"punchlines" poems
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer, not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”
My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.
The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.
Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you,
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.
This world is not tender.
II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.
split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.
My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.
But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.
III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
On a good day, the Sun shines on you.
You are in a Disney movie, stretching your arms,
As the first light of day hits your toes.
And all the sores of the previous nights,
Reduced as mere soap suds down the drain.
Last night's shower is a preview of the first one today, and coffee smells like the freshest brew straight from a pre-packed foil. Nothing beats the thrill of a morning cup.
Life is a sitcom, waiting for the supporting characters to show up and raid your ref, and then! The punchline.
You plan your day.
You invite a good day.
You laugh out loud.
On your best day, you lounge.
You drink your cup and eat breakfast straight from the pan, and the pan loves you for calling the kettle black.
You write your notes on some discarded tissue previously used to wipe off dust.
You are free versing with the staunchest disregard for tones and rules of archaic poetry; sometimes, disavowing a semblance of order.
Because the best is you.
It is now.
And you are but a small supporting character,
Patiently waiting for the chime of the next five punchlines
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Violin sonatas of gloom
Acoustics of desire
Play all at once
A peculiar compilation
An elegy of sorts
For yours truly
Welcome to life
Soak up the unrealised potential
Inflamed with rage
To this day
You walk this earth
With a strong conviction
You owe yourself something
You cannot deliver
Extreme self-expectations
Coupled with perfectionism
The fatal modus operandi
You continue adhering to
Goodluck with standing in the way
Of your own happiness
Thrive in your concentrated negativity
While seeking solace in one-liners
Of absolute ********
You maybe a joke
But you are hilarious
Oh, wait.. the joke wore thin
A dozen punchlines ago
You died 12 summers ago
It’s whatever
One day bitter and wilted
As you sit in a cold impersonal office
You will dream about the ocean
And mourn wasted youth
Today will be yesterday
Today is ruined
Tomorrow is dead.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
It's pretty and precious when you speak and spit those words of yours that are meaningless.
It's deep and thoughtful when you think you own the land that you were raised up on.
I think it's hilarious when shoes are compared to the price of bread.
Is it me that sees material being more worthy than food?
Brazilian weaves become ends meal and yet no meal is eaten at the end of the day.
Gold twisted to coins
And yet POVERTY is still a lifestyle.
The TRUTH being twisted into LIES.
Fast money reaching it's greatest peak
But in reality we know that slow money is more purer.
Our hands are filled with BLOOD
Our MINDS are locked in chains
Our wrists are slit with blades.
We are blinded by our stories
Covered by our problems
Scared of the truth.
We'd rather face the darkness than being caught in the light.
Because I heard that once you're caught in light
You're a "GOODY-TWO-SHOES".
We throw punchlines
But they bounce back
With lines that form a REBOUND.
Superficial, materialistic and cynical is what we define.
DREAMS burnt away
As if in a crucible where metals are melted and purified.
Our streets are blocked by ashes
Our senses are polluted with gas.
Yes, our MEN are filled with violence
And yet our WOMEN appear to be resentful and bitter!
But have you forgotten that BITTER was once SWEET
HATE was once LOVE
ENEMIES were once FRIENDS?
It's more simple when we reflect our backs on the mirror
'cause now it's not us that we face.
We running from the truth
Due to our fear of our roots.
Remember that God didn't create a coward
Neither did he create a sinner.
It's just the life that we face that trickles us down.
We pop bottles in funerals.
We take shots on horses 'cause we want a hell of a ride.
Our tongues twist what's true to false.
We have become slaves of our sins
So in denial, lost, confused and BRUTALLY tampered with.
We are set for LIBERATION,
INKULULEKO
FREEDOM.
We have misused our freedom.
Yes , we don't appear to be SINNERS,
We are sinners!!
But I prefer to be a RIGHTEOUS SINNER . . . .
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
there's no rip cord --
your stuck in this stinking shell,
success measured by inches,
lipstick badged for lions,
punchlines thrown like lettuce
at the bravo males,
there's no rip cord --
the evaluation preemptive,
a crooked eyebrow and a sigh
with the lights on,
a slow grind of inadequacy
leading to a clumsy spew,
there's no rip cord --
so most bludgeon bashful cheeks
with wedding bands --
a life locked in rolling pupil sheets,
a kid, a fence, a lawyer, and
an itchy trigger finger
stirred and served with
a green olive.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 2:52 PM UTC
This small talk kills me
when once it was so easy.
I remember when I
was the favorite.
This was before her first car
and sixteenth birthday,
movie dates, weekend sleepovers,
and high school crushes.
This must be how old toys feel,
played out, aged,
traded for the new and bright.
On a sand dune,
we sit shipwrecked,
stranded,and talk carefully
like strangers do about
sea birds pecking for food,
dead jellyfish,
and the innocence of sand castles.
Dark glasses disguise
my quick views of bikinis,
fitness thighs, and smooth dark tans,
mask her sneak peeks
at young muscle, flat stomachs,
and cute boys with fashion haircuts.
She burrows her toes into the sand
to pass the time.
I try to think of jokes
to make her laugh
but no punchlines come.
We share a fancy grilled cheese sandwich,
shy giggles,
and a pink lemonade
before she can no longer hide
the boredom in her eyes.
I know its time to leave.
She reclines her seat back
and sleeps the drive home,
leaving me alone
with miles, empty highways,
and whispers of classic rock
from the radio.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
It's a pity about the posies,
All ashen and planet-like, controlling
The leftover rubber bits of love
Erasing emotions of waking up warm with her
Solemnly slumbering form
When we pluck those mornings and sink our teeth into them.
And
Their wavy stems ballet up from the earth
Blooming into fragile pink tufts like *******
But now their fragrances tell jokes
Without the punchlines:
Long narratives ultimately pointless.
(The priests and rabbis come to you from their bars
Collars choking and tallit suffocatingly wrapped round their heads)
And
The snake,
Slithering from thousands of years of pop culture
Roots himself in the apple orchards
To hide the answers in her *******
And
Dairy farms grow up from there
And their milk runs down your sloppy chin
And in your teeth as you violently suckle
And in the tangled paths of your veins as you
Ask yourself why you even bother trying
When enslaved by a free world
.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:18 AM UTC
Sadness becomes the clown
for humor is a reflex
and denial is breathing
and ease is a smile when one's secretly seething
Sadness becomes the clown
for punchlines are hits
and fools are martyrs
and what are mocked pains but conversation starters
Sadness becomes the clown
for laughter is weighty
and jokes are suppression
and comedic timing is a guise for depression
Clowns give their all
day after day
while time is a pall of emotional decay
And they know it's inevitable
when the chips are down
that the clown becomes sadness
and sadness becomes the clown
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
megacreative poetry crew personified by poetic devices (we the best exploring poetry industry) Words that doesn't sound strange to any ear, words that can be called one poem heals all.
Listen to these words made from punchlines and their cousins figure of speeches immaturity fall.
Blessed are the ones listening to the poem written by the hands that got the touch of the situation.
Megacreative Poetry Crew (Personified by poetic devices) Rocking back n fourth whining side to side into the bigger picture of literature as big as the important use of rhymes in a poem brews and cooks magic.
The magic that is the ear bud to your ears.
The magic that is infused with words that are born from soothing figure of speeches that's their mothers.
We heal with metaphors.
When the pain comes again it won't be like before.
The wise doesn't just spit but before that you got to be sure.
It's sad how they don't want to learn wisdom but when you do you are labelled as the biggest flop.
One's life is not like an influenza, you can't always have chest pains and cough.
As it will move you it doesn't hurt to dream of being on a cover page of Forbes.
Ofcourse, morden men doesn't shove wives with chores.
With words, the mind and soul resasitation.
Holding the mic to melt the written punchlines on the blessed pages, you got to love such situation.
Wisdom shows up just as we throw words on the white surface with red lines like a sangoma throwing bones on a mat created through tradition.
For us write words that unlocks wisdom to your mind that's as entertaining as theatre.
Poetry is alive in us.
Water it, ignoring such soothing words into your soul it will be as peace destroying as a witch.
Just as we play around the pages with a pen its the first stage to one's life changing, but as we spit words Personified by poetic devices Rocking back n fourth , whining side to side one is healed. Megacreative Poetry Crew (personified by poetic devices)
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Thank You to the English Language...
So many different combinations of Six!!
I could Six On for Years...
Clever Phrases, Witty Punchlines, mindless cliches
I can six away your fears...
Universal Latin I six silky Satin
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
"C'mon Stevie you got to show them what you're made off!"
"I did and your mother was very impressed."
"C'mon Stevie you got to show them what you're made off!"
"I auditioned but they said I was too big."
"C'mon Stevie you got to show them what you're made off!"
"You do realise that Kathryn Janeway reffered to me everytime she said 'Captain's Log' don't you?"
"C'mon Stevie you need to go out more and show the world what you can do."
I can't, I'm like Japanese **** Entirely censored.
"Come inside"
chuckles
"Can I come over?"
"You"
"What?"
"What?"
**** Off!"
"You're On!"
*******
"."
"C'mon Stevie show em what you're made off!"
"Have you read this?"
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
I never mean to be that guy,
But every time a friend uses another friend's Facebook,
The go-to gag will be a status saying "I'm gay," with
Eyeroll emoticons and LOLs promptly following.
Giggles and pointed fingers echo off the walls and
Into the ears of the suffering silent.
Those two words used as punchlines are the heirs,
The progeny of a past bathed in blood.
They are words weighted down by chains linked with laughs
And locked by the smiles and eyerolls.
The free ones revel in the fire baptismal they impress upon
Those left chained to the wall in the shadows.
Like children, they delight in the minor sting of the fireball that destroys those they mock.
Eyes sparkle and smiles flash at the fictional thrill that entertains them and murders the ones who dare to speak.
Their drums beat as the celebrate the chic
Game they get to play--playing Chicken with a train that isn't there
While others are strapped to the tracks by their shadows,
The darkside of the dance.
Songs and howls fill the skies and mix with the screams of the tortured to put the icing on
Their twisted fandango--a brilliant spectacle to distract from the cries for help;
A spectacle as brilliant as the screens of their phones as they type the jokes stained with sadness:
"I'm gay LOL haxored," with the laughs following
At the circus, while miles away a boy sobs into his sheets,
The cold stars his only company.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Lunch rush was hell for the new girl,
stacking foamed cappuccino cups
and stirring spoons in a broken-handled
bus tub while trying not to slip
on soft ice and discarded lemon
wedges. She took our mugs,
and told us about a guy
—Dave, she said. I don't know.—who sat
with his friend, comparing *** to work
over the rusted cabinet tracks
of his warped fork scraping
his egg-caked plate.
Dave's friend was leaned in
with a cocked grin waiting
for one of Dave's "Classic Dave" punchlines,
which I'm guessing are all witty,
the funniest *******
things you've ever heard,
but there wasn't one
this time
because there's nothing funny about
a ***** intern cringing beneath the weight
of fat Dave and his brick
paperweight jammed in her back.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
She walks ahead, then gives me a lazy grin,
She talks about her problems as if the world momentarily dimmed.
She tries to throw jokes even if she knows it's corny,
She loves to eat fried foods with a lot of gravy.
She looks forward seeing the latest chick flick movies.
she loves buying sweets and her i-know-what-you-want goodies.
she does not know that from a distance I am observing,
She is my kryptonite, I can't stop falling.
He is my so-called superman, Always a hero,
He secretly observes my movements, even my shadow.
He always wanted coffee, a kreme, and and iced filled choco,
He parks his head on movies, going loco!
He is getting fat, too much cholesterol and less exercise lately,
He used to give punchlines that are very gay and funny!
He does not share much of his problems until it's under control,
He imposed tips on work-life balance and money saving protocol.
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 1:01 AM UTC
sarcastic humour is intended for your
own appreciation,
witty humour is intended for others
and the hope they can appreciate it,
oddly enough when sarcasm is scolded
you feel very little concern,
but when wit is scolded you do feel
a coldness and a sort need to invent something
more passing off as intelligence,
intelligence needs to be impulsive, blunt,
intuitive, it really doesn't need to be pre-prepared
worthy of a Shakespeare quote, all those
bits of 'life's a stage,' fair enough, but
what if life is a gutter?
sarcasm only works for the one who speaks it,
it's also a cousin of satire addressing politics,
wit knows no satire, wit is a proud humour,
it's too proud to enter sarcastic remarks
in the pig trough of reciting political satire,
wit is a form of narcissism in the end,
it wants attention, being appreciated:
like an anecdote... sarcasm just shoves a boxing glove
in your face and says: can you help me forget,
or do you want to hear a knock-out?
indeed sarcasm doesn't use punchlines like wit,
it just uses a mike tyson method
of one punch one constellation of fluttering sparrows
in Orion in a halo of daze of an opponent:
flat like a pancake on the floor,
but he or she won't be easily flipped or even
count to 10, you'll only have to be content with
what sarcasm is: the easiest identifiable method of
communicating comedy after slapstick humour
of laurel & hardy & (lee) evans.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
3 | 31 Poems for August 2017
Love, I understand, that I may never fully understand you.
I want the chance to always hold you tight like a pair of Levi’s jeans.
It doesn’t really matter whether they are black or blue.
As long as these hands always get the chance to hold and caress you.
Love, I know you want the world but I can only give you mine.
It’s not much but I hope it gradually becomes a place where you’ll always want to spend some quality time.
On days when it gets harder to breathe or speak, I recommend *****
You’re a woman with substance and I’m drawn to your melanin.
Beautiful cocoa butter skin, what’s there not to love about you?
Your love is never enough; I’m always left yearning for more.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, we need to know what we’re fighting for.
I understand that I may never understand the struggles you always go through.
Life will bend and stretch the both of us into painful shapes and that’s why we all need someone to talk to.
Sometimes we tend to forget how it feels when someone listens.
You’re more than just dimples, curves and a pretty face.
You’re more than just punchlines, metaphors and similes.
You are a woman with substance and I’m drawn to your melanin.
Each day I find more reasons to fall deeper in love with you.
On days when it gets easier to breathe and speak, I recommend wine.
I understand, that I may never fully understand you.
But after all, what’s the world without enigma?
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
I only became alive inside your minds eye,
caught between the landmines as we **** tried,
to break through the new unto the other side,
but under the seas I could only see the sapphire,
golden blue we knew the landslides didn’t land fine,
and punchlines soon turned into black eyes,
that blew up on the spot as we stand tired,
The lies told the truth until it transpired,
I never knew I could be burnt until I held fire.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:56 AM UTC
I'm so sick of your stupid face,
your stupid jokes that lack punchlines and any sort of flow,
your stupid little quirky acts that make you just as human as the next guy,
your stupid style that consists of anything you can fine.
I'm so sick of you.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Take in a few more gulps
swallowing your pride
the only time this world makes any sense
is when the room is spinning
poor little baby bird
fell out of the nest all too soon
the ground is hard with tall grass
where predators lurk
listen up, kid
you need to learn to aim true
find ways to smile through pain
and yeah, it's okay to cry
just leave the door to your heart open a crack
do not forget to stand tall
the night sky is resting in your palms
each star a cosmic reflection
of every sleep laden dream
you've been smoking up all of my punchlines
that you didn't get
******* for the temptation
of somebody kind enough
to maybe love you for you
listen, little clubber
before this long winding road grows open
you need to make friends
with the man trapped in the mirror
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
If I had something inspiring on my mind don't you think that I would've written it by now
I love being a writer but sometimes it gets me down
The pressure escalates like the water in the everglades to top myself, like pulling miracles out of my head is a miraculous act
I can't turn water into wine And I can't turn stacks of hay into clever punchlines
I guess what I'm trying to say, like Dr. Mccoy is that I'm a writer not a magician
I can only take what myself and others have gone through, and turn it into something relatable, that maybe just maybe someone will take something positive out of what was written
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
maybe this is
all just a film.
an indie film
starring troubled teenage girls
finding out who they truly are;
a horror film
starring an ex-convict
being haunted by
his petrifying past;
a romance film
with cringy punchlines,
sly glances in the hallways,
passing notes during sessions,
a wink or a two.
this,
what we had,
was no more than
a documentary.
the brusque strokes of color
writing the art of detaching one's heart
in a single streak,
overwritten by harsh
and rash decisions,
regret bursting
through the air,
the feeling of being torn apart
by the swaying wind,
whispering,
the curtains
finally closed.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
why do wolfpacks attack and reject other wolves?
well?
he was wearing a wire - bahahaha crowd roars
he was an arab - crowd roars
he was a black wolf - crowd enjoys
he was a white wolf - crowd roars
he was a jew wolf - crowd enjoys
he was a catholic - crowd enjoys
he was a christian - crowd stunned
he was a republican - crowd stirs
he was a liberal - crowd riot
the comedian was killed by a crowd of people later that night, including a mexican and black man. 100 people are in jail awaiting charges. some charges may be dropped due to we suspect that someone was next...at least one
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 2:26 AM UTC
look im "Vegeta"
flow colder than a freiza
big bang punchlines thats the ether
no exceptions when i step in the arena
im a hot head my head got a fever
king kai my teacher
oozaru bout to step on you creatures
yall power level is low
the god letting you know
your power level will show
when the battle arrives
ive been waiting to shine
no more waiting in line
cause im facing time
ill face time
to take mine
only the Great Divine God can change the signs
so the future has selected i
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC