Long Shtick Poems
Long Shtick Poems. Below are the most popular long Shtick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shtick poems by poem length and keyword.
The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote,
his shtick fact-slim and slick,
but it’s also my current gestalt
as I am dragged unwillingly
along by his ‘cliff-notes’ speech.
One ruined effigy catches my eye
Its a fair facsimile of myself.
He (a god/king of some minor something),
looks mildly disgusted,
as if a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My bored skeptical face
reflects perfectly that sour mien of his.
At last I am processed meekly back onto the tour bus,
where predictably,
my fellow passengers are already peering forward
into a new fancifully imagined future and past
an unrecorded ersatz history
and ad libitum supposition,
which is hard to take.
for I and that crumbling king
are not anyone’s theory.
I knew a man, a jokester, who--
full of himself--had not a clue
of how to have some fun without
annoying people. Then he'd pout
when others wouldn't speak to him.
His outlook was quite gray and grim,
but soon he would dismiss his frown.
His life-long need to play the clown,
just like a cartoon character,
caused him to rise and make a stir.
His storehouse of annoying shtick
was full of (he thought) perfect picks.
When friends and loved ones were depressed,
the jokester was at once obsessed
with entertaining these sad folks;
he rattled off cliché-filled jokes.
Still sad, they simply looked away
without a word, to his dismay.
His older sister lost her job
of many years. He heard her sob
about her stack of past-due bills.
What he did next still gives me chills.
Instead of helping with her debts,
he talked about their childhood pets,
presuming she would lighten up,
but stories of their favorite pup
gave her no joy. To his surprise,
he got from her just weary sighs!
His lack of sensitivity
and narcissistic need to be
the center of attention caused
his mouth to open without pause
and utter words that helped no one.
A corny joke and silly pun
possess no power to dismiss
an all-encompassing abyss.
Date: March 5, 2020
Contest Title: Clown at the Abyss
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Just when they
thought you were done
here you come again
pen & pad in tow
Ready to go the distance
and to depths
they'll never know
They say
you never know
who it is you may
be entertaining
Is it an angel?
A demon?
Who is it today
we're defaming?
Maybe shaming
a sinner by
throwing rocks
at their glass
How about praising
saints that rig boards
& hide behind checkered
pasts?
I know!!
Let's be devils for a spell
or a few because we can
then grandstand in a pew
on Sunday
Fun days throwing
caution to the wind
as if you never knew
right from wrong
Shew others
because they're
not like you
Same old
broken record
song
You win
as long as you
repent again & again
Right
This world is a
bright heaven for sinners
& hell for saints
with starter packets
Who wants to wear
that jacket anyway
even if it does come
equipped with wings?
It seems the caged bird
only sings to keep from
having to tell its sad story
All the gory details entailed
depict a horrifyingly
ironic comedy
Often mistaken
for shtick
this dramedy
is sickeningly real
You have to feel
what I'm putting down
in order to pick up
on their spiel
They lay it on real thick
but thinly disguise it
so that you remain
unaware
Who cares what YOU
have to say anyway
right?
Hey you with the glasses
how about we have you
lead the masses to
destruction?
As long as you
follow instructions
your blindness is
alright with me
Are you following me
or are you tracing
the outline of some
blind architect?
More power to you
but respect is given
to those that
respect themselves
How many shells
does it take for us to
see what's at stake &
think for ourselves?
Never ever will they forget, they swear
neither will we ever shirk their shtick, I fear
So it's with the dedication of a sinner to prayer that they dole out their perceived just deserts Fists kneading the skies, feet rousing the dirt
"WE WON’T FORGET! WE WON’T FORGIVE!’’
Sating us with a taste of their privilege.
Least we forget we are lackeys
Forever puckered up, tongues impaled as
the thunderous echo of our silence trumpets
our cheerful endorsement. Dedicated to drowning out the cobweb of protests rousing from the very depths of our down trodden souls where our own grief lies in a state of woeful neglect. Forgotten
like the fabled black poppies
"WE WON’T FORGET! WE WON’T FORGIVE’’
From their glutted gobs straight into our famished bellies while we continue to scour for sustenance in an endless sea of disparity, our weary backs, all the while, arched for their fragile egos to rest on.
When darkness finally rescues us, our souls finally unyoke, under its warmth we lick our wounds. In its depth we bury our shame and mourn the self pillorying of our dignity, as we nuzzle unto the source for restoration
We bow to the ones who swirl eternally in the dark belly of the bottomless seas, chained limbs still entangled in seaweeds, forgotten
the ones whose blood watered foreign lands just for another's pillage and plunder, unsung heroes, footprints long swept away by the winds of time. Spirits denied the tribal rites of passage home, their names only ever whispered by howling gales and ferocious typhoons.
Was it not your souls that put this fire in our bellies? Are you not the root of our resilience?
Author of our hope, though I have no banners to hoist nor a gavel to crack in your honour, my heart remains your monument
I breathe for you to live, your blood inflames my veins, your strength powers my loins, marrow to my bones, your wisdom quickens my step, even as I dance to the master's false tune, your gentle spirit soothes my aching soul
I now know you need no validation
that’s enough to see me through, the rise and fall of my chest a trusty reminder, least I forget
Dress up your ego, in a bright Hawaiian shirt,
Or juggle knives to prove you are quite the flirt.
Such silly peacock tricks may win some passing stares.
But, fireworks fade when really, truly, no one cares.
Speak five languages, fly planes, and juggle ten balls.
None of it means much beyond the odd, curtain calls.
The loudest résumé may clang and ring your meme,
Yet polished brass, is rarely gold, despite its gleam.
Ask one good question; let the silence breathe.
Then, see what answers an inquiry can retrieve.
Curiosity turns every newfound stranger into a door.
Each knock brings answers—and questions, what's more?
Don’t prance about, rehearsing your best clever line.
Pick up their threads, and gently cross-stitch their twine.
A listening ear can probe deep, near, and far,
Without ever needing any reminding—who’s the star.
At parties, search for what makes people really tick.
Not jobs, postcodes, titles, badges, or such shtick.
Find where their hidden clockwork starts to turn.
Then wind it up—watch their entire contraption churn.
So this small poem won’t beg to sparkle bright,
Or dance on tables, screaming: “What a sight!”
It doesn’t need to be interesting, through and through—
It only wants to be, interested in you!
10/17/19
"Brand New"
I'd be damned to quit
Putting out some brand new s***
With a brand new drip
In my a step a brand new skip
Brand new tint
Steering wheel with a brand new grip
In a brand new whip
With a brand new chick
On my hip a brand new stick
With a brand new clip
The man who's lit
Got a brand new script
Just picked up a brand new zip
And a brand new brick
No better time to make a brand new flip
Never been brand new to it
It was time to get a brand new skiff
So I bought a brand new ship
Blessed with a brand new gift
As well as a brand new shtick
On my shoulder a brand new chip
Ready to take care of this brand new itch
Towing a trailer, in a brand new truck with a brand new lift
And a brand new hitch
Found a brand new niche
Only out for brand new not no kitsch
Accomplished it, and now got a brand new wish
Currently on a brand new mish
While solving a brand new twist
Companies advertising a brand new pitch
She got surgery for some brand new ti**
In a state of brand new bliss
In the air a brand new drift
The tectonic plates near a brand new shift
Soon in the sky a brand new eclipse
Purchased some brand new kicks
About to use some brand new tricks
All these brand new cliques
And brand new pricks
I'm going to handle it
In the dark, don't need no candlestick
It's my problem, so i'm dipping my hand in this
Stunning crafts like amulets
A planet full of inhabitants
Areas full of contaminants
Sitting atop their palaces
People obsessed with extravagance
Others starving and ravenous
Not all became graduates
Some got into accidents
Causing a state of paralysis
Folks so haplessness
This life is nothing short of fabulous
The verdict wasn't always unanimous
Still into cannabis
But not abstinence
Got it done, regardless of short handedness
Near and far from waters with platypus
I'm working on my own analysis
The results shall be nothing short of miraculous
By: Dalton Ogletree
The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote. His shtick is fact-slim
and slick, but it’s also my current gestalt as I am dragged
unwillingly along by his CliffsNotes speech.
What catches my wandering eye is that this one ruined effigy
is a fair facsimile of myself. He (a god/king
of some minor something), looks mildly disgusted, as if
a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My world-weary face reflects perfectly that sour mien.
At last I am processed meekly back onto the tour bus,
where predictably, my fellow passengers are already
peering forward into a new fancifully imagined past
from an equally fanciful present.
Judgmental people and haters
rise on the internet like mashed masked potatoes,
complaining and cajoling point of words and rhetoric
while lying low in their own hidden shtick.
The voices, text trembles, lost in malignant words
with anger, hate, scorn, disapproving chords,
become acceptable display of thought on speech set free
exempt for theirs and similar company.
Politically incorrect thought exuding malaise
of who can speak or write in poeticly accepted phrase,
freedom and equality lag far behind and suffer
when folks fail to use their mind and not their tongue as buffer.
Don'y judge me harshly
the words I may express less smartly,
are in my heart and on my mind
with rapture and obsession to be kind.
It doesn't feel like Disney World
Though it has lots of rides
And food and fun and shops galore
It naturally provides.
Since 1843, it's been
A Copenhagen treat,
A perfect place downtown
For friends and family to meet.
You stroll right up and pay the fee
And then you're on your way -
No snaking lines or checking bags
To spoil your night or day.
Despite the cold, the festive lights
And sparkling decorations
Are there to welcome locals
And those here from other nations.
The Danes have made a special place
Without commercial shtick.
Appealing to the grown-ups
Is what likely does the trick.
What's happened recently I have to tell. (Hiccup)
Wish I could muddle through without a screw-up.
It starts out at a comic show. (Hiccup)
The stand-up doing jokes was such a crack-up
my laughter turned to choking then, (Hiccup)
and from my nose there squirted diet 7-up.
Embarrassed by all this, I got up and (Hic!)
excused myself to the lady's room and quick.
I tried to drink some water and to (Hic!)
apply another coat of Rose glow lipstick.
When I returned, I heard stuff that was (Hiccup)
not for kids and hardly for the ears of any grown-up.
I guess I got back just in time for (Hic!)
that crazy guy's most hilarious shtick.
Laughing violently, I felt (Hiccup)
I once again was gonna have a flare-up.
But why I just kept choking I don't (Hic!)
know, but this time I was feeling rather sick.
That's when I first started doing (Hic!)
this. Wish I'd gone instead to see some flick.
This all happened thirty days a (Hic!)
go. I think I've now tried almost every trick-
from breathing into bags to even (hiccup)
drinking from the wrong side of a teacup.
I'm tired of my husband trying to (hiccup)
scare me into stopping, so I'll sum up.
A guy like me was on Jay Leno's (Hic!)
Show. Hey! I could be the famous hiccup chick!
And yet, of all the things I could be known (Hic!)
for, this has to be the last one I would pick!
Written 3/18/14 for The Tickle My Funny Bone contest