"pratfall" poems
Sometimes I wonder what you ever have seen in me,
You stayed for 30 years, through thick and thin,
Enduring all my flaws, loving patiently,
Despite my disappointments and my sins.
It hasn't been an easy road, I know,
I've put you to the test more times than not.
I've been a less than stellar beau,
I wonder did you ever want me shot?
I'm sloppy, weak, unkempt and always late,
I haven't been the best at earning cash.
Could this be what you wanted in a mate?
I often think I've made our life a hash.
I know I make you laugh once in awhile;
Is that enough to keep you coming back?
A chuckle here, an unexpected smile,
Does that make up for everything I lack?
I hope I give you something more than that,
Perhaps a sense that life is not so grim.
A lift in spirit, a peppy morning chat,
Something to make you shake your head and grin.
My contribution to our life is small,
Diversion and distraction certainly,
A joke or two, a pratfall, that is all
I've learned to do, I'm sure you would agree.
You've given so much more to me it's true.
A rock, an anchor, a shelter from the gale.
One thing's certain, I can count on you;
You have a love that never flags or fails.
I'm grateful for you every single day,
There's not an hour goes by that I don't wonder why,
You've stuck so long with me, but anyway,
You did, and till the very day I die
I'll say a prayer to God above,
Thankful for your crazy stubborn love.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
I'd pull a pratfall just to keep that smile wide and real
I'd pull my somersaults and dance a brilliant fever frenzy
I'd grab those carol bells and shake them in a brilliant peal
And no not anything you'd ever do could possibly offend me
I'll tell you stories, curl your toes with all delight or fright
I'll run through tall grass, hauling string behind to raise your kite
I'm in your thrall, I'll beg and crawl, and caterwaul
If I should think I've come ever so near to dealing you a sleight
I'll pull a pratfall
Because I'd rather be loved as a fool
Than not be loved at all.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
bright ....butterfly.......talent.....
flicking tongues of
allitrative illustratation unsure
of present
improv packaging
puckers lips
to pout
and preen
..
grunge moth
in hoodie comes
to sauce the play
tounge twister fandango
...
paperlace lizards ...dreaming...
days streamin by
.
all the mouths
of ritual making
fourth wall breaking
....
accummulate the method
scribe to the write
formulate the figure
linguate the lyrical
....left.....
to the pintered flighted .....sighs.....
shake the speare
this night
.
with finger drumming colour rhythms
reveal the reasoned might
of the fledgling dramaturg
......
foot stomping
posse blighted brainstorms
...
burn limelight
burn, bright, burn
..
...throw your fleeting... searing glow
on these little
dramatic vacations
from life's realities
freeze frame moments
of luducrosity
and
humming,
allocentricity
.
egos pay homage
to floor door
and wall
drink
the life
the love
the moments glorious
of it
all.
........
the fear
pin *****
and bucket dance it
......come one......
come all.
learn the art of
the comic pratfall
here at the home
of drama 171 improv. .
by
the pants
of
your seat
and other
mellowed
dramatic
complexities and pratfalls
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
~
*Ladies-in-waiting
reflecting on
a fragile state of mind
precarious creatures, these
hunters of coal
that outlines both
eyes and words
black paint for blue girls,
they pray in a circle
for their queen's wedding night
to be one of celebratory rapture
deep into the looking glass
they peer for a sign,
a soul, a stigma,
but cannot see
beyond their own glib faces
a universe ago they
caparisoned as pixies
in sunflower corsets,
twirling in a centrifugal forest
tonight in eclipse,
in their all-together,
they merely wear masks
of their former selves
the firelight dramatically shifts
in bacchanalia pratfall
--the oblong menace
of their smiles, fingers and navels
dancing to the age of Sideria*
~
May 24, 2024
May 24, 2024 at 2:28 PM UTC
bright ....butterfly.......talent
.....flicking tongues
of ......allitrative illustratation
unsure..... of present improv
packaging.....puckers lips to pout and preen....
........grunge moth in hoodie
comes to sauce the play....
tounge twister fandango
...... paperlace lizards ...dreaming...days streamin by....
all the mouths....... of ritual making.......
fourth wall breaking. ..
.....accummulate the method
scribe..... to the write
........formulate the figure...
linguate the lyrical....
left..... to the pintered flighted sighs.....
.....shake the speare this night
with finger drumming colour rhythms..... reveal the reasoned might ........of the fledgling dramaturg.....
foot stomping . ...posse blighted ....... brainstorms
. .burn limelight bright burn...
throw your fleeting..... searing glow....on these little dramatic vacations from lifes realities.....
freezeframe ......moments.....
......of luducrosity..... and. . humming allocentricity ......
....egos pay homage to floor
door and wall...
drink..... the life ....the love ........the fear
pinprick and bucket dance it ......come one ..... come all.
learn the art of the comic pratfall ...... here at the home
of drama 171 improv
. ....by the pants of your seat
and other mellowed..... dramatic.......completes
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
most nights
you decant into my head wounds
you suggest my makeup
orchestrate my being
and sometimes
for fun
prank me with ridiculous ideas
that inspire some absurd social pratfall
lure
you make me warm and sure of myself
struck and sense numbed
but
floss in the memory
tide
i am a Diving Suit
but in misuse
i am a suit
the pressure
the deep ocean
filled from the inside
cold
darkness
and nutrients
but
i am filled from the inside
pipette
you tap drops
into special valves
along the sides of the aquarium helmet
you decorate my inner-scape
with harvesting monsters
and phosphorescence
you deteriorate the textile of my sadness
a thorough jettison
lull
via your Vegas
your adolescence
i follow your string of lights
deep sea
skiving mortality
embracing your malady
with no ill effects ?
sink deeper still
i am leadened
to your charge
and plumb to your will
deeper
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC
WE ALL LAUGH IN THE SAME LANGUAGE
"We live between
two fires. . ."
he tells the cameras
"...the misery of going
the misery of staying..."
The camera cuts
to his daughter
seriously playing
locked inside her self.
They are refugees
from TV land
their harsh reality
living behind the glass
that separates them
from us.
Suddenly there is an invasion
of clowns.
The man in the navy blue suit
broken top hat & polka dot tie
is sowing laughter
in the barren lands of their minds
his buffooning reaping
a bumper crop in minutes.
The clownish figure of fun
gathering delighted applause
from those who never thought
they could laugh again.
They hula hoop crazily through the camps
juggle and pratfall with the reality of war.
"All shall be well, and all shall be well
and all manner of thing shall be well.”
their antics seem to tell. . .
Maybe there will be laughter
after all
after all
we all laugh in the same language.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
Yeah, they're at it again, mid-flight madness. ****** Tunes doesn't come close to the deranged daffiness one might witness at the lakes this morning. Wacky waterfowl white washing each others' ***** Mother nature is looking for an indecency arrest. Worse than some men I've met crawling through the bushes at Buena Vista Park in San Francisco, or here at Judy Garland Park in Philly. Every city has that spot you know. Unseemly areas where frivolous feathers get ruffled alongside muskrat love tumbling. Knock over, lose footing, take a header, bowl down, go belly up, do a pratfall, fall headlong, slip, slump, skid, spill, plummet and plunge into nose dive. Descent as such, with its dip dropping and flopping, when ducks are doing it in air-raids in prime seedtime, seems only a natural order.
So, my advice to you more demure is, keep your priggish, prudish, pretentious, puritanical, uptight primness off those unbeaten paths, because birds just gotta beat one off every once in awhile. Duck, here comes another. Splat, see I told you so.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
We’d dreaded there’d be nothing left to say,
Moving from fondest hopes and deepest fears
Shared in courting’s dawn to the workaday,
Wednesday’s meatloaf and checkbooks in arrears,
That hearts would be silenced, tongues would be stilled
By diapers and deadlines, things which preclude
Persistence of ardor, devotion chilled,
Love’s early zeal a brief interlude.
We laugh at such now; how could we have known,
(No more than children ourselves, after all)
That devotion has a grace all its own
Which lifts us after pitfall and pratfall
(The flat tire, smudge of soot on the face)
To pilot us above the commonplace.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
what is the point
when destruction is nigh
a wavering hand
a kiss goodnight
and all that remains
is a dreadful sight
that is hidden under
its blackened cloak
of opaque smoke
from cigarettes
thrown down on welcome mats
instead of ash trays
and alley cats
battered strays
forage for scraps
in the cluttered heaps
of our rotting sense of humanity
perhaps if they devour the remains they
will become more human than we
and finally
the world will find its peace
the way we live
forget forget forget
what is pain
to a man with an empty bottle in his hand
for he is in better humor
than the rest of his kind
who swallow their depression
in spoonfuls
like children taking medicine
let me live my introverted life
let them think me queer
as I laugh at them
behind drawn curtains
today I think I will read or write a little
rather than
join in humanity's biggest pratfall
I am
better off
in the audience
where I can put my good sense of humor
to use and
stuff my ears full of cotton
when the musical numbers
are out of key
the ending is always happy
so they say
and is it so?
I do not believe it it so
for the heroine has gotten herself
in quite a fix
and her gentleman friend has
gotten his big toe shot off
is this living?
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
One quickly learns to fall and roll,
(The pratfall is his stock in trade)
But hard surfaces take their toll,
Although the fall’s expertly played.
He’s just the universe’s tool
Grinning though his blood may boil
A well-placed and convenient fool
(The harlequin’s the perfect foil.)
The passing years have not been kind
(His back is shot, his knees are spent)
But still he keeps the thought in mind
That other wounds are permanent
(He may never bring the house down,
But no one persecutes a clown.)
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC