"comedian" poems
When I grow up, I want to be a dentist
Astronaut or mage apprentice.
I want to be a dancer, an artist, a king.
I'm hoping to stand on a stage and sing.
When I grow up, I want to be a lawyer,
Or have lead role in the play Tom Sawyer.
I'll be a comedian, and make people laugh!
Or the CEO with a thousand staff.
I'll be a waitress, a teacher, a vet.
Snow White's eighth dwarf that no one has met!
I might be a chef, or a scientist.
How about architect or alchemist?
When I grow up, I'll be a song writer
Or maybe your friendly, next-door firefighter.
I'll be a technician or pharmacy worker,
A fashion designer or New York stock broker.
I'm gonna be everything, just you wait and see!
But I think in the end I'm just gonna be me.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
Don't discriminate
Just don't do it
All it is, is hate
Hate is made out of other hate
and hate only fuels more hatred
You pour gasoline on a blaze of loathing
with every discriminatory comment you make
It doesn't matter
if they have done something you believe is wrong
because you have done many things that are wrong too
it is not for you to judge
so black white brown both or polka dotted for all I care
gay les straight bi or into adhesive sloths (we adhesified furry little sloths need a little love too)
man or woman or sloth
punk emo crazy nerdy weird loser REALLY weird bookworm or literal worm sloth or adhesive sloths (like me)
nature freak or homebody
axe murderer or a cereal killer or a cheerio killer
it does not matter who or what they are
they are all human too. or all sloths. that too.
Just don't discriminate
and share the slothified love of adhesiveness
accept everyone as they are
even if they hang from trees and move in slow motion all day like me
even if they are rocks
because rocks are great
in fact this one time, I found this rock and man, it was absolutely hilarious it should have been a stand up comedian
okay well not a STAND UP comedian, because I mean... rocks can't actually stand up... but like a really hard and Sedimentary roundish stone shaped sit down (well more like lay around like a rock all day) comedian
Wait, what was I talking about?
oh right, don't discriminate!! :)
against other humans or other sloths.
or adhesive sloths.
...I'm not crazy! my mother sloth had me tested!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
I was born in a time of veterans and freedom. Or was it killing, like when we left Eden?
I was born in a time, of oceans and salt. Or was it destruction, Atlantis had fought?
I was born in a desert, a place with a lot of hot sand. Cleopatra, Aphrodite, Egypt, all Seeing in the Land.
I was born in a Television, Hollywood starstruck was my name.
Classic, Modern or Hipster, craving fortune and fame.
I was born a telepathic, a mind reader of such. Seeking and giving out energy, requiring you of much.
I am deep, I am wide and I am always by your side. Loyal, Obedient and Giving. Taking, Fantasizing, Living.
I am quite the comic book laughter. I comedian of sorts.
I am quick to judge the living and cover up my warts.
Back to 1960, or was is 70 and 2?
When I was born a Scorpio, and no one ever knew.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I'm tired
Of these young comedians
Making disrespectful jokes
And stereotyping
People from the south
Especially one comedian
In particular
I won't name
It's not good to stereotype
Any group of people
I appreciate your sense of humor
But stereotyping is disrespectful
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
Home bound after work
near 12:30 am
just a few minutes from checking my email
then retiring
as us old folks like to call it
from the North side of route 7
at a slight angle
there and gone in half a second
was the biggest meteor I've ever seen
if that's what it was
so big that I slowed and listened for a boom
but nothing came
I have no idea how far it went before touching down
but this isn't about the meteor
this is about the fact that when I got home
and thought about who I would tell...
there was no one that came to mind
I've seen so much crazy **** in my life
that the stories have grown old
even the new ones
I breathed life into a dead woman one morning
then faced the fact that I couldn't save another
hit by a truck on my way home
just after midnight
on the day before the great Russian meteor
I saw 2 objects in the sky on fire
and not moving...
in broad daylight
I've been touched and spoken to
by spirits or ghosts or phantoms
take your pick
I saw 3000 people sacrificed in the name of what?
and as a child I witnessed a president murdered by those supposed to follow him
I've grown to see the young know nothing of that last President who actually had a vision and a spine
and when I quietly leave this life
there will be little to note...
a brief glance
of my obituary
by a few sad souls
I often think of a quote I heard as a young man
by a comedian; George Gobel
who was on the 'Tonight Show'
Dean Martin and Bob Hope were also on that show
and unknown to George, Dean was flipping his cigarette ashes
in George's drink as he was telling his humorous stories
this caused the laughs to come out of sequence...and finally a confused George said; 'Did you ever feel like the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?'
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
PARNELL'S FUNERAL
UNDER the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?
Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
A woman, and an arrow on a string;
A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
Cut out his heart. Some master of design
Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.
An age is the reversal of an age:
When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
It had not touched our lives. But popular rage,
Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.
Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
I thirst for accusation. All that was sung.
All that was said in Ireland is a lie
Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
Whether it be an animal or a man.
The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.
Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
Had even O'Duffy -- but I name no more --
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.
7.7k
Would you judge me?
Do y'know i wont judge you?
Can I be anything I want to be?
Or are there rules I have to conform to?
Spaceman cowboy hippie gangster stoner rockstar chef painter poet
playwright carpenter inventor scientist mathematician author actor
gardener tailor sailor musician comedian doctor pilot barista volunteer
partyplanner spiritualist director engineer psychologist beautician
Please do forgive me but there's more.
I'm greedy, I know, I want it all.
Immense experiences galore.
Money to me means null.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
This might not be a poem: more so a realization at most. The complaints I have throughout the day are anything but morose. Walk an hour in another man's shoes, and suddenly life has so much more I could lose. Where could I be in that first step?
I could be standing in the flip flops of a beautiful friend , taking care of four children as a new widow.
I could be in sneakers as the man selling newspapers in the desert heat day after day.
I could be in a different shoe every day, as a comedian loved by all, who could make everyone laugh, but himself.
I could be in heels in a doctors office, facing the reality of only a few months left.
But I'm not. My shoes are worn, but my heart is not. My days might be long, but my bed is warm. The jobs I work help keep our bills paid and our food plentiful.
I was going to complain today: but when I realized how beautiful today was, I had nothing to say.
Where could you be, in that first step?
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
you can hear the echo via Zizek the Slovak,
well, attire me in slavic myths and
i'll be mumbling purrs in mud too
for a helium bubble to become a comedian,
i know a jittery ******* addiction
when i see one...
if one thing the catholic schooling system
taught me was how to avoid
sniffing glue and how to recognise
a Freudian apostle - still, with all
the hippy **** you'd think
sniffing glue was what Ukrainian existentialism
prescribed with paracetamol,
catholic education just said: no no.
**** me it's the late 90s and we're talking
post-Chernobyl antics...
but that's how i see the left, leftist politics,
the right
utilises prefixes and suffixes in the
old stance of simple pre- pro-
anti-
qua-
-so so...
the left? oh they're right in there...
their prefixes are
Marxist-
liberal-
Hegelian-
whatnot...
they don't
use abstract prefixes,
their prefixes
are concrete,
they want the porridge in their mouth
to ensure a slur that never comes,
among a range of onomatopoeias they argue
from the perspective of the hushed and ushered crowd,
via one observation: Stalin clapped after a speech
to enjoin with the crowd, a real big brother,
****** never clapped, a sitting-duck method;
i'm not advocating, but by a proxy placebo dynamo
experimenting, it's called experimenting with
thought rather than practising with will,
former no chance of footstep evaluation for
cult status imitable -
the left intellectual
has no rubric of thought concerning to and fro -
it has to be concrete layered and a shut off
perfect architecture without fault -
it can't be what it is -
con-
has to be conservative
pro-
has to be socialist
you once said legitimate
transparency - but you didn't say legislation -
well, the left understood it as legislation,
the right too wanted legitimate transparency -
the green party said we could have neither
but could have the replanting of a thousand
oak trees with a Robin Hood placard on the first
oak tree replanted in Sherwood Forest...
b. ~ d. ~... shot ~100 bent arrows into a bullseye -
hurrah! hurrah! maid marian lost her virginity
too! to a broomstick rather than maradona's
fingernail toothpick!
at an essex market the cockney shouts (out of
place): *** yer courgettes! *** yer courgettes!
ta fa a pudding! ta fa a pudding!
*** yer cucumbers! tooth firth 'un!
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
When in Bohemia, she screams about
Her pastures green, but not too loud
So never have I known, that the world listens too
As a comedian, I see she belongs
But never conforms, to the song of
This nomad world, I'm glad she found it too
So run! She wants to run again
You vagabond, you're well-spent
Bohemian tendencies says, “you can't stay long”
“These kinds of commons, you won't ever get along”
Armenian, it’s such a release
Materialistic animosity
The speed of life has no value, like dollar signs
I loved an alien, who dabbled in art
Of all visage, enema of the heart
Wanderer, she's spent so much but there's that bliss in the air
So smile! It's all sorts of worthwhile
To see a world and not fret so much
Bohemian tendencies says, “be spectacular
Before the nebula men steal your fur”
In the Caribbean, you dream a kite
As your taxi, you can't walk all the time
Travel hills of puce-mauve sands, the world in trance
A true deviant, the thinking of
All dreaming thoughts, and loves begot
Tinkerer, what will we do when our brains run dry?
Oh, no! Don't think about the end
To love a life in due pretence
Bohemian tendencies says, “think fair, live now”
“The world is watching with distaste of time in doubt”
As a chameleon, should she go alone?
The world is cold, except for times in colour
Her world in dance, she'll do without me
When in Bohemian, the first I've seen
Of pastel stencils through her happi-
Ness-tled in her loft home of the wind
There she goes! Ain’t she a lovely wing?
I hope she finds a world that sings
Bohemian tendencies says, “to love and to hold
But to let go, for treasures can mold”
There she goes
There she goes
There she goes
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
What counsel has the hooded moon
Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet,
Of Love in ancient plenilune,
Glory and stars beneath his feet -- -
A sage that is but kith and kin
With the comedian Capuchin?
Believe me rather that am wise
In disregard of the divine,
A glory kindles in those eyes
Trembles to starlight. Mine, O Mine!
No more be tears in moon or mist
For thee, sweet sentimentalist.
4k
I'm no comedian,
but to see you smile
I become funny.
I'm not rich
but I will hustle
to get you money.
I'm no chef
but your taste, I savor
I desire your flavor.
I'm no freak
but new lovers,
I love to meet.
I'm no hoarder
but admirers
I love to keep.
**I AM A POET
A LIBRA
A PEOPLE PLEASER**
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Toned, muscular, powerful beasts.
This is the way the world chooses to see.
Outraged, aggression, and dangerous too.
Scared one day, they might bite you.
Not even a second, by the looks, instant fear.
This so called 'reputation' makes us tear.
Continue to breed,
Continue to Buy.
Opt. to put them on a chain so tight.
Opt. to make them fight.
Judging them, at just first sight.
Not bad dogs, just bad owners.
When will the world see the light?
Toned, masculine, powerful features.
Beautiful and intelligent creatures.
Ever so loving, ever so loyal.
So goofy, and eager to please.
Eager to love, Eager for affection.
This is the way the world should see.
A family dog, a protector.
A comedian in ways.
A runway model with natural beauty.
A visitor, for those in pain and lonely.
A caregiver for rehabilitation.
A simple, lasting smile,
A kind that sparks and stays for awhile.
A partner against crime.
A team mate whose there all the time.
A worker, a player to love you at best.
A companion beyond special.
A dog, beyond the rest.
A love, in life, with whatever is next.
A best friend, to say the least.
A Staffies not A beast.
Staffies are the best.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
Cotton Candy Man Poem
(6/7/2014)
He was simple sugar,
spun on hot air,
soaked in pink,
a tasty treat.
He was cotton candy.
I would wrap him around my finger,
like I could coax a ring out of sugar and thin air.
To have felt him melt in my mouth,
each time the tip of my tongue got a taste.
He was cotton candy.
He was a carnival with all the best attractions.
but balloon darts pop when you pour enough money into the game.
but a dunk tank is just a plunge into shallow depths, a break from the sun.
but elephants should be free, not tamed by fire and humans' greedy desire.
but a clown without their makeup might as well be a less creepy comedian.
but won over stuffed animals are just like cotton candy,
a squishy substance when you need a stable solid.
Step right up!
Spotlight on the star of our circus show,
see the cotton candy man.
His heart made of sugar,
a toxic substance.
His breath's brevity enough to set off cotton candy's chemical reaction,
scorching hot air against pink paint,
there is nothing sweet about being spun.
Dyed in bright colors to deliver a warped reality,
he was seemingly a healthy vibrant,
unlike the poison within.
He was cotton candy,
and I, a circus ******
craving him, freshly spun.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
I use to laugh at ironic things
No punishment for the bad deeds
The Bible says that good 10 fold
The universe returns to us in gold
That fairytales and nursery rhymes
Exist to scare and keep us in line
But on this day fate stepped in
And karma it seems is a comedian
A lesson weaved throughout every line
Carefully crafted as a warning sign
It was a day like any other
As usual jumped in the shower
Quickly washed and rinsed my hair
Noticed too late that it was NAIR!
Every luscious lock and strand
Fell out completely in my hand
What seems like a sick joke being played
Or demented parts a malicious prank
A plot unfolded my part the lead
The lines straight from a horror scene
Like laws of nature or earths gravity
The rules we bend to suit our need
Like a boomerang’s invisible path
It seems to follow when it comes back
Even the ocean and it’s changing tides
Needs the moon’s persuasive side
We are the keepers of what we seek
And what we sow we indeed will reap
The nightmare that we fear the most
Comes back to haunt us like a ghost
Like Peter Pan and Captain Hook
Just a good story in a children’s book
what if the earth gets bored of us
And decides that we are entertainment
those characters we read as kids
Like Pinocchio or the 3 little pigs
Sleeping beauty or the ogre Shrek
You thought was funny as a sketch
Brought to life would pose a threat
Although to you this seems far fetched
The truth Ive written has not been stretched
I hope you read this and know as fact
What you put out there will soon come back
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
As I lay beside my darling
On an early Sunday morn,
I could feel her rounded softness
Sleeping under blankets warm.
My mind caroused the memories
And loitered on it's way
And found itself deliciously,
Immersed in golden play.
I remembered something special
In the way my little boy would look
As his eyes rose up in wonderment
When I read his favorite book.
And the joy involved in feeding
A hungry little mouth
When the porridge spooned all over
From the eyebrows heading south.
A tantalizing moment
On the beach down by the sea,
In the warm December sunshine
With my happy family.
We were running in the black sand
Drawing circles with a stick
As the surging waves approached them
Laughing little boys were quick.
Laughing, happy moments
And some sad ones like the day
When dear old Meg, our Labrador,
Got sick and passed away.
Young Boaz in his sadness
Climbed the big tree to it's crown
And it took a lot of pleading
To persuade him to come down.
And young Solly played the taniwha
At the Cornwall Park school play
And a better taniwha has yet
To grace the stage today.
A natural in his element
This young comedian
So hilariously funny
As he drew the audience in.
The tender, loving moments
As we both strolled arm in arm
Through the verdant Ferntree Gully
With it's sunlit grace and charm.
And the towering eucalyptus,
Hanging wood smoke in the air
And the whiplash resonation
Of the lyrebird hidden there.
Of Buttercup's wild parties
When fancy dress was king,
When everyone would whoop it up
And laugh and dance and sing.
When mum's and dad's and little kids
All joined the happy throng
With spud mashing as a ceremony
And a night of fun and song.
Of sitting in the garden
With your feet up and a book
And a cold beer at your elbow
And a barbecue to cook.
With the easy feel of family
As they go about their day
And the joyous sound of summer
When two noisy tui's play.
Memories of yesterday
Moments in the life
Of ecstasy and agony
And wonderment and plight.
And the ordinary ness of everything
And the magic everywhere,
Like the auburn in the sunlight
As it strikes my darling's hair.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10 October 2009
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 7:36 PM UTC
This is an ode to my friends.
For the ones I've loved since day one
the ones I have learnt to love
and for the ones I hate to love.
This is for my friend,
for the one, I got drunk with first.
We stole a litre bottle of cider and four beers then drank them in the park at midnight.
This is an ode to my friend who cries at parties,
who swears he will die alone.
This is for my friend who laughs at every joke,
the **** and comedian but shakes when no one is looking.
This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who's grandma is dying but they
still, manage to draw on a smile and present a joke.
This is for my friend who has depression,
Or the friend who has anxiety,
and asks me to speak for her at restaurants,
This is an ode to my friends,
who is finally taking control of her body
after being trapped in the wrong one.
For the friend who is scared to leave the house
when it's icy because he might slip and hurt his ***
For the friend, I fancied till I was sixteen,
and even though it's been years my lips still burn when
I look at her.
This is an ode to my friends who leave me out of conversations.
who have inside jokes they sprout when I'm around
This is for the ones that went to the movies to see the film they knew I was dying to see.
This is an ode to my friend,
who broke her leg whilst dancing in her favourite musical,
and the part was given to someone else.
This is for the friend whose mother died when she was 12
but she remains the strongest person ever.
This is an ode to those who
forget I'm their friend,
who ignore me when they're upset,
who tell me daily that they love me,
who cry at Disney movies,
who laugh at videos of past times,
who I hate that I adore,
who I cry over,
because I can't make them happy anymore.
This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who is so self-conscious, he wears baggy jumpers to hide his stomach.
This is an ode to my friend who has scary parents,
for the friends who made a pyramid out of stones and raised a nation,
for the friends who try their hardest and still achieve nothing,
for my friends the world has seemingly forgotten,
This is an Ode to my friends,
the ones I know I will die loving,
they give me cups of tea with two sugars when I'm having a bad episode,
for the ones that cry when they hear a certain song, because it reminds them of when I tried to off myself in the toilet,
for the one that has never had a kiss,
for the one who refuses to get married.
This is an ode to my friends,
the family I chose,
the ones that send me stupid messages at four am,
then question why I'm awake so late.
For the friend that gets blackout drunk,
for the one with weak knees,
who, when she laughs, falls to the ground in a fit of giggles,
for the friends, I will marry, loving.
Speak now or forever hold your peace,
An ode to my friends,
who I love more than anything,
as we collapse through the stars,
I'll hear them laughing at a joke.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
How come everytime i turn around
People are worried about others opinion?
How come everytime i turn around
People are dying
Dying cuz they are scared to be themselves
Scared cuz the world is soo cruel
Losing all hope
Dont know what else to do..
Society why
Why Do you implant things in our head
Making us believe
What seem soo real
But its oh so fake
Making us blind
And feeding us with soo many lies
Sociey why
Why are you doing this to us
Taking what we love and live for
To give us something thats filled
With so much hate
Giving us our only option
To give up and die
We have no hope
Society why
Do you make use feel soo little
When we mean so much
Making this world a death trap
We die either way it go
If we dont **** ourselves
Then the world do
Our only safety
Is away from humanity
Society
We shouldnt have to feel
Or live like that
Society why
Do you pay more attention to the rich
And ignore all the poor
Its like a war
Rich against poor
How much more bull
Can we take?
Society why
Are you hiding soo much history
And leaving parts of our brain so empty
Making us believe
What you want us to believe
You try to make us seem dumb
So that no one can "Rebell" against you?
Society is ****** up
Just like the government is
Society why
Are you doing this to us
What happen to peace?
Or love?
Or forming a better union?
All the past activist
Will be very disappoint in you
Society
please give us a break
I dont know how much more people
Can handle
Giving us limited options
Society is a comedian
And the biggest joke is us.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
We are Manchester. The City, The place, we’re hospitable people with a smile on our face. You can beat us, mistreat us, and blow us to hell. We have had it all before and we don’t dwell. We’re the northern powerhouse of the northwestern elite, Where the Geordie's, The Scousers, The Yorkshire’s retreat. The premier League, The Roses Cricket, The Heineken Cup Is a one way ticket. United and City two football teams with stadiums full, bursting at the seams.
We are Mancunians Of this fair City, The People, The Love, The old nitty gritty The worker, The Shirker, The Homeless, The immigrants, each one of these they are all itinerants. The Steel, The Cotton, long since forgotten the old smokey chimneys blew out smoke that was rotten. The Massacre at Peterloo. Local politicians just don’t have a clue. With all the sights this city has on show here’s something that people don’t really know. Manchester is where New Zealand Born Ernest Rutherford split the Atom.
We Are Manchester, The City, the Place, where Sir Humphrey Chetham has his musical grace a school of music with musical taste. And where a man with a paintbrush painted streets on boxes. I don’t think Lowry ever painted foxes. And A comedian from Collyhurst who was absolutely awesome, a real funny guy by the name of Les Dawson, and where a man from Chorlton on Medlock became Prime Minister back in the day. David Lloyd-George had a hell of a lot to say.
We Are Manchester and it's the place for me. And a proud Mancunian I’m glad to be. I’ll sit in a cafe watching people pass by. They are all in a hurry and I wonder why. I see a business man in a three piece suit, and the homeless guy that is counting his loot. There's the girl on the street giving out free papers she is smoking those ciggies that give off those vapours. It's pouring with rain and she’s getting wet she’s worried about money to pay off her debt.
We Are Manchester and this is our City don’t waste your time we don’t want no pity. We are Manchester we are steeped in tradition we leave other cities standing. There’s no competition. Where A man from Moss Side a Vicar not a Dean called Rev George Garrett invented the submarine. And where the great Anthony Wilson was a journalist & impresario and a man named John Nichols invented the great drink called Vimto. and so When he wrote “This Is the Place” I’m sure he did so with a smile on his face. We Are Manchester and I’ll state our case because we are Manchester and we are ace.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
You found friction,
when so many told you
to slip down with them.
You were the safety
to a gun-wielding chorus screaming:
"Fire!"
Shoved from the Fourth
you fought to protect,
to being snowed-in,
half a hemisphere away
from the coconuts
and palm trees you fled.
Hotel room to hotel room,
the flesh from your skin dissolves,
piece by piece —
like a nation's artifacts.
Resigned to watching
a comedian's suicide
trend on Twitter —
an individual who made it easier
to laugh and forget the words:
"Liberty and Justice for All."
You should grimace.
Silenced. Snowed-in.
Unable to even say,
"America — please shovel me out."
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
I woke ahead of the morning,
for reasons I hardly know.
I clad myself in fancy clothes
but for reasons I hardly know.
I put on a tie - attempted a knot
but failed as I waste more time.
I look at my clock, I look at my watch,
Wonder why it did not chime.
I gulp a steaming cup of espresso,
a shot of adrenaline pumped briskly,
I took my phone, dashed out quickly,
I then forgot my keys.
Found them seep in between the couch,
I had to sweat it out.
Crumpled shirt and an unbalanced tie
I foresee a morning shout.
I ignore a typical Monday dusk,
as I put on my cotton socks,
Slipped my toes into my brogues,
I took one last look at the clock.
I still had time, it is still early,
Perhaps a cigarette before I drive,
I lit one up, minty inhale,
the sun has started to rise.
I rushed in the car, started the engine,
and put my gear to reverse.
I zoom right out my greasy gate,
My tires, all four of them, bursts.
I took one look in the mirror,
I knew it's down the drain,
I might as well call in sick,
and tell my boss it's the rain.
Who would believe that all four tires,
would deflate so quickly at once?
It sounds like a bad joke by a bad comedian,
not believable - like a very bad pun.
I took one last look at my watch,
It's way past 'possible' o-clock.
I left the car to fend for itself,
I went into the house without my socks.
I jumped right back into my silky bed,
happy to see my five pillows.
I am not excited it's the start of the week,
but Tuesday can never be this mellow.
I shut the window, pulled the blinds,
Sleep deprived made me berserk.
"Mundane Monday", "Monday blues",
Whatever...you're the one at work.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
In my entourage
people laugh
I got used to it.
In my center stage
I was the comedian
who never likes
his job.
In my closing remarks
their entertainment
was fulfilled.
I on the other hand
got drained
from my mistakes
turned to be pretty
funny,
never was that
my intention.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
**Profanity is a ******* Tool.**
Profanity is Subjective.
Profanity doesn't necessarily show intellectual or moral paucity.
Profanity is a form of emphasis; a form of ******* catharsis, an aspect of humour.
******* humour:
A goldmine rooted in Shadow,
excavated by Logic
and which seems,
for the most part,
wasted on the irrefutably
illogical, or at least bi-polar
(if not higher-multi-polar)
masses.
*"Anyone who relies on any one given tool is a fool, as
anyone who denounces a given tool for how it has been used by others is outright stupid."*
A carpenter who can only use a hammer is quite restricted,
A musician who can only play alone is no good in a band,
A poet who only writes can't show the world how it's meant to be read (if at all),
A comedian who only swears has little else to offer,
A person who only speaks but doesn't act on it is a liar.
A carpenter who won't use a hammer is self-sabotaging.
A musician who can only play with others has no personal skill.
A poet who refuses to write starves oneself of potential.
A comedian who won't swear better have a good point.
A person who only acts but reuses to speak had better be a monk or mime!
*(The last two were perhaps failed, even vein attempts at humour..
I shall leave that up to you to decide!)*
Profanity is a Tool:
I believe that no matter the profanity, a message can still be well received
by those who care enough to receive it.
Better still are those who can interpret the profanity
as humourous accentuation, emphasis, catharsis
and not necessarily as overly-abrasive and immature.
That said, some people are just totally ******* immature about it.
If you can't stand the profanity, get the **** off the internet. 4srs.
Better yet, shut yourself away from the world
lest you ever deal with that which you find unsettling.
*So ist das Leben.
Telle est la vie.
Así es la vida.
Such is life.*
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC