Long Sitcoms Poems
Long Sitcoms Poems. Below are the most popular long Sitcoms by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sitcoms poems by poem length and keyword.
The day my life went whacko, I woke up bumfuzzled.
To this day, I can’t tell you why I was so puzzled.
First I put instant oatmeal in my coffee maker;
I made sure I selected my favorite, Quaker!
Then I poured in some milk and a handful of raisins.
I presumed on a yummy treat I’d soon be grazin’.
What I ended up with was a clogged Mr. Coffee.
For my breakfast, I choked down a stale piece of toffee.
Then I had to do laundry. There was no detergent
and no dryer sheets. My circumstances were urgent!
So I dashed off to buy all the items I needed.
Then the time came to pay, and my plans were impeded.
for my purse was at HOME. I had no cards or money.
When I watch silly sitcoms, I find such scenes funny!
On my way to retrieve my purse, I got two tickets.
from a smirking patrolman who said, “Ma’am, please click it!
And your license?” “At home, sir.” I took my citations
and, attaching my seat belt, I hid my frustration
till I’d driven at least half a mile. Then I hollered,
quite aware I would have to pay hundreds of dollars.
So preoccupied by these events, I was crying.
Sitting there at a four-way stop, I began trying
hard to fathom that incomprehensible scene.
Was that stupid red stop sign EVER gonna turn green?
written March 13, 2020, for Nina Parmenter's contest
April 7, 2020, entered in Caren Krutsinger's contest placed 3rd
Morning lurks
In dark alleys;
Haze presides
~~~~~~~~~
Sunbeams seep
Hazy skies ruin;
Magical sunlight
~~~~~~~~~
Hazy horizons
Smoky dust drifts;
Moody suspensions
~~~~~~~~~
Moody haze
Depressed moods;
Choking smog
~~~~~~~~~
Gratitude smiles
Lazy afternoon;
Sanguine sitcoms
~~~~~~~~~
My darling smiles
Inner sunshine;
Travel talk here
~~~~~~~~~
Random journeys
Mystery calls;
Cites fond journal
~~~~~~~~~
Micro tales
Short and sharp;
Food for thought
~~~~~~~~~
Touch of morning
Evaporated dreams;
Reality check
~~~~~~~~~
Moments of madness
Breezy easy frolic;
Joy mingles cheer
~~~~~~~~~
Old friend departs
Sad moments sum;
Fond feelings linger
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy moments
Loiter somnolent;
Wake-up call
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
13 October 2015
Singapore
Written: May 29, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Margarita Lillico
1st place contest winner
********************
O hallowed recliner, throne of my repose,
you cradle my chaos, you cushion my woes.
With cup-holder majesty, armrest divine,
you whisper: *“Forget the world, the remote is mine.”*
The computer hums like a loyal old pet,
its screen a sanctuary of Wi-Fi regret.
Emails parade like clowns in a ring,
while Netflix insists I watch *one more thing.*
Domestic bliss? Oh, surely it’s this—
a kingdom of crumbs, a fortress of fizz.
The recliner reclines, the keyboard complains,
yet comfort and clutter run through my veins.
So crown me with cables, baptize me in light,
let spreadsheets and sitcoms both bless my night.
For bliss is not roses, nor candlelit cheer—
It’s Wi-Fi that works, and a fridge full of beer.
we were young and dumb,
but not reckless,
two boys skimming the edge of fear,
a twenty-year-old shadow
and his seventeen-year-old brother,
riding the spine of Interstate Ten,
from Tallahassee to San Diego,
then back to Florida—
outlaws without blood on our hands.
the first time was the hardest,
hearts pounding like fists
against the ribcage.
a small-town branch,
the teller's wide eyes,
hands shaking as she filled the bag.
we whispered, not shouted,
like thieves apologizing for the theft.
no gun would fire, no life would end.
we were just as afraid
as the people we robbed,
maybe more—
they would go home
to their casseroles and sitcoms,
we would drive
into the long night,
checking mirrors,
counting shadows.
the money bought gas,
bought distance,
bought time.
southern states fell behind us
like discarded postcards—
until Texas.
Houston, San Antonio, El Paso.
three jobs in one state.
the sweat, the stares,
the peso dancing in flux,
unstable as the lives we stole.
back to Tampa,
the roads wore us thin,
two ghosts in a modern car,
safe but haunted.
I never held a gun again.
he never held onto life.
three years ago,
he died a useless death.
no glory, no gunfire,
just the silent collapse
of a heart that had run too hard.
sixty-six now,
and I think of him—
the kid who laughed in the face of fear,
who counted pesos in the passenger seat,
who believed we could outrun everything.
Hollywood spent billions
on the dead legends—
Butch and Sundance,
Bonnie and Clyde,
Billy the Kid.
all shot, all gone.
but we survived,
not heroes, not villains,
just two scared boys
with a knack for escape
and the luck of the modern age.
today,
I wouldn't suggest it.
you'll be caught,
you'll be killed.
the world's too sharp now,
too fast.
but back then—
well, back then
we were afraid,
and maybe that's why we lived.
The statue of limitations concerning these crimes,
Has long since expired.
It’s all right.
The eye, inner cheek, thumb, knee, and leg.
Begging for relief.
The trigger thumb should be released today at one.
Hip-hip-hurray! Let’s not talk of the hip again…shh!
Perhaps, next week some news, some talk
about the knee…too long it seems, it was lumped
in, with lower leg sciatica pain.
Aye yi yi, the eye, I read,
is chronic (say what?!)
Yep, nurse practitioner did not tell all.
No one dumps the aging news on us
until we’re knee deep in the “stuff.”
Oh the pain…the pain…the pain!
No wonder sitcoms came to be.
We needed to lighten up.
Laugh it up, millennials -
I bet you see the light.
Warning!!
This is a free verse poem.
It may not meet the high standards of poetry soup.
It is also highly controversial.
The writer of this poem realizes that poetry is supposed to be light and fluffy!
Just like TV sitcoms.
But hear it is anyway, (oops hear, I mean here, is spelled wrong, automatically
disqualifying this poem as reflecting any beauty or talent at all.)
Hope it does not wound anyone too badly.
I Wonder what the headlines would be like if Fox News existed in the early 1800's?
Perhaps something like, "Despite minor slave trade infractions this month, such as 10,000
pieces of human chattel suffocating on their own defecation, 5000 female slaves being
raped by their masters, and 9,000 male slaves beat to death for smiling at their master's
wives, ABOLITIONISTS CONTINUE TO PURSUE THEIR OPPRESSIVE, SOCIALIST AGENDA!!!!"
Wow, how badly I long for the good old days of "American Morality!"
When the American Spirit was "Strong and Virile!!!"
Before all these bleeding heart abolitionists freed the slaves and destroyed the Southern
Economy!!!!!
Ah, just brings a tear to a brotha's eye.
Thank God for Fox News!!!!
Who else do we have to keep us honest?!!!!
I met an old man in Atlantic City, in a library by the shore
Through the glass, the ocean shimmered, he couldn't ask for more
He said he'd been retired since his wife had passed away
His kids scattered across the land, it was hard to fill the day
He spoke about Dobbs Ferry library, there sunset paints the sky
From balconies he watches as the Hudson drifts on by
Outside the Hudson Highlands library, a castle on the height
Inside, portraits, paneled wood, and windows with golden light.
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
He explores the future and the past, the stories don't grow old
But me, I watch the TV sitcoms, letting time unfold
He liked the New Haven library, where the homeless sometimes sleep
The librarian wakes them gently, though it makes her heart weep
He's been to New York's grand palace, with lions at the gate
In Greenburgh a local sang Western songs, folks danced, it was great
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
Echoes of a world gone by, and peace to ease his mind
Myself, I watch old action movies, but suspense won't take a hold
Sometimes I feel lost, sometimes I feel cold.
[Bridge]
The Detroit Public Library gave him a pleasant surprise
The city has seen better days, but that place deserves a prize
Built with Vermont marble, Italian trim, a building meant to last
In front a River of Knowledge Mosaic that connects us with the past
I felt a bit of sorrow, his hobby made me fret
I said, "In Atlantic City, there's excitement you can get"
"Come with me," I told him, "There's a place that we can go"
He smiled and said, "No thank you, son, I'd rather take it slow"
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
While I sit and watch the reruns, letting time pass by
He finds the temples of the past, a learning kind of high.
He said "I'll stay in these cathedrals of what we used to be
To each his own, before birds flown, on priorities we disagree"
He turned back to his book again, beneath the painted dome
And in that silent moment, I knew he'd found a home.
It's five o'clock, she checks her watch, at last the work day's done
Her forehead pounds, a coke is found, she gulps two aspirin down
Walking through the parking lot, a cell phone to her ear
Three calls to make, six texts must wait, until she reaches home
A dreadful day, is worsened now, by a cocktail shade of smog
Too dazed by crazy sitcoms that seem to fill her life,
on an escalator going up or down, to nowhere in the strife
A contrail stream of traffic noise, is brandished against her ears
The snail-paced freeway travelogue, a prequel to the dialogue
that sails into her blue-tooth buds, enhances all that aches
The modem in her deep-fried brain is in a dismal state.
Just blogs of malware, here and there, is skyjacked by the haze.
She fails to see a taxicab, in the multiplex of cars
A screech of brakes, a near escape, it's not her first mistake
The rushing, crushing motorcade, can't stop to see her scars
The escapade, the glitzy parade, no shelter from the beat
The drum that pounds, the sounds that come, awake or fast asleep
The docudrama of her life has muddied up her brain
Dumbfounded, by the life she leads, is lost before it's found
Some think, perhaps the gods are crazy, (at least that's what some say)
I think, instead, it's not the gods, but folks who've lost the way
________________________________________________________
1/6/15
For Contest: "The Gods Must Be Crazy" Sponsor: John Lawless
He seems to love the sound of his own voice,
and if he does not get his way, he balks.
A hug from him would make his gal rejoice,
yet little of affection does he give.
For love of science he will always live,
but friendships matter, so he talks and talks!
He’s fond of many things and knows each fact
about his favorite sci-fi shows, and his
use of language naturally is exact.
His gal prefers a kiss to that which he
spews from his mouth, but eccentricity
defines him. She accepts him how he is!
May 9, 2018 for the 'Rhyme Time 3' Contest of Laura Loo
Topic 6 is my title.
Dedicated to the characters Sheldon and Amy from one of my favorite sitcoms: The Big Bang Theory
From a planet which must be more fun
than the one called “Third Rock from the Sun,”
came an alien that
had the face of a cat.
In his hands he was holding a stun gun!
“Constellations -for eternity-
In a spaceship I’ve traveled,” said he.
“Though I look like a dork,
I could be a cool Mork!
May I stay? Will you be my Mindy?”
“So you know 80’s sitcoms!” said I.
“You sure are an interesting guy.”
“Yes, he said, “Earth’s TV,
with my technology, I can watch anytime that I fly!”
With this cool alien I now dwell,
and we both get along very well.
He’s no need for his gun,
for with me he has fun
watching shows that we both think are swell.
And we’ve flown now to many a place
like the moon and around all of space.
This guy from afar
is my SUPER STAR.
He’s my alien with a cat’s face.
Written for the Spaceship Contest March 11, 2014