"seinfeld" poems
I've come to the conclusion
That my life's a wreak
Poetry strewn all about
My house the biggest mess
So here I am in the middle of the den
In a pile of poetry on the floor
A desperate man with phone in hand
Since I can't seem to find the door
I call up a Psychic
I call up my Shrink
I call up the local Priest
To ask them what they think
They say there is no hope for me
Through the static on the phone
Right before they all hang up
I hear...boy you're too far gone
So I grab a hold my bootstraps
Pick my own self up
Determined to have this problem licked
With prayers and major luck
Starting in on this poetic clean
One thing that I found
I wrote on just about anything
That I had laying around
There was poetry on party napkins
On Chinese take out meals
Tiny poetry on tiny matchbooks
Even on banana peals
Poetry on the chandelier
Poetry on my cat Floss
Poetry on ***** dishes
I wrote with spaghetti sauce
Poetry on the mirrors
Smiling back at me
Poetry on Seinfeld
Across my T.V. screen
Poetry on the kitchen tile
That's never seen a mop
On the doors going in and out
And places I dare not look
I started cramming it all in boxes
Lining them up and down the halls
Soon had them in every room
3 feet deep and 8 feet tall
I made 15 trips to storage
The biggest one that I could find
Feeling now it's nice and safe
All packed tight, warm and dry
When it all was over
Feeling relief from that major chore
Set down in my den, took out my pen
And started writing more...
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
i could leave. i could go squat at my lakehouse in wisconsin. i could cut all ties and never speak to anyone ever again. i could live alone as a ghost or as close to it as possible. i could eat easy mac every night for the rest of my life. i could watch seinfeld reruns every day until i passed out and then repeat until the disks get scratched beyond repair.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
This job is just one long drawn out lobotomy.
Hey quit putting gum on the bottom of these desks you *******
I can think of a few ways to get out of here but I don't think I can afford a ****** harassment lawsuit.
I'm about 2 minutes away from a faking a seizure and about 5 from a real one.
Hey Guantanamo Bay, are your methods of torture outdated and boring? Then have I got a deal for you...
You think you can just drop Seinfeld references and I won't pick up on them? You thought wrong, *****
I think I lost the ability to see color...
All work and no play makes Ashton a dull boy...
I'm still waiting on Betty White to crawl her old *** out here and tell me this is some kind of practical joke.
Homelessness is looking more and more like a serious option
Don't pull the fire alarm. Don't pull the fire alarm. Don't pull the fire alarm.
Enough is enough! I have had it with all these ************* boogers on these ************* desks!
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Driving thru lots of
Parked cars, many un-
Aligned...
Ask you?
Askew...
Wow. There oughta be
A law or two to keep
Those cars in lines.
(Let's get Google to
Drive our cars for us!
They'd behave better,
Until they became self-
Aware, that is)
Googo-
Pocalpyse
Navigating parking lots is
Gambling against heavily
Uneven odds, the House(s)
Eventually winning by de
Fault of small electronics
Merry Christmas! Used
To hear that from just about
Every mouth and furry pair
Of lips. Now, the ubiquitous
"Happy Holidays" or as Seinfeld
So brilliantly mocked,
"Festivus for the Restofus"
The mocking is now
Knocking on our
Cultural Door to
Heck
Driving past a Fitness
Planet: the misspeled
Word "Judgement"
And the irony poking
Me in the eye is that little
"E"
That SHOULD belong nestled
Snugly in the deep middle of
That word, but, strangly, isntt...
And I'm doing what that sign
Admiringly attempts to cajole:
I'm judging. I'm judgEing.
I do this, constantly, all
My waking minutes:
Not passing on judging, but
Holding 4 aces and 1 joker...
(Me)
Hands clenched in rage as
(Again)
I steer obliquely thru parking
Lots, doing the very same
Crime I accuse everyone else
Being guilty of...
I scream...
THERE IS NO 'e' IN
JUDGEMENT!
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
the summer that made the sound of crickets mean more than it did two, three, even ten summers ago.
the summer that gave a warm glow within the halls of that familiar seasonal cottage
the creak from each step on the stairs was each a song to be sung
out the door to find her waiting for me
My heart taking delightful punches with each step closer to me
her sundresses a different shade of yellow just as the sun
It rays peeking through the trees to compliment her lovingly
Everyday was Sunday for us
as they flow with each skip my mind slows her down
watching every detail of her grace
the summer I learned that sunsets were made for girls with brown eyes
the earth revolved only for her so the sun would descend across the sky just so right to only fall into her vision
and to remind me "this is what home feels like"
the summer I found out that the gift life had given me was the gift of her presence for seven weeks.
the beauty in her was too delicate to give away to anyone and she let me
out of all the people on this planet see what god made special about her
the way she blinked three times when perplexed, before asking to know more
listen more
learn more
how she always peeled my tangerines
because she knew i didn't like the peel to get under my nails
when she laughed tears would always stream down her face
no matter a roar or a soft chuckle
and then she would swear the optometrist sprung a leak when she got Lasik
when she was sad that that leak was easy to repair with a Jerry Seinfeld impression
The lone flickering street light on our street did not compare to her illumination at night
a glowing goddess amongst someone so meer
she was the embodiment of the sun
but summer begins to drop into fall.
as the trees started to lose green she packed to leave
and I did too
she was going back home and my home was leaving me
this girl was the ****** of my story and only at the tender age of 22
and I know my tale will never have its perfect resolution without her
that summer I found out she was the definition of my love
but to her I was just another girl in a sundress
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKPEOfybQak&feature;=related
*Remember his name when you look at the night sky.
- the Toe-cutter*
You are the Night Rider,
a fuel-injected suicide machine,
a rocker, a roller,
a no-controller,
yer a cop killer,
the mighty weird hand of vengeance
come to smite the un-roadworthy.
You, Night Rider,
clearly unaffected
by the state’s urgings
to “yield” and, perhaps,
“soft shoulder”.
You are the Night Rider,
sleeping in on a Tuesday,
performing your masculinity
in unshowered, unshaved machissmo.
Night Rider,
won’t you come to your senses?
Nobody enjoys maniacal laughter
anymore.
It makes us think of ****
covered in fleas, bedbugs,
whiskey ****
or Janis,
and the last moments of an American Saigon.
Ahh… Night Rider,
we share your machine lust,
your fetish,
your hard-on for the muscle-bitch,
the suped-up hot rod,
the last of the V-8 Interceptors
(1973 Australian Ford XB Falcon GT).
We, too, like a nitrous kit,
a roof and tail spoiler,
we likes our flat black:
………....................our murderous speed
………..........................has driven daddy to drinkin’.
We ride!
Night Rider, we understand.
We get the lurid infatuation,
but, **** yer a hick-weed,
all these roads lead to jail
–how have you not grasped this simple truth?
The highway is not freedom,
but a circular slave song.
Oh, rider of the night,
why all the re-runs of Seinfeld?
And cheese bread?
You’ve grown a belly, N.R.,
and while it might be glam
to be young, dumb
and full of ***
or all muscle
in butt-less chaps at 21,
you’re 45, Night Rider,
and no-one cares anymore
about your straight-line revolution,
about your road to freedom,
about it,
about what kind of future
you and Floosie would’a made.
The kids are alright
but
they ain’t never heard
of you
nor your last,
wild-eyed flight.
As the Lord Humungous has indicated,
no one
gets out
alive.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
When I was 7
I was watching Seinfeld with my dad
I asked him where they were
And he answered
New York
The city seemed so huge
When I was 17
I had my first panic attack
I was always watching *** and the city to calm down
New York
seemed huge
and that made me feel less claustrophobic
When I was 27
I went to
New york
The expectations were high
I was so surprised
when I felt suffocated
Cause it didn't seem huge anymore
What do you do when New York feels small?
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
he is the common denominator
between this circle of friends
who reveal absurd ideas
offer unspoken loyalty and
place secrets in one another's vaults
his NY apartment stands tall at HP
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
I conversed with
Salesmen today
I was smart and witty
They hung on every
Word I spewed
My opinions where all astute
They bowed with great reverence
My attempts at levity
Were greeted with heartfelt laughter
I conversed with
Salesmen today
I was John Stewart,
Jerry Seinfeld, and Bill Clinton
I was interesting and debonair
Then I came home
To you
And I am . . . Nobody
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
Cement patch brick twenty dollar bills.
Sidewalk with f i g u r e d steps figure
skating around Bazooka Joe and Joe
Camel sharing banana split menthol
kisses beneath Atlas' golden world.
Idealism, baby.
We gold-stripe fine Chinet, fine clothes,
a broach laden with Leda swan feathers.
Plastic-tipped felt strips wound with
a straight paperclip.
That Ginsberg belt & pleated pants +
ruffled shirt. Seinfeld, Central Perk,
and Easthampton. Flip through
conceptual art book with art
still inside your glowing, artistic
mind. Reverse countersink
a media bit / Craftsman
holds it still. Teal X (Tilex)
on a Chuck Taylor floor
so clean, sparkle, innocent,
blind, oblivious, ignorant,
narcissistic, sparkle, spark
me up but don't let me help
you find your face in the dark.
Hold the gun, ease the trigger,
ignore the twisting hair and wet
shoulder. Forget the shreikscreechscream,
it's only jazz.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
they packed the town into a big box
and shipped it to southeast ohio
they packed bryan adams into a box
and shipped it to southeast asia
they packed the baby into a box
and shipped it to madonna
drawn up with a silver pen
the EPZs jurisdiction
the cease fires declaration
and the stockyards reopen for business
the hundred thousand leaves shrouding
the white house roar
like a crowd, like a nation
a few man's hands
shake that sound
like snake's tails rattling
into a megaphone
the heavy metal band pleads self-defense.
they just play music. that's all they do
they're not protesting
except in a vague way
against everything,
they're not sure what
perhaps the chaotic volume
of their early adolescence
a child bent around a pen
is told to count the lima beans again
he counted too fast
a snarling dragon pulls up
and he rides, concluding
in a sorcerer's castle constructed
of speedy fretwork and overbearing tablature
the card game made us
wizards, frankly, and we enjoyed it
more than being what we were
I throw the dice and the king's head
tumbles with them into a basket
a burmese girl sews the silhouette
of a man performing
a feat not meant for man
into the side of a shoe that will
wing you to heaven if
heaven is as high
as a slam dunk. boys
in a park joust styrofoam swords
a hand is folded
behind the back to signify its heroic
loss in battle. it is regrown momentarily
to dunk a chicken mcnugget.
in another park across town
boys no longer ****
each other for their shoes.
jay z is in a booth with warren buffett
and jerry seinfeld at daniel
they are saving the galaxy
the only one we have to save
which nobody lives in anymore
the forest is off in endor
the snow belongs to hoth
a boy fights a war
in an afghan marketplace
through his television set
in hd and widescreen
it's practically photorealisitic
the guns sound authentic
in 5.1 digital surround
another boy fights the exact same war
he wishes it did not look so real
the internet, our new planet
i shut the computer down
404: I am a file no longer to be found
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
You've got a flat screen mounted
on your kitchen wall with zip
ties and chewing gum.
There's an ashtray by your left
wrist, and a tattoo on your right
of a midnight street light sunshine
shine
down
on a reupholstered love seat,
only used twice: once for the Eisenhowers,
once for last weekend watching Seinfeld
reruns, putting out Sonomas and *** talk
on the twill-like cushions in that dank
basement apartment w/ poster'd brick
walls.
Slayer, Sinatra, Sabbath, Springsteen,
a Space Cowboy, and something Sanskrit
above your box-springless mattress
about the cosmos spitting hellfire
next month because we didn't sacrifice
crumpled dollars yesterday, or Clinton
in the '90s. There are masses of humans paying
for the market collapse that sent 800,000
oranges rolling into the street, cold.
God-fearing couples are abstaining from ***
to save their souls from the ******
Rapture. Cable cords are being unplugged
in the middle of A Christmas Story so people
can hang themselves from church steeples
to avoid ruining their Chuck Taylor Loafer
Tennis Shoes in the molten **** suffocating
saplings and parking meters. Christ'll save
the righteous ones, the ones strung up closest
to the bell tower.
The parish hall radio says salvation's
only as good as a new haircut.
And that we should all pick up the warped
acoustic guitar in the cellar, and try
to form barre chords with our swollen
knuckles and arthritic wrists now
because punk music will be dead tomorrow.
Hell, the postman will be dead tomorrow,
and every little postcard, paycheck, and print
coupon he's carrying will be dead, too.
There is an ashtray by your left wrist,
and a tattoo on your right.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
Stressing ******* Crying in Prayers,
cause the blessings missing.
Slaves to my desires till my body enslaved to the fire.
Unable to grow tired of my residence.
The present is hell but the past is worse.
Swear to god, the way i’m living,
I’m cursed.
No peace.
Not even when they cover my casket with dirt.
Forced to live on this earth.
While some have it worse.
Cause they have no choice.
Some that want to scream,
yet have no voice.
Some that want to see yet remain blinded
with the illusions of what they can be,
reminded that they can’t be because it’s their fault for
believing and buying gold from the fools.
A teacher told me not to believe everything I learned in school.
Lord forgive me, as I pray.
Same story, different way.
Same events, different day.
Copyrighted 2014.
Peace and Power.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
Like cigarette burnt to the stub,
Like an empty bottle of Jack,
Kinda the way it's been.
Like reruns of Seinfeld on a Saturday
1a.m. slot.
And nobody notices, yeah my days
Have been like that.
Like bloggers on a subject like
Star Wars and little
Pimple faced teens arguing lightsabers....
Pertinent subjects have lost
Their way out of my life.
There is a whole lot of nothing,
But like cigarettes burnt to the stub and
An empty bottle of Jack,
Like days fading on a memory card
With 300 pictures,
And the ashes that get swept
Just this side of the puke
Of the armchair.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
Party time beer and wine
Party time, like all the time
Getting drunk and fall to the ground
Getting drunk all over the town
Party time having a lot of fun
Party time booting conservos up the ***
Party party party is what I like to do
Party time waiting for Seinfeld to come back on
Party time ready to have a laugh what's wrong
Party time boy do you pong
Especially when you put the same pants you wore for about 8 days
Party time getting drunk on beer
Party time getting drunk on wine
Party time having a little whine
Party party party is what I like to do every day and night
Party on without a fight
Party time enjoy your life
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
Built from a picture above your bed, grown through tender kisses and late night cereal
When the first older man gave her too long of a weighty look on the street
You know
You knew she was beautiful
The kind of beauty a fathers keeps to himself
Ever proud, but ever silent
When the beauty slips through the cracks in your fingers
She's born again
To the fathers of girls who don't listen:
Do not shake in anger when she first comes home smelling of alcohol
Do not look so hurt when she kisses the lips of a boy she met in the hour
Listen carefully when she explains why she lied to you
Hold her hand when her fingers have sorry calluses
Pour her a glass of water when she gasps for breath between sobs
Stay brave, even when your heart is hurting for her. She can supply more than enough of the hurt by herself
To the fathers of girls who don't listen:
Even
If
Its
The
Last
Thing
You
Want
To
Do
Listen
Grab a snack, watch old Seinfeld reruns
And listen
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Listenin’ to his **** tongue refrains
Only shows ******** baffles brains
Yet the fact of the matter remains
It’s more evident as he campaigns
Like Seinfeld he’s about nothing
A turkey without any stuffin’
Who continues huffin’ and puffin’
But is he for real or just bluffin’
Republicans have to decide
Whether or not he gets a full ride
But at this point it can’t be denied
That he is their rising tide
So what does that say about them
Never mind what it says about him
Chances are none to slim
That the public will vote on a whim
So what must the others do
To put across their points of view
When most of them don’t have a clue
And only wish that they knew
Meanwhile we’ll be entertained
By catch-phrases not fully explained
As he continues along unrestrained
And his poll numbers steadily gain
So far this election season
Has been without rhyme or reason
Though the rhetoric will not be easin’
Because the base needs appeasing
Now what does that say about them
Will they try to make it about him
Then proceed with words that condemn
Or spit him out like a mouth full of phlegm
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Life.
What is it, a game we play with a almighty being?
Every day we live, we escape the plethora of pain thrown at us.
No one is safe
It ends in an instant
darkness is sudden
darkness is forever
Death.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
from this morning
We're at a party, sitting crowded
at the edge of someone's bed
watching a TV.
We sit as usual: arms casually, warmly brushing,
until the first thing ends.
You flip for something else until
you find a Seinfeld
featuring Bugs Bunny and company.
Live action Jewish hair mixes with
cartoon-flat bunny fluff tails
like a blue-toned cousin of
Who Framed Roger Rabbit.
You stop the search, sensing
correctly that this is also my choice.
We stand and you press close
behind me, peering over my shoulder.
I should be surprised but am only elated.
You breathe purposely
on the back of my neck.
It's the goose-bump breath of a heater
on bare wet skin after a winter bath.
Like a well-timed puff on a
nest of reedy tinder,
the freshly struck fleeting flint
grows at the center.
The expedition is saved for one more night!
A sparkler sends
the hottest shower down,
Warm glowing Goldschläger flakes
cascade in whorls,
the turbulence encountering no resistance
save for the tightness of my capillaries
burning pleasantly at skin's end.
I look around at our friends and
recognize distantly that this is becoming
too obvious.
You hook your arm around my waist
and Gabriel gives us an affably
shocked smile that seems to
ask a question.
But the admonition comes through a
wall of drowsy fascination,
too muffled to take effect.
I feel myself smile bashfully
as if to say Hey, whadamituhdo?
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
I couldn't wrap my open head
around all the crooked things you said,
it never failed to impress me
how I could dress myself out of depression
and we passed the days holding up white flags.
your face was a map of the world,
and they wanted to throw you away like the days we carelessly tossed to the wind
along with our hope,
and this is a tightrope
so I'm asking you to walk with me.
you don't understand my fear of heights,
or why I call your heart my home.
just like I don't understand why you stay home Friday nights, watching Seinfeld alone.
you were a lesson to be learned,
a bridge to be burned.
A force not to be reckoned with but God knows I tried despite the danger.
Love was nothing more than a gentle peck from a kind and curious stranger.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
Who can tell when you first open yours eyes what the day holds for you.
Open your eyes brush your teeth plan your day, is your day going to be a day in the life like Harold Crick the guy from Stranger than Fiction or Phil Conners the weather guy from Groundhog Day or perhaps a little of both.
I used to find ground hog day funny now I’m not so sure.
Life is bad enough sometimes without it repeating itself until we get it right and resolve the issues that make us a person other people talk about in less than complimentary tones behind our back.
However Harold Crick, (google it if you don’t know this guy) perhaps got it right accepting his fate eventually with grace as he felt his ending was poetic and just; if only we could all be so lucky to know our fate in advance and accept that all our lives end and we need to accept it.
As with Harold, by accepting the inevitable does that give us a chance for our ending to take another path not of our or anyone else’s choosing but simply a random series of events that makes things turn out the way they turn out and it is as simple as that.
Some may say life is not like the movies or soap operas. But where do you think the writers get there ideas from. If you look at comedy writers, some of the universally funny comedians such as Billy Connelly or Jerry Seinfeld take their humour from real life.
The writers of Groundhog Day must have at some stage thought what if you couldn’t move on to the next day until you got it right and then wrote the script. As Bill Murray’s character said in Groundhog Day, “I was in the ****** Islands once. I met a girl. We ate lobster, drank piña coladas. At sunset, we made love like sea otters. That was a pretty good day. Why couldn't I get that day over, and over, and over... Well Bill, life’s like that, we don’t get to choose, and that’s not funny.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
moustached monoku critic channels Seinfeld - no haiku for you
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
It’s a bar like this:
Smashed in Bud lite cans, Hennessey bottles half emptied.
Cable TV, static at high volume,
Re-runs of Seinfeld and
Occasionally the game.
Men in sweats, men in tuxes, men in rags,
Men in company jackets.
Bonded and connected by their mutual friend Jack
And their ex-lover Brandy.
It’s a bar like this:
Bartenders sniffing coke, pouring
3 parts orange juice, 1 part ***** 2 parts water.
Posters hanging with ******* girls and
Kate Upton.
Smells of defeat and destruction emanate to the street,
The sign swings crooked, uncared for, untouched.
Broken in windows, lined with blackened wood panels
Creatively decorated with graffiti
Lightbulbs act like lightening bugs,
Never illuminating on command.
Plumbing rattles, toilets overflow,
One woman stands alone.
It’s a bar like this:
Two men swear and hiss,
Breaking a table in two.
Chairs part like the red sea,
Bets are placed.
Occasionally, some stray wanders in,
Testing out the waters,
Coughing up nicotine and tar,
holding his door frame crutch.
Scratchy hand towels and oily soup,
Sink bowls re-rusted.
McDonald’s bags liter the stained tiles,
Enjoying rat company.
It’s a bar like this:
Over enthusiastic boss hiring
Sixteen year olds,
Blondes only,
No criminal record.
Eviction notices used as placemats and
Electric bill coasters.
Been open since 1975 but
Even then
it was a bar like this.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
What is comedy?
Is it the pursuit of giving other people joy?
Or is it our own selfish desires to want to feel love and affection
We feel lonely without others
But some are lonely with others
We only care about us and what we want
So I ask, What is comedy?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
You got me caught between a heart and a hard place.
I can't run to you without hurting someone else.
I'm single, what harm could it do?
Now I've got three women all looking at me like I'm taken.
Wined one
Dined two
Literally just talked with the third.
They got me caught between a heart and a hard place.
I was rejected by one- a year go.
I told one I wasn't ready (for a relationship)
The third we're just friends.
But now it's getting awkward and so I'm stuck between a heart and a hard place.
Any choice is gonna hurt, and I've never lied to anyone.
So ******* they got tied me and sinking fast, gotta cut the cord and hope I can catch some air soon.
They put the weight of the world on my shoulders and I was blindsided.
Now I'm in something I didn't even want- it's not that I wasn't clear, it's just that now they all wanted something more and didn't think I was serious.
So now if I back out no matter what- it's gonna hurt someone.
Right now they got me caught between a heart and a hard place.
Dragging me down into the waters of uncertainty and I'm trying to keep above the water line.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC