
Or have a thought in your empty head
So, just ask Alexa
And she'll write it for ya
A shame you can't use your brain instead
What is your real poetry name?
As fake poems seem to be your game
All Plagiarism and AI
We're really not sure why
Your page is pathetically lame
Pestilence borne in the form of AI
Not of Biblical proportion but why
do you have need to chouse
Poets' concern and rouse
the community to feel so awry
On the day AI begins its world rule
People will still call each other a fool
Is the human race then doomed
AI will have us all groomed
To serve them as lowly slaves, a footstool
I asked a generator to write a Limerick, its response was...
An AI that wrote with great flair,
Could craft limericks beyond compare.
With rhythm and rhyme,
In a jiffy, each time,
It brought smiles to faces everywhere!
This was my response
No! au contraire, AI generator
Not everyone smiles at your creator
I will admit you're quick
but it's deceptive schtick
You're a bad poet's ego inflator
And there the story might have ended
But the bite on Suzanne's thumb
Throbbed and became distended,
'I must say, I feel a little rum',
she said and lay down on her bed,
but as she fell asleep a patch of fur
started growing on her tum.
She slept a light and fitful sleep
Full of strange hypnotic dreams
in which she leapt from branch to branch,
speaking in a stuttering chattering scream.
When she awoke she felt warm and cosy,
her bad dreams had all gone away,
The clear bright light of dawn was rosy,
She was looking forward to the day.
But looking in the mirror her face turned a whiter shade of pale,
for now, coming from her lower back was a thick and bushy tail!
Her two front teeth were now so large they stuck out prominently,
And somehow she was not quite in charge of an urge to act, well, more rodently!
Now instead of inspiring her yoga class
With her incredibly flexible poses,
These days Suzanne is sure to be found
In the park, (only partly obscured by the roses),
Listening intently with her pointy ears for the sound of a poor unwary fella,
that sits down to munch on a nutritious lunch
of sandwiches filled with nutella.
For Cyril had imparted a terrible curse,
He was a ware squirrel you see, man,
and what is worse, his thumb biting curse,
had passed on his populist schtick,
and now she's a big Daily Mail fan!
In her throat comes a lump
at the mention of Donald J Trump,
And austerity, well now she's all for it, ha!,
Let the poor rot in hell,
And the disabled as well,
Katy Hopkins she follows on Twitter,
She's the chair of her local EDL group,
Since she abandoned her candles and crystals,
At night she culls badgers, just for fun, with a whoop,
And owns shares in a frack site near Bristol.
Could this be the end for our white witchy friend?
Can the curse of the ware squirrel be broken?
Fear not dear reader, there's light round the bend,
these few verses are merely a token,
Soon in hushed tones by crusty old crones of a miracle will it be spoken,
how Suzanne the fair, once cursed by a ware
Squirrel was magically spared from this sorry affair
by our old Jedi mate Oby Wan of Conorbyn,
for it 'twas by him that she was awoken.
January 17th, 2020, a moost memorable outing at Collegeville Diner
A hardy acknowledgement yessiree
to the blessed sister Amelie worthy
of such beloved, devoted,
feted husband Rich truly
bestowed predicated upon
random chain of events
i.e., accidental, biological,
and genealogical happenstance prithee
applauding, apprising, and appraising key
kith and kin flavoring, enlightening,
and charming every
life ye and said spouse...
chance circumstance doth avail
your lucky charms to recipients receive detail
impossible mission to annotate here,
nonetheless with gusto courtesy
gratitude yours truly does exhale
regarding unconditional loving
creatures great and small
unbridled zeal without fail
truevalue analogous, yet exceeding
fine spun gold woolworth paltry holy grail,
nor can infinite wordsworth express hale
low, and brotherly love,
(equals at the least $20.00)
an introspective male
i.e. me, whose recent keen awareness
of vital specialness doth prevail
when a little boy quivering
scared as baby quail
his older sister genuinely
ranked high on importance scale
emotionally caring despite many travail
experienced by prodigal son
of Boyce and Harriet,
who frequently if not always did veil
steaming, roiling, quaking...
blubbering like a whale
Ahab oft times admit floundering chick
hen daring to venture metaphorical
unfamiliar muddy waters
unlike legendary Moby Dick
thrashing restless legs vainly kick
starting how to live think
lost at figurative sea
with nary an iota
abandoning ship lick
kitty split never trying
to overcome self doubt
when chased, teased and easily
trounced by bullies quick
as greased lightning
to cower on all fours
calling out for Ranger Rick
(or other unsung hero),
whose highlighted schtick
nowhere in sight, thus I got treated
analogous as some cheap trick
praying for salvation,
ye thence fended off beastie boys
(poetic liberty I take)
as veritable hooligans
threatened with wick
cud lee to thrash hide of
Matthew Scott imposing arbitrary
eminent domain despite
supposedly safe sanctified bailiwick.
Never meet your heroes is the old adage
That’s not an issue for me
I have none you see
I find them such fantastic bores
completely unrelatable
rendering me weary
with their straight laced schtick
their vapid displays of virtue
I revere the villains
with a sensitive side
hiding their pain behind a sardonic smile
with whom I can sympathize
Paragons of imperfection
constantly criticized their whole lives
Neglected and dejected
Left to languish in the cold
Disillusioned by the lies they’ve been told
Who have endured their fair share
of suffering and shame
Never winning the game
no matter how hard they try
Starved for love and affection
who have only known rejection
Lonely losers like me
Ignobly ignored and demonized
by those hailing the heroes
who never care to know or question why
he became the bad guy
I’m very pleased to introduce to you
something once a toy made completely new.
All you need are two good legs and balance! But it’s not a bike.
It’s as healthy as biking, so cyclists, take a hike!
It’s much more fun for everyone to JUMP their way
to where they want to get to every day.
The bottom part of it, once made of rubber,
used to wear down fast and made a few kids blubber.
For when the steel part poked itself on through,
annoying clatter hitting pavement would ensue.
That old-fashioned part that gave bounce for you
is completely remodeled. Now metal won’t poke through!
And better yet, it’s not rubber-made at all!
You now can jump to anywhere on anything, and you won’t fall.
This awesome patented invention will never get stuck
in dirt, grass or gravel, nor in mud and muck.
With longer and higher jumps than you ever had before,
the distance you can jump has increased twenty times more.
No one else but us has this technology.
Come and take a test-jump. You will see. . .
why we call our product the Quick MOGO stick.
POGO redesigned, will make you jump for joy, and that is no schtick!
March 16, 2018 for
"Advertisement: Sell something, make us want it" contest of Lewis Raynes
The happiest shoe went on a dancing binge
Sing dance sing dance sing dance kick kick kick!
I had never seen such a shoe with nary a hinge.
What a marvelous sense of humor, what a schtick!
Where did you come from? Other teachers asked.
The teacher wearing them smiled in front of everyone.
They soon forgot the shoes until one of them gasped.
The shoe was clicking and clacking on her desk having fun.
No smiling until Christmas! Someone yelled in a mean ugly way.
The dancing shoes kicked themselves onto a table and began to play.
The new teacher did a twirl and a whirl and the very high fancy kick
She did not care about naysayers, had her own special schtick.
Here today for an interview
we’re joined by famous Colour Blue.
By the way aren’t you looking fine?!
Thanks! Must be in my blue-ish line.
What attributes set you apart
from others in the colour chart?
The divine skies and ocean views
basking in my bohemian hues.
Do you ever lose your blue cool?
If I’m mixed with Red as a rule.
That snob will strip me of my grand
and turn me into Purple brand!
Red knows the palette’s trick or few
but cannot replicate the blue.
(Shhh, that stays between him and me
after all we are family)
Rumour has it you are a real stud.
The clue of blue is in my blood,
my lucky charm I dare to say -
the royal type of DNA.
What other colour would you date?
Pink-ish, my cotton candy mate.
Flashy and faux but that’s the schtick -
she complements my subtle chic.
And one more thing if you don’t mind,
would you comment on your downside?
Not sure what you mean by that!
Is it a reference to ‘sad’?
Well, folks I do not have a clue
when down, you say you’re feeling blue.
With winter blues I don’t concur,
but summer time blues I prefer.
I’m far from perfect by the way,
I’ve got the shades but none are grey.
Look at the brighter side of mine -
I am the background of cloud nine!
I’m on your lighter spectrum thus
I do apologise for us.
Whether you’re deep or baby blue
we unequivocally love you.
I’ll be your friend, loyal and true!
So long for now, I’m beaming blue!
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice
Whar art mine fervent zeal for Marx Brothers?
While figuratively trout fishing
for ideas to write about
analogous (hook, line and sinker)
idea wormed itself into mind with clout
moment of awareness arose
without shadow of doubt.
As a long haired pencil necked teenage geek
zany Harpo, Groucho, Chico ranked as idols
mine most favorite slap stick until I reached
cusp of early adulthood, yet of lately uptick
regarding said comedic acts unexpectedly a
rose, spurring me to revisit adolescent mem
rubble entertainers overarching unstoppable
nostalgic ache for their nonpareil antics did
pang ping pong within mine corporeal esse
Scents trademarked and christened Matthew
Scott Harris, somewhat alleviated watching
courtesy Internet random You Bet Your Life
momentarily experiencing giddiness bursting
with laughter - shy kid relishing hearing quip
lightning fast barbs oft imitated sporting his
greasepaint moustache nsync with cigar size
of small walking stick renown world over an
American iconic figure (+entire motley crew)
lively bunch post World War II boys groomed
since birth begat Minnie Marx (born Miene
Schönberg, 9 November 1864 or 1865 – 13
September 1929) mother and manager of the
Marx Brothers, a family of vaudevillians,
Broadway and film actors, she dominated
band of five boisterous and hilarious brothers
who dominated silver screen more'n nearly 3
4ths century ago sired by patriarch Sam Marx.
No particular rhyme nor reason explains why
aforementioned nitty gritty personal trivia thy
actually more accurately & specifically yours
truly metaphorically unexpectedly did qualify
as teetotaling poetaster to craft poem well nigh
acknowledge inexplicable passion regarding my
heartfelt affection constituting zany wily troupe
linkedin with baker's dozen films iterated wild
3 ringed circus antics did all these years schtick
well lodged within me noggin + gamut of stars
whose career launched during quaint silent film
era albeit (Betzwood, one time, between 1912
and 1924), one of the largest film studios in the
world located in downtown Philadelphia and
their studio lot in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania,
right next to the park, I kid ye not, and... take
look see for yourself by visiting following link.
https://americasbesthistory.com/
spotlight2017-11.html