"skits" poems
i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
*"uh oh, ****
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
*"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"*
1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says *"why don't you joke
about something like your family?"*
so i say
*"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"*
i say *"what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"*
before he has a chance
to answer
i say *"1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"*
2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
*"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."*
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Mark A. Williams
SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018
___________________________________________________________
Wow Mark,
Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!
Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.
All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.
(RIP Jimi Carlsen)
Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!
Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.
I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.
I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together.
Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
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
Her face, flawless and filtered, flows over
my chest, ribs, stomach, hips, fitting the curved
mounds of my body, and even within simplicity
of thread and dye, I sense her presence as her face
hangs from my frame, a statement louder than pillow-lips,
Nancy Sinatra-hair and a glamorous 60’s ***** face.
When paired with leggings and an artfully-distressed denim jacket,
I become a member of the “freshman generation of degenerate
beauty queens,” a hipster fallen to the circumstance of youth,
but I wear her face and the romance of it all reminds me:
we are not defined as Lolitas lost in the hood, or distant,
airy voices in a sea of crude jokes and half-baked skits
meant to highlight shortcomings of a person who doesn’t give
two ***** Lana fits me better than my ribbed, red
sweater and even amidst gods and monsters,
this T-shirt makes pretty last, and I am just as cool.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
The road skits faster
Than my eyes can capture
Gravel flying upwards like bullets
The winds are familiar
So is this place
My conscious is emancipated
As I draw closer towards home
The warmth and safety enhances me
Familiar is what I crave
Home is what I need
To forget today's work and sweat
Truly I don't need that anymore
It'll be on pause till tomorrow
When I return to that world again
But for now its home
Like a queen needs her bed
So do I.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
A calamity of views abused
When the alcohol is strong
The choices go wrong
Everyones offend through Misinterpreted temptation
Using my over analyzing brain to calm the degraded
Crying over a mundane sane
Looking for persuasion
Through persecution
Picking out your weaknesses
Bleakness, is a majestic trait
Not intentionally
Burdening their agony
My name is animosity
I depict a character that sympathizes
Your alibies
Using my vulnerability
Contaminated humility
Finding
The hiding
No problem suggesting
My dark secrets of the night
Applying my skits that fit right
Paranoid to be viewed in a mortifying light
I would be lying denying my animalistic ride
I have scrutinized
Remorsing
I see earth born
Godly you stand
In the morning
Behold deformities
You fit the norm
I bow to your Godly proportion
In vein this I pray
Amen
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Trying to ride a bike with no chain lacks movement a lame cycle.
A nation of people that have abandoned the teachings of the Bible
Its awful seeing people bow down to an idol
There is continuous sin, it has gone viral
YouTube I see foolishness recycled
Its like ignorance is winning as knowledge is comatose holding on to survival
This world starving for something yet being fed food scraps
Walking through the park ..side stepping ****** wrap-pers
*** The the life is so exciting according to rap-pers
Lacking Fabulous vision husbandless women
Fatherless children
Same old show...shots fired no witness
Skits should have limits
Too many unbroken cycles
Foolishness like outer space endless
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
tarantula drag queen. it was you and me and everything beneath our feet.
walk with slammed gods from bar to bar to car to death-by-streetlight and you will see the deity as well skits itself into a fantasy.
every blasted anecdote and every ******* in naked clothing.. hookah my thoughts and we'll share a belief.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
Plunk your Magic Twanger
years ago when I was a tike
back when I could barely even ride my bike
there was this silly show I loved and had to see
on Saturday mornings just for kids
they showed short films and had funny skits
so weird it seemed they were just talking to me
films about this kid they called the Jungle Boy
he rode on an elephant and brought me great joy
always tracking down men doing evil things
then there was always this special guest
a doctor, a scientist, someone who impressed
who would try to demo and explain
their special skills but is was to no avail
along came the gremlin with water spritzer and pail
and on the poor speaker he would make it rain
he was called Froggy the Gremlin a puppet at best
he'd dance like a clown and stick out his chest
and he was always introduced with this silly chant
plunk your magic twanger froggy, oh my dear
and boing in a puff of smoke he would appear
and bedlam would ensue he'd go off in a rant
Hiya kids, Hiya, he'd always say as he danced
on the edge of my seat, I was so entranced
what kind of stunt would he now try to pull
squirt the guest with his seltzer bottle he was so bad
the guest would run away, run away so wet and mad
the gremlin always kept his bottle full
zany comedy, mindless laughter every week
couldn't wait to see who would be the next weeks geek
so innocent then so full of vigor and vim
there is another part to this story someday I will tell
later on in high school before the first morning's bell
Froggy is still alive, no cant forget him
Gomer LePoet...
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:41 AM UTC
In the hazes of a distant dream land
I see you
Shrouded in the hearts of dreary dawns
Smiling
and pulling me aside you would
smell and caress me all over
a gentle wink and the lightest kisses
and the night would break the spell
On the borders of the smelting fire
A pyre awaits for the burning star
Skits on the shadows of the darker waves
Grim and tied in the locks of the hair
In the wearied low-lands of the outer earth
I see you
Spinning in the many colours of our lives
Beckoning
Child's play at the sound of the horn
Cacophonies and running home
Splintering at the daze of the day
And grinding in silhouettes
In the wake of the latest day
I see you
Eating tomorrows in the cream of love
Smiling
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
Dripping inks from a dreamer's quill
Trembling tip illustrates a scribbled script
Weary sheets capturing an innocence guilt
Corners not spared for a timeless trip
Walking in reverse replaying all skits
Sorting out smiles from the grimeless grins
Missing a delicate frowned is a vital bit
Expressions throned from denying wins
Drifting words marking of flamboyant speech
Passing judgement even before the trial begins
Anonymous decision narrowing countless ditch
Where should we go now?
Or what should be seen?
Visionary or idealist repelling reality's keep
Spinning ticks as the grandfather clock dings
The journey sails even when our eyelids peep
Lights now shining while we recounting sheeps
Reality is knocking so now just let our
Fantasy breathes
@2014 Maman Screams
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
They heard she was a poet
who shocked the open mic
Friday nights with tight skirts
and loose words
that slid off her teeth
over her whiskey breath.
Truck drivers,
who rode hard,
daily listened
for ******** screams
and honking horns,
came to see her. They
balanced on rustic chairs,
drank *** and Cokes,
and hoped she wanted
a ride to Reno.
She heard they were drivers
with sharp eyes and taut *****
beneath blue denim.
She didn’t mind
weather beaten beards,
calloused hands or that
they would leave in the morning.
She was a poet who
gathered words from interludes
among pillows and sheets that
aroused tomorrow’s verse
of wanton words and enticing skits.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
I'll miss
the spontaneous serenades
the halloween soccer games
the never-ending cycle of papers
(in a way)
the double classes
the improv skits
the begging for food.
the art-form "handwriting"
but most of all,
I'll miss the little "+"
in the margin of a paper.
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 10:38 AM UTC
I would shut myself in my room when no one was home
I would close all the windows so no sound would come through
I would sit on my bed and sing my heart out into an imaginary microphone
I would dance until my legs felt like they would collapse, and you
Will never understand why I love being home alone
I would write out scripts to comedy skits and record them on my laptop
I would have ridiculous conversations with Siri on my phone
I would dramatically read the stories and poems I've written and won't stop
Until you come back, and ruin everything by simply being there
You'll barge into my room and laugh at me
You'll say how stupid it is, but I don't care
The next time you're gone I'll do it again, see?
Please be busy, go ahead, leave
No, I don't want to come, too.
Go ahead, go out, please
It's fun to do whatever knowing no one's there to judge you.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
Let out a little of the beast. Enough to appease it.
It howls. I feel it scratching, wearing away my mind.
This rage, This dark veil obscures. Clarity skits away.
Let a little out, then cage it again.
For this world knows not of the beast.
And it shall not.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 2:16 PM UTC
I can't believe
My life can be
Another routine
Lost in me
I hate constants
And changes bring me life
But nothing is left
To awaken me from strife
I search and find no solace
In this mundane college ********
That traps me to a lifestyle
Of boring hypocritical skits
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Easy will I give blood to thee
My love of anger simmering.
Tough mutts and breezy gates shut up while I'm walking up the paved path to heaven.
My shadows carve depictions of their home across it's border, until the time that obliteration comes preceding daylight.
Presently, the senses tell stories of alleyways, bending, screaming, dark, and hollow niches where cells holding cretins feeding on easy cons, closely eyeing the greasy pawns that wobble across rotting paper, voodoo art a secret guarded closely hidden in the hole a beating heart long ago vacated. Robbing rich snobbish ****** their childrens life of ignorance concerning newfound addictions.
You know the type.
You know that I know you too, and how you prefer to shape the ghastly forms these predators take, turn them into your thralls discarded soon after rehearsing the parts of your play, writtin precisely to incite your own addiction to probability gamble gaming intuition. trashing skits naturally reactive to exhibited patterns laughing mad at the victms thrashing quiver, stashing films of the accidents in your pack to gift the sadistic mastiffs attack and ravage and tear and
Sadness.
The fictitious movies play out onto the skyscape of this mind we share, and attempt to accept the last thing you truly fear.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC
here i've prepared a couple of jokes
why did the girl cross the road?
because she thought she was being followed home by the boy who threatened her that he would hang her and so she ran five blocks to get away from him
ok here's a better one
why didn't the girl go to the party?
because she was told she was worthless seven times that day and that everyone is secretly laughing at her
here's my last one
what did the cruel middle school boys do when they got bored?
spit on me, push me around, threaten me, spread rumours about me, and more!
wait why aren't you guys laughing?
see, i didn't think that was that funny but then
when i begged for help
they asked if maybe the people who did that stuff to me were just joking
apparently they were just kidding so they shouldn't be punished
boys will be boys right?
i was probably just too sensitive, too thin skinned to understand their humour,
maybe you guys are too
or maybe i said something that made them say that?
but that makes no sense...
how would you provoke a joke to be told?
oh i know
it wasn't a joke
that's why you're not laughing right?
see daily death threats really don't get five star reviews in the comedy clubs
and i don't think there's been any skits on snl about being spit on because people thought you were garbage
so why did all the adults assume that the boys weren't to blame because they were just messing around?
messing around implies there's a mess and when there's a mess you clean it up but it's hard to clean up a mess that everyone thinks you made up
and I don't think clorox is going to wipe up the feeling that all of the people i trusted the most thought i deserved to be bullied
so i guess what i'm trying to say
is that people shouldn't have to walk through the hallways everyday knowing that in a few short hours, the boy in their p.e class will tell them that they shouldn't be alive
and when they tell five separate teachers
the teachers will all ask
are you sure they weren't joking
are you sure you didn't deserve it
i'm pretty sure that when he pushed me to the ground i didn't break out laughing afterwards
and their laughter wasn't contagious when they made fun of how i looked
their stand up comedy made me back down
sometimes i hear people say
oh bullying is stupid, how could it actually you
why wouldn't they just tell someone
and here's my answer
have you ever shouted so loud that you lost your voice?
probably shouldn't do that again right
well I screamed so loud that when i lost my voice I never really got it back
it's because you want to learn from your mistakes
learn that when people say that you can always tell someone, you should keep in mind that "always" is apparently conditional
don't assume that if you were in their shoes you would just tell someone
and everything would be fixed
some situations can't be fixed with a talk to an adult you trust
some situations you actually did nothing to deserve it
some people make the messes and some people can never clean them up
some jokes aren't funny
some jokes aren't jokes
I don't want any more back down comedy
this is my stand up piece but only this time I don't care who's laughing
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
Each day there is the morning walk
to gather the morning news in print
An amble back to a rocking chair
comfort for consuming coffee
and attempts to ingest current events
Soon the coffee is gone
followed by another cup
News columns are skimmed
like a dragon-fly skits across
the still of an evening pond
Skittish has become a life-style
concentration a foreign word
completion evasive
By nighttime there is
an abundance of projects,
goals, desires left to await
revisitation - revisitation never happens
as new distractions fulfill
the daily routine
of living in the moment
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
*****
sweet *****
sometimes toetoe
often skits
but always *****
my love
my dream
my doll
the apple of my eye
the nails on my chalkboard
the silver lining to my cloud
the dog whistle to my baby ears
salvation
grace
irritation
gushes
where have you gone?
for, i cannot find you
you are no where to be found
something i am not only uncomfortable with
something that i fear
come back to me
find me
you know where i'll be
black tank.. black socks.. black everything..
i'll be waiting for you
patiently waiting
in the most impatient of ways
i'll even try to whistle when i see you near
if only to remind you that i'm here.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
Skits
so-so-
soothing
Sweet
.nothings...
All me stitchings. - - -
He
draws
you
To fetch the
Sketch
By the bed
clock
Virginity- lock
Birds
the
word B, S,
White
feather
Storks
Bothered
Talking to
himself
Kvetching
Earth to me
myself
All looped in
Silvery earrings
His eyes
deep-set
piercing
It took
nine
years
He finally hears me!
He's the
tiger___*
TV Skits
watcher
I am
itching
for
something
Higher reach +
nails
scratching
Her
private
eye
Gel
FBI packs
LoL
His
Virginia
Slim
lady
Acting isn't
her
thing
Earthling Amen
A-Man morning
stretching
The best time?
Be
on
time___*
No
time
Traveling
He's in
my way
his
presence
Anger!!
manage-men
Those
noisy
women
Yentas----
He
is
cursing
Like
a tourist
accidental
Jungle-Maniac
The African
forest
Green money
Sin-shine yellow
Bananas
Jane goes
Panama
His skits
Drinking up
Werewolf wealth
bills
Clinton X presidential
All bits Teenager zits
Whitehouse
Superheros -Zebras
Lined
black
All taken the white
I will betcha
All complainers
Dreamers
Those Black and
White cookies
Computer
cookies
Ripley
believe
she splits
The
wedding
Never bound
to
happen
No, I love
you
heading?
Here to Earth
Eulogy
Why was it
Not
white
Turned out
black
The funeral
The maze tunnel
A part of you
He left his heart
in San Francisco
In the Island
of Marco
The olive oil
Ceco
His love skits
Ciao now Bella
Take the gun
Come to Papa
My cannolis
Love fit wine and they eat
More skits to their beat
What a **** hot fiasco
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
My walls my walls was built to keep you out, with important information
Within and about,
I tried sharing my caring how daring
I'd seem, to let you preview my passions my thoughts my dreams,
What would you do wit these top secret thoughts and skits that would be otherwise impossible for a secret agent to get,
Would you hold me close would you love me most until we are one, or
Play wit my heart split it apart and take my love And run
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
All those nights we spent.
Watching movies and shows.
Sometimes just straight up skits.
I cherish them all.
Your smile.
Your laugh.
The way you make me feel.
Is unexplainable.
You leave me breathless.
It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment.
That I fell in love with you.
Maybe it started when we first spoke?
Your funny jokes, the stories you'd tell.
Or perhaps it was recently?
Because whenever you speak my heart pounds.
It's almost suffocating.
It's kind of masochistic.
How you make my heart burn and ache.
Yet I never wish for it to stop.
I lay awake at night.
Watching the shooting stars.
I wish for your safety, your happiness.
All of the above.
Maybe when I wish upon a star.
You can feel my love.
I hope that with every wish I make.
My love becomes more apparent.
I know, that across all timelines.
Across all universes.
My love for you will never falter.
You, to me, are the embodiment of hope.
The embodiment of everything good.
This poem was a little cheesy.
I'd apologise but my words are sincere.
There's still a weight pressed onto me.
So I'd let to let it out.
Thank you for all the laughs.
All the love you've given me.
The only thing I have to ask.
Is will you go out with me?
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
I love me a good hypocrite
One minute he is praising and the next he is talking ****
I love me a good hypocrite
Always making promising that he can not commit.
I love me a good hypocrite
He says he loves his children but he is just a counterfeit.
If you didn’t want children then why even have them
I am sure that someone would have come along and found them
We are not your slaves so just leave us
It would have been sooner or later, there is no more to discuss
You are just a hypocrite
A small baby misfit, I am done with your skits.
I love me a good hypocrite
Always making people feel like they are the reason why you split.
I love me a good hypocrite
Always saying that we did not love you one bit.
Now you know why I always threw a fit.
You can say whatever you but that won't change me one bit.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:25 PM UTC