"groucho" poems
Every now and then
I go deep inside my mind
Just to have a little rest
And see what I can find
I don't go in there often
It dark and I must say
That sometimes I'm afraid
That I may lose my way
There's a little corner café
Where Groucho sits alone
Stan Laurel sits there writing gags
And Greta Garbo sits and moans
Sinatra sings for all of them
John Lennon talks to God
Brian Jones gives swimming lessons
There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd
Over in the distance
At a table in the corner
Hemmingway sells movie scripts
To mogul man Jack Warner
Elvis does a hip shake
Ruth and Gherig playing catch
Bud and Lou do Who's on First
Humphrey Bogart lights a match
Charles Dickens playing darts
A red balloon comes floating by
Andy Warhol sits with Nico
Where German pop songs go to die
Marilyn and James Dean
Sit quietly talking on the stairs
John Kennedy and his brother Bob
Just pretend that they are both not there
Chico plays piano and
Harpo with his harp
Bad jokes float around the room
being told by silent stars
Phil Everly and Phil Ramone
They're new here so they're woozy
Sit talking of the songs they'll miss
Rick Nelson sings of Susie
You see it is a mad mad place
in my head when I may wander
I don't go in too deep
And I've met Henry Fonda
There's images, and icons
Family, and friends
on a little street inside my head
That's a circle with no ends
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Little Box talks back
With a new set of teeth
And pink gums
A fake nose and a wax mustache
She disguises her voice
To sound like Groucho
•
Little Box opens up
And cries to her psychiatrist
I don’t know why they hate me
I’m such a sweetheart
I volunteer at the zoo
And teach Mandarin
To their bratty children
•
Little Box is not happy to see you
So she closes herself up for months
Years, decades, and two millennia!
She tacks up a sign that says
Nirvana
•
Little Box is undead
She sleeps all day in a coffin
Hands over chest
At night she cruises the mall
For juicy victims
She prefers type A
But AB if she has to
What can you say
Vampires can’t be choosy
She likes your stupid brother
•
Little Box is on the psychiatry couch
Everybody hates me
Nobody loves me
Little Box lies on her side
And spills her guts
•
What’s in Little Box
A perfect orchid
A chocolate-covered strawberry
A new iPhone
With a glittery sleeve
Amber earrings from Pushkin
Keys to a new Porsche
A retro Chanel brooch
A Getty scion’s left ear
A Czar’s *****
Gifts so rare
Please don’t stare
•
What’s in Little Box
Rancid chow mein
A sliver of cold pizza
Last week’s hummus
You’re a starving orphan
From East Brooklyn
And you’ll eat it
•
So you want to **** Little Box
You want to know her secret
She won’t open up
She won’t give it up
And you are genuinely repelled
By her filthy ribbon
•
You want to DO the Little Box
You are a sorry story
You big creep
Why don’t you get off the couch and find
A real girlfriend!
•
Boss Box
White, square, and without a soul!
•
Please don’t analyze Little Box
She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill
Her mother Precious Jade Purse
Has been regifted
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
Charlie Chaplin, set the pace
Buster Keaton, old stone face
Groucho and the brothers Marx
Margaret Dumont for some sparks
Harold Lloyd, The Brothers Ritz
Did I mention Zazu Pitts?
Stan and Ollie, Keystone Cops
Chases that just wouldn't stop
The Stooges, Larry, Curly, Moe
and then theres Shemp and Curly Joe
Bing and Bob, and Dean and Jerry
Two could sing, while two made merry
Bud and Lou and who's on first?
Harry Langdon and Charlie Chase
I think who is on first base
Mabel Normand and Mack Swain
Always tied before the train
Pie fights, slapstick in black and white
This was when we laughed all night
Mack Sennet, Roach, and Our Gang
Spanky and Alfalfa sang
Words were twisted, spun and turned
People splashed and others burned
Remember back to days of yore
To when they had you on the floor
Rembember Baby Rose Marie
She started at the age of three
Many more could make the list
For many I know that I missed
Make 'em laugh and take a pie
Get sprayed with seltzer in the eye
Go and watch their films again
So comedy will always reign
Thank you to the funny folk
Who taught us how to take a joke....
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
my 30 gb iPod
the garter from my senior prom
a tiny golden cross that had
faith & hope
inscribed into it
the base to my son's car seat
& his monkey mirror
my husband's suit jacket
& seven years of my
life written into
various paper journals
with colored covers
these were all stolen in the
first car I ever owned
her name was Lydia
*"She was the most glorious creature
under the sun."*
that comes from a
Groucho Marx song if
you didn't know
my Papa used to sing it to
me all the time
anywho
she was a 2000 Dodge Neon
painted black
two stickers on the back
"COEXIST"
and
"SUPPORT THE ARTS
KISS A MUSICIAN"
I got her my first year
of college from
a man who's like a father
to me
we've been through many a
busted radiator hose
& flat tire
last summer my husband was on his way
to work when Lydia gave out on him
so he left her at the side of K-15 and MacArthur
in Wichita
& told the cops not to tow her away
'cause he'd be back for her
when he returned after his shift
she was gone
nowhere to be found
a vanishing act of pure mental hell
& unanswered questions
to this day
I miss her terribly.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
once a collage
hung on a wide white wall
with monochrome photos of
all creatures great and small
Dali juxtaposed with Doris Day,
LBJ atop JFK, and Joe DiMaggio,
grinning Frankenstein and frowning
Frank Sinatra, not far below
Hemingway, Groucho Marx, Marlon Brando
occupying three of four corners, the bottom right
a curious cat, in stretched repose
dead center, a cracked crucifix
and four Beatles all, Paul the biggest
with the cross crowning his frame
a Corvette,
and Stalin in his tomb
were also given ample room,
on this black and white piece of art
as were ****** Cleaver, with cap,
Jimi Hendrix with axe
another three score
and a couple more, completed
this cacophony of sight, but absent
were J. Bieber, Beyonce, any of the Simpsons
of Fox fame, revealing the artist of this gray masterpiece
was blissfully blind to cyber sacrilege,
Steve Job’s toys, and the lost soul
of Lindsey Lohan
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
It is with great sadness that I must announce that wit has withered and died. Actually, it probably died years back, but, like a character on a soap opera, it returns in flashbacks on occasion.
The ability to use wit to insult, as Will Rogers, Dorothy Parker, and the great writers of the past is no more. The use of wit to make someone leave feeling good about themselves, while having just been put in their place verbally, is an art.
I told someone the other day that he was a veldt of intellect, he didn’t know what veldt meant, I could see from the complete look of “duh” on his face. He told me **** off….and then after I laughed, he said it again.
This is the replacement comeback now….fuck off. Witty…at the least. Groucho Marx, was great with the witty comeback, Noel Coward was a genius with his ability to use wit to disarm a situation. Now, **** off. yep….that’s it.
If, wit has a resurgence and there is a verbal afterlife, let’s hope **** off is left at the door, holding a copy of watchtower.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
All that will remain is bones and rotting meat
Toss it in a cheap wicker box for worms to eat
Topped just with wild flowers and no cement
Plant a weeping willow instead of a monument
It can do the weeping, please don't you cry
There is a chance that I'll be busy when I die
For if I am wrong and there is life after this
I have plans with whom I'll dine and reminisce
I'll be dining with Oscar Wilde and Caravaggio
Cocktails and conversation with Kant and Plato
Then with Bellini, Verdi and Rossini I'll take a Show
An interval tipple and discourse with Rousseau
An after party with Bakunin and Proudhon
Whisky and blues with Howlin Wolf til I'm gone
I shall breakfast the next day with Tz'u Hsi, Homer and Malcolm X
And take morning coffee with Gandhi and Marc Bolan from T.Rex
At noon a spicy ****** Mary with Mary Queen of Scots,
Freddie Mercury, Lou Reed, Picasso and lots of tequila shots
Lunch that day with Saladin, Karl and Groucho Marx
Then smoke a pipe with Newton whilst discussing quarks
Afternoon tea with Queen Victoria, Kipling and Colin Ward
Followed by a game of Tafl with a viking on a giant board
Dress for flamenco with Carmen Amaya (then dress the blisters)
Then pre-dinner drinks paid for by Geronimo and the Bronte sisters
So you see, if I'm wrong
And we actually move along
A fascinating after life awaits me
Yeah, when I'm gone from here
There'll be plenty gin and beer
Cucumber sandwich's and tea
If you wonder what I'm doing
Give your watch a quick viewing
Then just check this poem and you'll see
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
We’re walking through magnetic fields.
We approach the stop sign yield.
How lovely someone’s name
“WC Field”
Bondman what a con man.
Going West “May I May West” I’m a fan.
What names do we like the best?
Rosetta, she keeps smiles and
gets wet-a his eyes tell her
he’s in the sunset to get her
Someone to bond “At-Last”
The different era desperate housewife.
One is Rosetta meets one of her friends
Violet-ta what drama Ra Rata
Frank Sinatra says well that’s life.
Holding two names eyes of a magnet
in one hand.Powerful love garnet
God’s name expressed love command
So sacred in a new land.
Rosetta please get your friend.
He addresses her as a poinsettia.
Garlands Of Judy extend.
The poinsettia his finger points
until Emma visits hum?
What is she up too?
She is quite the dilemma give her the evil eye.
The violin sounds Heather lilac meets Violet-ta.
Beatles play with “Sweet Loretta.”
Sipping Camilla Cafe I want to hold your hand.
She marries her best man best-spilled the margarita.
How’s Rebecca organically has grown to Omega?
Movie star suspenseful Marx Garbo so Groucho.
What a pain Mr. Panetta eating his
words Mucho gracias
Shark -fin soup Chinese delicacy.
He bite’s the bruschetta his ballot Presidency.
How he expressed A secret Emma the Emmy
Got caught in a big Dilemma with Remy
The wrong ***** of a vendetta
Smell the coffee wake up you betta or else?
That computer mouse true or false.
Billy Joel stranger met his counterfeiter
Going Uptown girl sings on his piano expressed A
comment to kiss her.
But you’re a stranger?
Rumors with leaks of plumber’s Raven birds.
Don’t flood my words.
A perfect rose how he gave it to Rosetta.
We need more names what about Tatiana.
I saw her dancing at the “Copacabana Wella.”
A-Men that’s how I met Rosetta.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
one time it was two am and i was outside a bar
when the air was just crisping from its summer bake
and naked trees matched shivering girls in micro-dresses
you asked if i lived in the city
i was a pumpkin-beer-drunken, kohl-smeared mess
so i grinned sloppily and fumbling, lit a cigarette
while i replied "for now"
how ******* mysterious am i?
i am patronizing this well-meaning boy in a polo shirt
but thank god for liquor cause luckily
he laughed and snorted smoke out his nostrils
"heading somewhere?"
i took another drag and exhaled
maybe for emphasis?
am i that ******* contrived?
"i'm thinking australia?"
there that felt sincere
did it look sincere?
and he asks why of course he asks why and now
i can laugh and say
"it's very far away"
because jesus christ i need to pretend i have depth i guess
i'm a mirage begging for substance
he taps his cigarette and grins at the ground
"running away from problems?" he asks, suddenly mischievous
i try to match his smile but i have to think fast because
i don't have the kind of problems that make you run away
my family is loving, big, rooted
my friends are devoted, they better me
i could stay in comfort if i had the patience but
my feet just want new pavement
and my eyes are snow-blind by now
so i demure, i think.
if that eyebrow quirk and downcast gaze
is what demurring is
captain morgan chucks my chin and i am
all smiles again
i stick the cigarette in my lips and spread my
arms wide
"i prefer to think of it as running towards different problems."
i smile the way i know shows off my dimples
because i can't help but be a facade
i guess he's charmed because he texted me a few times
for the next few weeks
until my silence
exhausted his interest
he failed the test marx talks about
no not that one
groucho
i don't want anyone who would want me
since i'd rather be a story
sooner a paper-thin memory
than an illusion revealed.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
*upon being invited to add to a collection here called Brokenness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He he
** **
Ha ha
it has been awhile
that I recv'd an invitation
to add to anything
or join a club,
just like Groucho (Marx)
worth being invited to...
but when yours arrived,
I chuckled and jived,
for this broken biz
be an area of expertise,
about which I gladly can opine,
since most of which I contact,
is inevitably in that state demised,
marriage, children and other trifles
so to the topic at hand, let say but this,
if not eloquently, then perhaps,
gravely, for that is where the
broken pieces oft call home
or cemetarily. a final resting place...
perhaps you were unaware,
there are 449 poems in attendance,
where the word brokenness
doth appear
in this sanctuary of broken children
and adults too,
easy discovered in the memory of
Hello Poetry
but this will not be, I hope, the
four hundred and fiftieth
as I decided to nomenclature this oeuvre
as Brokeness, with but a single N,
since a good N
can be hard to find,
why use two
when one will do?
if a faithful ecrivant thee be,
you won't be shocked that there are
so many Brokenness in this world,
the dictionary doth recognize its multiplicity
as a word legit, accepting as a plurality*
brokennesses!
which is a whole lot of broke
so let us poets to the process repair,
with a tikkun here, a tikkun there,
a tikkun everywhere
so that the healing never ends
and that someday we will delete
all words of humanity in disrepair,
let the broken be the unbroken,
and let's all say amen
and get started...
Ogdiddynash
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Time moves on as I do too
I felt I had to come to you
I only came to bid adieu
Hello, I must be going
I came here once so I could say
I am here but can not stay
I said goodbye, in my own way
Hello, I must be going
I am here as you can see
I have to say, it can not be
I have to leave, it's time to flee
Hello, I must be going
I'd love to stay and join the fun
Stay here all night, at least till one
But I'm here to say, I have to run
Hello, I must be going
There's nothing you can do or say
Not one thing will make me stay
I'm telling you, I'm on my way
Hello, I must be going
Now, I leave and shan't return
There's lot's of things you need to learn
I'll exit with a spry left turn
Hello, I must be going
I am Groucho, as you see
My characters are part of me
I sing to you this time with glee
Hello...I must be G O I N G! (again)
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
A BIRD SOMEWHERE SINGS
He smiled.
Death smiled too.
Took a tiny sip of water.
As did Death.
Death now
mimicking his every movement.
Shadowing him.
Becoming him.
....in time.
Death stared
out of the mirror.
But the man didn't
recognise
that this was
his death.
He had only 2 minutes
left to live.
The man went on doing
some insignificant
ordinary things.
D.I.Y.
finally getting around to it.
Death copying the least
gesture
like a comedy duo
in a vaudville act.
Each little tic
exact.
Like Groucho.
Like Harpo.
Death lying on the floor.
Adopting the same posture.
Arms flung out.
Eyes staring up
...into the nothing.
The radio keeps on
talking.
The phone
rings.
A bird
somewhere sings.
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
I received a re-invitation email this morning. A ‘come on, why don’t you want to?’ note that struck me as odd. See, I’ve been ‘tapped’ for a couple of final clubs at Yale. It can happen if you earn top grades and interact easily with male friends by day (the crew club scene is ol’ school patriarchal).
Three of my roommates have been tapped - for one thing or another. The upper-crust, traditional networks and secret societies are a huge part of why young men and women choose Ivy League schools.
I’m not talking about frats - I enjoy flippant misogyny as much as the next breasted-American and really, does “Yo bruh,” sloppy binge drinking, and ****** assault ever really get old? Yeah, it kind-of does.
And I’m not talking about the more open and popular ‘eating clubs’ - no - I’m on-about the elite social orders that enjoy a subversive and exclusive appeal.
Some students desperately want to be ‘IN’ and believe those memberships prove they’ve somehow ‘made it’. Let’s face it, someday - if you can’t actually earn it - that skull & bones handshake might open some doors.
I’ve attended a few meetings, meals, and parties in “tombs” (in upstairs libraries and houses) around New Haven, but I guess I’m just not a ‘joiner.’ Groucho Marx once said that he wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have someone like him as a member, maybe that’s it for me too.
Anyway, this harangue is sponsored by the glower that that silly email put on my face.
“What’s the matter?” Leeza asked, seeing my expression.
It reminded me of watching people suck-up and ‘social mountain climb’ to get into my grandmère’s (boring) circle. If your club is so exclusive (email sender), why on God’s confused earth would you want me?
Hey, I like parties, dances and hanging out with eskimos - but I'm a pre-med student and the time/value equation just doesn't stack up for me - I’ve got the M-CAT tests next summer and prepping for those has taken over my life.
It’s ironic though, how by day students at Yale go-on about ‘elitism’ - in stylized outrage - and then by night they strain to join these crew clubs.
slang...
final clubs = elite clubs and secret societies
eskimos - really cool people
crew = elite (crewing is seen as a sport for the elite)
Dec 29, 2023
Dec 29, 2023 at 8:58 AM UTC
The Poet of the World
Has nothing to lose, but their chains
Poets of the World unite!
Thanks Groucho!
© Robert Porteus
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 5:52 AM UTC
Poets of the World!
Be creative, shed your chains
Unite and publish!
Apologies to brothers Karl and Groucho!
© Robert Porteus
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 5:03 AM UTC
Entice us with the future
Move to the music
Livin in the past is done and gone now I want somethin new
You call it eclectic
I say that's it electric
Aint got time to lie and hate that's why imma get elected.
Weekend doesn't end when you with the crew-
Hit the street, cruise the strip and let the air in your lungs.
This is the life you always want and but never took, the one you always bordered
I say its just what the doctor ordered.
Bull by the horns
Aint got no time to get caught up in the thorns.
Movin past you, movin up this quality of life
I left the traffic now you late to work
History is written by the winners
its sad for you that you're still missin them chicken dinners.
I move on authority that's how I was raised just to keep
individuality.
The week is here and home is where the heart is,
its why I march to my own drum much like Tommy Lee is .
I spray paint freedom on a wall
make a mural out of self expression
only way to fight through this depression.
Left the mark sayin Kilroy was here
Expressionist like Klee
Marxist like Groucho
I don't wanna rant so I''ll leave that to Harpo.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
a limning rush of sinister
fiery angry flames bent avast
analogous copse,
where every limb bough, bore full
roaring furnace hot blast
spewing weighty incendiary volcanic
magmatic eruption out classed
Krakatoa, no longer the benchmark,
sans most powerful trajectory arc
this latest supernatural phenomena poetic
pre sent dent trumpeting not don
shearing, slamming,
and stripping off tree bark
(most definitely paging the innocuous Clark
Kent, where like loess lain
during Pleistocene Epoch
rendered, manifested dark
kenning shroud likened
to world wide webbing em brace
where lava floes easily did
(like a poetic souped up Chevy)
out to chase innocent prey
smoothing over (akin to mason,
or gigantic glazier) clearly shining deface
of planet Earth with a smooth glassy like face
though starkly barren, bereft, bilked
every last trace of civilization
nonetheless exhibiting amazing grace
which global catastrophic event poo tin brake
fast upon ONE haughty, egoistic
arrogant **** Sapiens chief drake
particularly ***** king machine "FAKE"
superman usurping free reign crowning himself
totalitarian American tyrant,
bare ring his right arms
emulating gesticulation sans dictatorship
of the Proletariat make
pact with credo of Karl, Harpo,
Groucho, and Chico Marx,
where mortals DID NOT quake
especially empowered youths
asper grassroots action they did take.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC