"skit" poems
Though perception is interesting, how many was it really, wait, the joker never drank really? did he? **** I forget. um, but I think I recall the riddler had , wait, maybe not. um,, way under the legal limit is below two , but did he, the joker, you know how he is. considering, wait, who was counting those things? what, one and what, oh **** and we... what a **** this kat can be, wait, did he really, run the gauntlet just to show the world , oh **** pull the skit, it is too rich, and he was spotted at the bank earlier speaking of laughing next time he visited. **** writers and those skits. troublesome, and grrr, they forget to keep it clean. lol
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
They think I'm "fixed"
because of therapy, treatment
funny, depression isnt just some skit
it's an illness, and no, it doesn't end.
Silly you, you think I'm fine
you're outside my walls
can't cross this line
happy on the outside
Inside I'm aching to die.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Blues Haiku
Freddie King’s guitar
Waits for a big leg woman
Fishnets adorn mine
Self Portrait LIII
Reading street hieroglyphics
comfortable in it’s dark caress
Buildings like promises
Broken and lost
The wheels spinning
My mp3 jazz loop
Sing that skit skat baby
The things I tell my pillow makes it blush
Self Portrait 54
Weekend
Books at half mast
Reading a book on Af Am essays
Wondering what happened to
The ‘Dream”
Monday
Listening to Bob Segar and Snoop
Tatas at attention mode
Bopping to the
Unemployment office
to see a lady about a check
and a “Dream Deferred”
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
in a country bereft of curfew
part two
of a skit
assembled
by orphans
trades attendance
for the applause
of angels
and skips
the clothesmaker’s
best scene
for another-
a secret favorite
that has Moses
leaving behind
an orange
soccer ball
to be with God
in the sobbing blackness
of an oven.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
**Shallow stones skipping across the water careful not to penitrate the surface...maintaining a suave demeanor
All to careful demonstrating a perfect front for the crowd, always pleasing...
Class clown turns bullying into a comedy skit humiliating the girl in the corner who is homeless...If he only walked a mile in her shoes
Thoughtless and unbound acts of the most popular, always shunning the one's whose crowd is smaller
Its not easy being the underdog, the less fortunate...outcasted by societys cruel intentions bound from a silver platter**
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
Cosplay Human
the art or practice of wearing costumes to portray characters from fiction, especially from manga, animation, and science fiction; a skit featuring these costumed characters
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
this cosplay of human we so oft effect,
movie projection of shaped variations,
semi-firm but mostly pliant,
bone not-so-hard-as-we-believe,
draped in skins of tissue pre-perforated,
we are forms that can last a century,
yet shrivel back to fetus in days,
for lack of simple water...
think human and know simultaneous,
billions of earth persona and
billions of cells in each
*by for of -
the people,*
each masked, each outfitted
in uniforms of differentiating gaps
more alike, all unique,
masses of differences of constructs same,
this cosplay is a preeminent miracle...
all of us
nakedly similar,
all naturally defiant of time,
all defeated by time, naturally...
this skit we play routinely,
costumed in a manner similar,
yet different, to distinguish ourselves,
and mark as group members
pretending to
vive la différence!
what import all this, pretty words
that tell us what we know instinctively?
just this...
I see you
perhaps you see me
changing my costume
not by choice,
still do not wear a
masque
my cells my words,
no cosplay,
my humanity on parade,
my file open to inspection
dare you visit the beginning,
when passion drove me,
the early version,
when I was not circumspect,
and my poems
were passion plays,
verifiable truths
and cosplay was not
part of my vocabulary
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
A few years ago
I was a oddball
and it wasn't cool
to like twilight
or have your uniform
tucked into your skit
it wasn't cool
to have erasers
shaped like hello kitty
in the ninth grade
I was an oddball
but I wasn't alone
I had a friend
my best friend
and she was important
I was an oddball
and I wasn't able to notice
whispers and giggles
behind my back
I was able to notice
the loud noises at home
but I left them alone
sometimes
not often enough
I was an oddball
and my friend decided she had had enough
of being associated with that oddball
and when I needed her
she left
to another group of people
leaving me alone
and suddenly vulnerable
I noticed it then
a bit too much
the giggles in school
the loudness at home
the silence in my soul
the loss of will
you didn't shatter me
not at all
you just shattered a wall
I had built
to tell myself
that not all people were bad
maybe I would just know one
or two
but you were three
and i lost my ability to lie
to myself
and say everything was alright
because it wasn't
alright
and I couldn't lie
and the sadness
oh the sadness
was a tide
a hurricane
a tsunami
and I was lost
in a war
within myself
I waited
so long
for someone to save me
I waited
for an Edward
or a Harry
or a Dobby
anyone
anyone at all
but no one came
and I was alone
I was so alone
it was depressing
and it took me a while
to realize that I needed to be
my own light
in a world of cruelty
I had started to drown
it was difficult to swim my way out
but I did It
I became my own light
I embraced myself
and I still fight sometimes
with that darkness
the ocean of sadness
but I'm helping myself
because it's true
that in a life of metaphorical darkness
you have to be your own light
it still hurts some days
I still wonder
at 12 am
why was I not enough
because I was sincere
and that wasn't enough
I was honest, and gentle
and that wasn't enough
and I still fight sometimes
with that darkness
that ocean of sadness
but I'm helping myself
because it's true
that in a life of metaphorical darkness
you've got to be your own light
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Is it cruel to silence a pregnant woman with a dozer
Sold their souls to a war criminal's thirst
Rationalizing every lies with more of them, so kosher
Ask the children died of starvation and thirst
Ever felt threatened by the fire they spit
Lessons never learned, or was it a skit
Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 12:10 PM UTC
I see you from afar
Twinkling brightly like a star,
As your face lights up
Not from the coffee in your cup,
I can hear the pitter patter of your heart
Faster and faster from the start,
As your eyes lock
Tick tock,
Time stands still
Wonder how long till,
You're both in each other's arms
Exchanging kisses like collector's charms,
This sweet embrace
Who would have suspected this the case?
Two lover's hearts entwined
Love's response in kind,
No one the wiser to your wit
Practiced getaways like the perfect skit,
Each day the feeling growing strong
Learning each other like the words to your favorite song,
And soon I hope the perfect culmination
Will arrive to this incantation,
Live for each moment in this dreamy existence
As you live for each other without pretense...
© okpoet
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
If today was my last to experience the torments of this life I wouldn’t fret. This inevitable sadness that I’ve tried with all of me to resist has cloaked my being in fabrics too heavy for me to manage with bare bone.
My soul weighed with the garment as I felt my existence bleed as of flesh when kissed passionately with silver blades.
I know naught about the cause of this pain but I’ve accepted my role as her prey long ago. Back when time meant enough to me to find the strength to suffice a nightmare, that is, a life not worth living.
I dwell in the solitude of moons grace and mask my sorrow with a joyous façade at dawn.
My resilience is routine, a skit that although rehearsed infinite times still hasn’t been perfected.
It seems as though death has become fond of me. Deeming me her next victim I felt her racing through me like cancer.
A disconnect some would perceive as brutal I found solace. Swaddled what was left of my soul in her blanketed truth.
A sweet submission to the one thing I always knew about life...
danielle.a.watson
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
The cousin of death is slowing my breath, and has me wondering how much in the tank I have left. Insatiable emotional depth. Pleasing evenings, some of which I had not slept. Saw your river, ran to it and leapt. Stepped along the stony bottom revisiting memories, never forgotten. Stopped in for a smile but the wood on the bridge was rotten. Past lifetime I've taken a lot in, but haven't let much out. The garden that my heart is in is experiencing drought, waiting for a downpour, accompanied by the majesty of a thunderstorm.
And so my soul soaks in the tone of being alone.
Never a dull moment but no hand to hold.
My whole can unfold, unto a page. It's my key to unlock myself from the cage I felt. Loosened the belt around my head. Decompressed the mind many a time, worry free in bed where dread is not an option. Then the thoughts popped in, Where we were cropped out. Each of you a beautiful flower bud and I hope to see you sprout, and eventually thrive. I silenced any negativity, to hear from my inner child that's still alive. Let go of pride to make amends to the few. And I wish nothing but love to all my waves have touched, the old and the new. Now is forever, but at times I have postponed. Now I find home in where I roam, and loan vibes at no interest. Hard to see the path solely focused on the finish, but too many instances left the words/actions inconsistent. Still finding out that i'm so resilient.. I just see an empty pond over yonder, and often ponder on how to fill it. Thrill through the skill of spontaneity, I must disappear before the lords seek to vanquish me. Outdoors to explore pastures of grace unseen on this face of the trip, among greenery and sounds astounding. It always amazes me the situations I am found in. Now to doze off, for mind and body replenishment. Power enough within all to create direction to switch the skit. I just hope we come to fully appreciate the characters that starred in it.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
I close my eyes and you are with me.
Only we exist together.
Your embarace; my safe arms around you,
penetrates our souls.
You look into my eyes and I exist because of you.
My heart beats for yours.
The poisonous air is cleansed and is sweet,
there is spring beneath my feet.
I'd become religious, just to pray,
we feel like this, every day.
So my lord, some heavenly being,
I thank you; now and forever,
for making this dream com wonderfully true.
I cherrish and love with utter devotion,
holding hands and smiling sweetly,
or under the covers, love in motion.
With my life, heart, mind, body and soul,
I commit, to this, wonderful angel,
and end my skit;
for words are always of a plenty,
but in comparison, seemingly empty,
for nothing written can describe,
the tingles emitted from your eyes,
the touch of your skin against mine...
This ruddy waffling's a sign...
Head over feet, a love so devine,
A feeling so proud that you say "he is mine".
X
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
I am having a hard time. It's my mind, and the world it defines. Blinded by rules and regulations written by those that don't know us, and don't care. The only vulnerability most of us know is when our body's bare.. I too almost forgot how to share. What you see in the mirror is nothin meant to be compared. Weeks are consumed $pending time, for the acquisition of wealth. Months fly by and you start to wonder about the deterioration of your health. These toxic chemicals are cheap, ever flowing addictions resulting in dependencies. Simple actions can turn into deadly tendencies. Pharmaceuticals outweigh compassion by a number I can't fathom. Instead of knee-jerk reactions, let's seek to satisfy our passions. I finally got a mic to record, but I am sick, and my voice is hoarse. I wonder about these humans and their senseless wars. We've been conditioned to unlearn the natural laws of love. It's so easy to think we are singular separate entities from the sky that shines above. We are not alone, and beyond our shells we are always home. We see the world not for what it is, but how we are. When you look up tonight, remember you are that bright, beautiful star. Upon writing this I felt so low. My dear sister hit me up and a smile started to show. I want to cry, and exercise my body to maximize this plane's time. This is just another example of how I release and thrive through the art of rhyme. So I call this, the illusion of pain and isolation; because initially I was only focused on my frustrations - self-projected hallucinations with no sense of destination. Breathe your dreams into contemplation within every moment you're facing. Words enter the frame that can maintain a state of hypnotic paralysis. Rocks ripple our waters but we can calm our reflective surface. Blow a kiss, feel the bliss and see purpose in your skit. Think of the universe when you hurt, because without you, this doesn't exist.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
lost my heart in the circular realm
when I think of anything it sounds
like a drugged up
contradiction, that never was and never will
it's like I'm Dead.
In this vacuum presumed
Dead.
who I know , who I knew
the people that helped me grow,
are never recycled as new.
I keep writing these lines of my poetry mind
that to everyone else looks twisted and lied
like my mind is corrupt and they knew all along exactly
what's up.
What I know for sure is that nothing is for sure
But someone's said that before,
so I guess I'm a fake
unless I discover something new,
something blue, something old,
nothing at all,
it's absurd
it's fool's gold
it's an unreality
from the line of a sonnet
written on a vanishing moon.
it's like I'm Dead.
My dead ancestors have taken up all
the juice for my parade.
I'm left a charade; a skit;
half-hearted & unfit
it's like I'm Dead.
My obsessions say it all
You know the reasons
the buzzes
and the contrite liaisons.
You knew
all along
the undead song sang
to the soldiers
whose lives are ****** war zones
You know my cellophane
you've seen it televised live from every side,
and on every dead celebrity whose tragedy was pied.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
Pressed send and again I feel so far away,
Disconnected to loved ones I could only hope would stay.
So much energy given, the focus always leaves myself.
Caught in the waves of everything, if only I could ask for help.
I could, but I don't even know what to say
Wouldn't want you to waste your time, seeing as you already have a full tray.
Sorry if I can't muster a full smile, but I'll still wish you a good day.
I can be here, but disappear, into imagination - I stray.
I'm so cold
my words are mostly untold
my back reminds me I'm getting old
throughout life I was too often scolded
everyone thought I would be so easily molded
Bent backwards, I had eventually folded.
The stories are remembered, but not that I told it
This is why I write, to keep track of this whole skit
My heart is for you, you can leave behind the dull crypt
I always hold on until it's pulled, and I slip,
Back into my dark caverns only to hear the occasional water drip
All I wanted was a type of unconditional love, someone who wanted me in their grip
But after all, this life is one long trip,
You fall, and get back up
Each instance hurts, after all you're a human with a cup.
Half the contents are there, yet, still wondering which way's down and which way's up.
Diamond in the rough, lost at sea
Maybe I'll see you where the sky meets the trees
I whispered your name, into the breeze
Just always remember that I love you, please
My body just wants to crumble with every exhale
Dying to release
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
Sometimes I've had about enough
All these ******* buttercups
Puckering up
At the first scent of gruff
It's disruptive
To my mustering
I mean
Must we
Smother trouble out of ****
Must we malfunction
Into a skit
A script
Skipp-ed
To laugh tracks
Pre-writ
Until the last laughs
Where the curtains close
To fading claps
All the cards
Are all on the floor
Little adorable torturers
Peering through the doors
Afforded by our tor-mentors
Over it
We will get
Even get on with it
Cuz all of this
This is that and that is this
Is ******* ridiculous
Is worthless
It is foulness in its stench
The bowels of our regret
Unkempt and ******
It's ******** soaked in ****
Where the credits never roll
And the patrons only stroll
On outta here for a beer
And a night on the town
And all this
Flapping of the gums
And slathering of spit
Is glossing over my ****
And it's all we will ever get
If we would just submit
Wipe the sand from our *****
And remove the ******* sticks
We might find
We have loosened up a bit
Just don't be such a little *****
And other inflammatory ****
[That's it]
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Hypothetical situations can cause pseudo-realizations
Sheer demonstrations of fantasies that fluctuate from the different poles.
Everyone in this skit is scrambling around trying to figure out their roles.
Reading "The Power of Now"
I'm being taught how,
To even further embrace the moment and be at peace.
Sometimes though,
Sometimes the movie in my head can make for a blissful release.
The trick is to bridge the self-inflicted anxiety gap,
To put your mind at ease.
Shut down it's power to conjure,
and find a stillness where the chatter retreats silently.
I've been blind to see the difference between what's real and fallacy before,
But now I'm closing my mind and opening my heart to find what's truly in store.
No score to be kept, with overwhelming success.
Doesn't matter creed, gender, or even your address.
Find solitude in the ever-expanding mansion that is the universe.
Our never-ending story is now, so there's no real need to rehearse.
Growing up I've always thought life was much better with how it is in dreams.
Still maturing, but I think I'm finally learning,
To just Be
Appreciate what is, and even what I can not yet perceive.
While not knowing can be more complex than it seems,
You can always trust, that there's beauty in a mystery
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Didn’t I mean it?
Or wasn’t I serious just a bit
When I warned of the gruesome pit
Ahead and soon they would hit
Was I performing a funny skit?
The day they refused to admit
That joining would bring no benefit
Just pain and no profit
The best option was to quit
But they wanted to wait
And see as they are used as bait
I can do nothing now but sit
Because I told them.
They are now quiet
Full of reckoning and regret
Wishing they listened I bet
That to stop a fired bullet
You must require a metal jacket;
Before you meet a pickpocket
Your wallet is not stolen yet
My words they needed not interpret
Either that they did not get
Or they simply chose to forget
When I blew a warning trumpet
I know that am not a prophet
Just a pen-and-paper poet
But I told them.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
One-fifty-two a.m.
Eleven beers.
Almost a liter of *****
I really should be going to bed.
**** I should have gone to bed hours ago...
Maybe one more beer
will help me hold on.
Does this couch just feel
that much better than my bed?
Or maybe it has something to do
with these antibiotics
I’ve been mixing
with excessive amounts of alcohol?
Maybe?
Just maybe I don’t want to get better --
-- to feel better.
Maybe I want this flu to consume me
and swallow me whole.
If that won’t work
perhaps I really do
want to drown
in distilled potatoes
and fermented wheat
barley
hops
Is it possible –- isn’t it?
What the hell do I want?
Do I even know anymore?
I know I wanted you.
I wanted you
more than anything.
You were wearing a real short skit,
and I had a real short fuse.
For sure it was a bad combination...
...but that don’t make it a good excuse.
When the dust settled
I guess we both realized that neither of us
would ever see the sun again...
...not as long as we were chained together.
God-fucking-dammit!
Why does everything I write
turn out to be about you?
Why?
Why do I still think about that one night
when we were outside in the rain,
when you told me that I looked just like James Dean?
Why?
I wish then I would have told you
that it doesn’t mean a ******* thing...
...because with the lights out babe,
every girl is Marilyn Monroe.
Not just you.
I used to hope
that when this was over
you’d still
remember me.
But now that it’s over
I can’t stand the fact
that I can’t stop
thinking
about
you.
Two-oh-nine a.m.
Christ, I really should be going to bed.
Maybe I’ll be able to forget you then --
-- maybe you’ll stop polluting
every decent thing I try to write.
I doubt it though.
I get the feeling you’ll be sticking to
my ribs
and hanging on
my heartstrings
for a while to come.
Hopefully one day
someday soon
I’ll finally be
done
with you.
And at last I’ll finally see the truth --
We were just
two
dumb
kids
with jealous hearts
that ******* fell apart
when bombs
explode.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
(Skit includes Laurie, Howard, Shari and Matthew).
Laurie wakes up extra early to prepare a gourmet breakfast buffet with Shari and Matthew. As they all arrive to meet each other in the darkness, Laurie trips and falls over Matthew. In an instant, she comes tumbling down on Matthew. Shari ran to turn on the kitchen lights.
LAURIE: Where’s my glasses? I can’t see!
SHARI: Found them mom.
Shari goes to hand mom her reading glasses.
MATTHEW: Well, she’s broken her glasses and broken my back… Time to start the party.
SHARI: I’ll get the recipe book.
MATTHEW: I’ll get the icepack.
LAURIE: Matt, I’m fine; there’s no need to worry.
MATTHEW: Oh, thank God you’re okay! I am so glad; yup… So now there’s ice for only one, right?
Shari laughed from the dining room.
SHARI: Here’s the book. So we can make a simple egg omelet, which may not be the best idea, or pancakes with a side a various fruits. Ooh, that one sounds good, with a side of coffee.
LAURIE: How about eggs and bacon.
SHARI: Umm, that’s a tasteful thought, but dad’s trying to stay off the fatty foods for a while.
LAURIE: Oh, c’mon; it’s Father’s Day. He does so much for us.
SHARI: Alright. One cheese omelet with a side of bacon coming up.
MATTHEW: Ha-ha. Girl, you should be a chef.
LAURIE: A breakfast in bed idea sounds great. Let’s try it.
MATTHEW: Just don’t drop the food.
SHARI: She won’t Matt.
MATTHEW: Just making sure.
Five minutes later, as we all got the ingredients out, we began cooking the eggs. Once they were brown and crispy, we took the first egg out and began cooking a couple more. Shari started on the bacon. Once it was oily and cooked, Matt began making the coffee.
LAURIE: All finished. Good work guys. Lets bring it up to Howard.
SHARI: I’m so excited!
MATTHEW: Thrilled here too!
Laurie, Shari and Matt tiptoed upstairs, being in total darkness again. This wasn’t the brightest idea for them though. They walk into the bedroom still in the dark. Shari quickly turned on the light.
LAURIE, SHARI AND MATTHEW: Happy Father’s Day dad!
Howard awoke abruptly from a nightmare and accidentally knocked the plate that Laurie was carrying, out of her hands. The plate hit her in the nose and she fell backwards, falling on Shari and Matthew again.
HOWARD: Holy crapola… You scared the living daylights out of me at…
Howard looks at the clock
HOWARD: Seven o’clock in the morning!
SHARI: But we have, or had a breakfast in bed for you.
HOWARD: I appreciate this, but there’s cheese on my carpet now! LAURIE; mop!
[End of play]
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
unlit bare stage 2 voices
VOICE 1 (hollers) everything!
VOICE 2 nothing
VOICE 1 (yells louder) everything!
VOICE 2 (speaking volume fading) nothing
VOICE 1 (screaming jubilantly) everything!
VOICE 2 (whispers) nothing
VOICE 1 (earsplitting blare) everything!
VOICE 2 (silent)
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 9:42 AM UTC
‘Twas a normal Sunday morning
In the town of Maryville
No person knew what was to come
Or whom that man would ****
Rev’rend Winters read his sermon
And preached ‘bout happiness
They heard a pop, and then a click;
A shot went through his chest.
The gunman got the bible first
The book turned to confetti
The congregation was aghast
They thought this skit was petty.
Then they learned the awful truth
Their reverend was shot dead
Two men dragged the murderer down
To ensure he had not fled.
‘Twas a tragic day in Maryville
For those who made it out
They keep those who didn’t in their prayers
And for that there is no doubt.
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
The intelligent observer says;
'Isn't it curious how their shrill centers round this
phantom love affair'
You mean the 'Pick on a **** psychos, them paid
hire a hooligan mob uk racists criminals
Yes, I dare say, they write chapter and verse about
some one you never even kissed, some one who is
just another pawn, a poor victim of circumstance.
caught in a web unknown to her.
Yeah, I do feel sorry for the poor thing
The sad thing though with these backwards racists
and their devotees....hahaha...more their victims perhaps
is how hate governs minds and the psychology behind it
all.
It all stems from ***** Envy and fear, yes, its really as
basic and simply as that. They hate you and do all these
imbecilic nonsense because they really feel threatened by you.
This love angle skit they play is Freudian. Your big manhood
emasculate them, your standing challenges them and you
reflect that, which they can never be.
Do you know their greatest fear has become seeing you use
that 'fearsome weapon' they know how effective it is and
how they don't compare. That's why they get their jollies
from manufacturing a situation and then opposing it.
Creating delusions to absolve their complexes.
Typical Narcissistic ****** behavior.
Why are you laughing, do you know how many unfortunate
black men have died because of this, ***** envy kills
Hahaha...I should get a tee-shirt with that slogan on
You're not taking this very serious, are you?
No, I don't take things beneath CONTEMPT seriously....
Let's feel sorry for them, why should I give head space to *******
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 8:24 AM UTC
False emotions run adrift putting on quite a skit.
Lies and truths no longer plain.
Nothing is left at all the same.
Everything falls apart left with little to restart.
This love game was cruel to all forcing one to make the call.
Throw in the towels on this tragic match.
Shut the lid, lock the latch.
Hide away everything you had.
Left to feel both lonely and mad.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC