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.
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
Working class zero.
The art of poetry is to write what you are thinking;
The best poetry sometimes, comes without you needing to think.
I write from the soul
And sometimes I use my subconscious mind to do my bidding;
Sometimes I study my target,
To become better at performing my shtick.
I want to be the best; so I try my best.
I stutter when I speak in front of an audience,
Because I have so many words that I need to get out.
I have a million words and already formed sentences inside my head;
I utter meaningless paraphrases, because I live underneath self-doubt.
It keeps me down and leaves me feeling less than confident;
But if I have the poem in front of me,
I can pronounce it with such apparent confidence.
Some people hear me reading my works and view me as being arrogant;
But the truth is I am scared outside my shell
And my words are my only defence.
Poetry is my lover and this is a love that will last.
Some say the best poetry is not written by someone from my class;
But I just say I do not care about that.
Writing is what I do, I am a poet; I will write until I die
And thus I am turned to ash.
I am no angel, no glistening thing of beauty;
But I am not afraid of speaking truthfully.
I am not charming and could never be a suitor;
But I am disarming their fury one mind at a time to seize my future.
If I make you smile,
Then I have brought a little happiness into the world.
If I make you think, maybe I became interesting.
If I inspired you to write better than I can,
Then I have become worthwhile.
If I have affected you at all,
Then I have accomplished meaning.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
A battered pier glass, the length of a running lightning,
The width of a Caesarean window,
And next to an agelong, framed
Daguerreotype, lies face down across
A musty room.
Shafts and rods of robust sunlight from cracks and holes
Make it less dingy.
The smell of arrogant tobacco haunts the breath
From the shattered floor tiles to the somnolent ceiling.
Shards and smithereens, curved and piercing,
Hook up on the protocols of stalagmites
Through the affront of invading nuns.
I see hope and despair.
I hear the muted sounds of betrayal.
The shards picture life and stress,
And are far-flung.
A small, earthen gallipot is among the shattered.
Spewing gunk on the platform of a volcano,
The confronted floor charges at my wandering feet.
My right heel bleeds gently.
I look out not for a suicide note since it’s a rare
Occurrence in rainy summer,
But I hasten cautiously to the foot of the room,
Like a worshipper strolls piously to the base of
A mountain.
And right there, I garnered the news of the day.
To begin with, it was a just a tale of a trumeau mirror —
A patented piece of introspective glass,
Part of a speculum.
And someone, not entirely debauched,
Once owned it proudly.
How did I get in here in the first place?
A portal,
The size of an elephant’s bowels,
Opened up and let me in through an
Apothecary’s maisonette.
For some fellows, mirrors crack with lightning’s
Image;
For some others, they crack with impunity.
And my shtick,
(Since the age of the hen and her eggs)
Has been to patch broken mirrors together,
Piece before piece.
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
Pinhead Lizard
Ever since he was a young boy
He played with balls of fire
From church halls to Soho brothels
He must have had them all
Aint seen nothing like this pinhead
In any amusement hall
That deaf, dumb and dumber kid
Sure plays a mean ol shtick
He weeps at mother Mary’s feet
Becomes part of the molesting dream
Feeling proud at his insulting whit
This Pinhead lizard
Sure is a wee wee twit
The gods looks down in smite and anger
That deaf, dumb and dumber kid
Sure plays a mean mean shtick
He’s a pinhead lizard
Maybe he’s drunk and very pissed
That pinhead lizard sure has a mean twist
How do you think he justifies
God sure hasn’t got a clue
What makes him an evil lizard?
Should have made him into a shoe
Aint got no education
Can’t bear the voices of reason
Don’t see no lights bulbs in that ones head
Makes no sense, but tosses insults like stale bread
He thought he was the charmer
He’s just a pinhead lizard with no crown
Ever since he was young boy
That lizard never grew up
He defames Jesus and preaches
Are all the lizards this lame?
He has his flip flop slippers
No wonder he always falls
Never failing to de-fame
He’s a pinhead lizard
Maybe he’s drunk and very pissed
That pinhead lizard sure has a mean mean twist
Written Sep 14, 2001 Parody on the song Pinball Wizard and a video game at the time!
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
Two billion people are of the Christmas persuasion,
Two billion people celebrate that most joyous occasion.
If that is true, Santa has to visit 23,148 people every second.
Which really is an awful lot as near as I can reckon.
I know that magic plays a part of Santa’s yearly shtick,
But even taking that into account it really is a trick.
Because that one second includes travel time and chimney scaling
Note reading, cookie eating, and occasionally board game playing.
Even taking into account that there may be a temporal causality loop,
That allows for the suspension of time for him and his happy little group.
Imagine how long it would take in a reindeer driven sleigh,
To visit each town and stop at each house along his way.
And think of the toys that delight and make the children want to shout,
The number of elves that it takes to build them would really freak me out.
The logistics of this endeavor can really start to boggle your mind,
The importing of raw materials alone could set you way behind.
To us, Santa may seem a jolly carefree guy, but he never gets to play hooky,
To run an organization such as that he must be one tough Christmas cookie.
To write poetry for me is passionate cause,
At first glance, you might think it's advice,
But with sharing what I think are lessons I’ve learned,
I could save myself making the same mistake twice,
And you pausing to read this might mean we connect?
Winsome poem to help melt the ice.
I've had upstanding souls mentor me in the past,
Old or young, I love comments! Great shtick!
While I do what I can to protect my kazoo,
I don't relish implanting a permanent stick!
I wax on and wax off until meaning just shines,
And the rhythms are hard as a brick!
I am also out looking for natural sounds,
With a music familiar as brook,
Never mind the world crashing or freezing with cold,
Should have movement as smooth as best prose in a book,
Like a sunset that colors the air then is gone!
Poet slides in and out like a crook.
And I go where my passions direct, “Tra La LA,”
With my muse smiling all of the while,
For he/she knows that his/her song is the song that I’ll sing,
And he/she never needs barter or ply me with guile!
My heart’s rhythm in love with his/her marvelous voice,
Feel my awe as he/she walks down the aisle.
Long Tooth
February 25, 2017
Packaged and sent to Robert Gorelick’s
Made him a Doggy Book Of Limericks
That had me roaring-unique
Some were cute and very chic
A twisty phrase he pulls-off, are his tricks
A postcard; his picture, a return address
Newly printed and hot off the press
It brought us closer, poet pals
Good deeds, I thanked God at St. Mel’s
He said it was nice, he was very impressed
His looks shout out Mister California
Ladies and gentlemen let me warnya
Dusty rugged devil so fine
He has aged like a fine French wine
Copy, print, and bind, a great idea
Robert takes his book wherever he goes
Bragging and boasting to all friends and foes
I’m submitting his chap book
I'll find an agent to hook
Dreams come true, fairy tales and rainbows
For the majority of the vast
I have been saving the best for last
His genius; sparkling and clever
He’s back, as witty as ever
Takes requests and voilà writes it fast
Maybe doggy limericks are his shtick
Short stories sensitive and romantic
But wait, a beautiful quatrain
Will please you every now and then
So let’s hear it for Robert Gorelick!
Freddie the furlough
Sat there with his Merlot
Watching the sun go up and down
While his body got tan and brown
They said they had full control
That is what Freddie the Furlough was told
Sitting in his cubicle one day
They came over to say, ‘you are still going to get pay’
Are you asking me to take an absentee leave?
Despite my hourly wages having not much of a fee
It is time for you to go
They repeated to Freddie the Furlough
You do not need me
I do see
Without a tear
Freddie the Furlough got up having no fear
Tired of all this shtick
Considered office tricks
Freddie the Furlough knew he performed his tasks
Honestly not needing to hide behind any corporate flask
Resulting in wearing the afternoon mask
Freddie the Furlough did not fold
Instead he was pretty bold
In dealing with this feeling of cold
From this job they thought he loved
And in reality the one he was ready to shove
Freddie the Furlough
Finished his Merlot
With enough cash in his tin
And knowing that the day was a win
Entitling Freddie the Furlough to a Jimmy Buffet happy hour fin