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Comedy is exaggerated realism. It can be stretched to the almost ludicrous, but it must always be believable.

quote by Paul Lynde
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Un-believable Situations

Un-believable situations,
Leave a lump in a throat.
And those,
Un-believable situations...
Can leave a weight on shoulders,
Whether one is young on older.
No matter who's brave or bold.

Stricken with heat or fever,
No matter who's brave or bold.
Those un-believable situations,
Can warm a heart...
Or turn it cold.

Few are prepared for what they can not see.
When surprised by situations.
Many choke up and can not breathe,
When confronted by situations...
Shocking and unbelieved.

Stricken with heat or fever,
No matter who's brave or bold.
Those un-believable situations,
Can warm a heart...
Or turn it cold.

Those un-believable situations,
Always stun the ones who disbelieve.
Those un-believable situations,
Come to bring some to their knees.

Those un-believable situations,
Always stun the ones who disbelieve.
Those un-believable situations,
Come to bring some to their knees.

Those un-believable situations,
Always stun the ones who disbelieve.
Those un-believable situations,
Come to bring some to their knees.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fed Up

Fed up.
Stretched to the point,
I'm fed up.
Fed up by debts that peck,
On my back and neck.
And I can't lay down my head,
To get any rest to get.

Stretched to the point that I'm fed up!
Stretched to the point that I'm fed up!
Stretched to the point that I'm fed up!

'Would you like another loan? '

NO!
I'm stretched to the point that I'm fed up!
Stretched to the point that I'm fed up!
Stretched to the point that I'm fed up!

'Would you like another loan? '

NO!
I'm fed up.
Stretched to the point,
I'm fed up.
Fed up by debts that peck,
On my back and neck.
And I can't lay down my head,
To get any rest to get.

I'm stretched to the point that I'm fed up!
I'm stretched to the point that I'm fed up!
I'm stretched to the point that I'm fed up!
And I can't lay down my head to get any rest to get.

'Would you like another loan? '

NO!
I'm fed up.
Stretched to the point,
I'm fed up.
Fed up by debts that peck,
On my back and neck.
And I can't lay down my head,
To get any rest to get.
I'm fed up.

'Sir...
By 'fed' do you mean 'federally' fed.
Or have 'had it' with the 'feds' fed.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ding! Ding! Ping! Ping!

together now
let us sing
the song of inanity
the song of no meaning
it is the song of the no-light
the song of the ludicrous
the ludicrous become meaning
meaning become ludicrous
This become that
That become this
ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!
everything has penetrated its opposite
and the world become beastly
no beginning, no end
no origins
let us sing now
the world topsy-turvy
the brain in a soup,
the mind's one word: baa-baa-baa
you sing one line
the other another
and then all together
the song of bad breath and yawns
ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!
we see King Lear walking
naked in the plains
and we have the Imposter
with his heavy butt on the Throne
which is a Toilet with automated cistern
let us sing then
not then, but now
together now
let us sing
the song of inanity
the song of no meaning
it is the song of the no-light
the song of the ludicrous
the ludicrous become meaning
ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!

poem by Raj Arumugam
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Completely Ludicruous

Completely ludicrous......

Mountain aquifer the source for us to feed
and we are the author of greed
let the amnesty cry, yet
we are the master of greed....

The blocked resources are our weapon`s at sigh
and disturb the peace at Gaza is way of our life
beyond the seas and at faraway skies
let us bury the peace ever to dry.....

Let the wandering mother for scanty water
between the rubbles find thin flow of life
carrying the filled container in denied legal rights
aquifer first was discovered and got polite words
'Completely Ludicrous'.....
let the famous words spread on earth
where Nature too completely ludicruous.....

(These are the words used by Israli Govt. spoke person Mark Regev called Amnesty claim as Completely Ludicrous for depriving palestenian from water)

poem by Lily Peace Lago Every By To Ph
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God Cast Special Effects Lifetime Experiences

This life
is the most amazing
movie set
I have ever seen.
So real.
So lifelike.
So believable.
So touchingly rock solid.

God's really got
his background
stage setting
down to a fine art.
God should win
Oscar Grammy
nominations;
for best setting
best sound effects.

God's special effects
are nothing short
of cosmic miraculous.
And all in realistic 3D.
With fully detailed colour,
sight, sonar, sound ranging;
even beyond observable
hearable human spectrums.

Not to mention
thermal imaging
infrared, ultra-violet,
ban frequency radio waves;
all marvel microscopic stuff
filigree life God's got going on.
At modest very least
score another dozen
Oscars Golden Globes.

With a cast of trillions
comprising an entire animal
kingdom; including a vast
host of species undiscovered.
So real.
So lifelike.
So believable.
So touchingly rock solid.

With a cast of trillions
zillions comprising an entire
animal kingdom; including

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Black Comedy

Sweet cunning eyes try to take from me
Youre too young, Im too wise, this is parody
A taste of what you like can be fatal sometimes
Arms that hold you tight but leave you cold, so cold
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
Love, maybe lust, made me sweet sixteen
So my soul lost control, nothing in between
A taste of what you want can be brutal sometimes
Arms that hold you tight but leave you cold, so cold
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy

song performed by Culture Club
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Transcendentalism According To Emerson

Ralph Waldo Emerson
believed the concept...

that “God was in man
and in a sense
that God was man”

to individuals born
to achieve
the fulfillment of God’s

purpose! By working
towards attainment
of the divine or Over-Soul

throughout their lives...

Transcendentalism
according to Emerson
thus stresses spiritual realities

within the human embodiment
because our intuitive thoughts
could guide us to knowledge of

higher spiritual truth...

but not conceived as a versimilitude
of realism because a truthlikeness
as a quality of realism in arts literature

films is only a created slice of realism!

Emerson’s desire to focus upon objects
in nature that surround us
to reflect upon events occurring in our lives

and their universal purpose
(to attain knowledge of these events is Greek
observation) as an aid when

correctly applied for the advancement of human
evolution towards higher
planes of existence (in self advancement Buddhism?)

I however claiming blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ
shall ascend directly into Perfection in Heaven.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Daggers In The Eyes

Some people
I saw
Some daggers in their eyes
A constant gaze
The gaze about to kill me
Or provoke me
To an extent
That I do something
To turn the daggers away
Aimed at me
The whole bunch of people
And their common intent
Having daggers in their eyes
Unleashed
And in control of a spirit
A calm effect was needed
And after a night
The spirit had gone
Like a virus
And slowly
Softness retuning to the eyes
Of those people
Some evil averted
Or magic of the village
In a reality that was
Though not palpable
But for the spirit
Harsh
And my experiment with magic realism
So the realism was
Subjected to magic
With a long line
And a time span
But I knew what it was
Instead
The daggers were pulled down
Softness returning
Experimenting with magic realism
And some demons of love
Some vital interests
And the dark side of the feminine

poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Leszko The Bastard

``Why do I bid the rising gale
To waft me from your shore?
Why hail I, as the vultures hail,
The scent of far-off gore?
Why wear I with defiant pride
The Paynim's badge and gear,
Though I am vowed to Christ that died,
And fain would staunch the gaping side
That felt the sceptic spear?
And why doth one in whom there runs
The blood of Sclavic sires and sons,
In those but find a foe,
That onward march with sword and flame,
To vindicate the Sclavic name,
From the fringe of Arctic snows,
To the cradle of the rose,
Where the Sweet Waters flow?
Strange! But 'twere stranger yet if I,
When Turk and Tartar splinters fly,
Lagged far behind the van.
While the wind dallies with my sail,
Listen! and you shall hear my tale;
Then marvel, if you can!

``Nothing but snow! A white waste world,
Far as eye reached, or voice could call!
Motion within itself slept furled;
The earth was dead, and Heaven its pall!
Now nothing lived except the wind,
That, moaning round with restless mind,
Seemed like uncoffined ghost to flit
O'er vacant tracts, that it might find
Some kindred thing to speak with it.
Nothing to break the white expanse!
No far, no near, no high, no low!
Nothing to stop the wandering glance!
One smooth monotony of snow!
I lifted the latch, and I shivered in;
My mother stood by the larch-log blaze,
My mother, stately, and tall, and thin,
With the shapely head and the soft white skin,
And the sweetly-sorrowing gaze.
She was younger than you, aye, you who stand
In matron prime by your household fire,
A happy wife in a happy land,
And with all your heart's desire.
But though bred, like you, from the proud and brave,
Her hair was blanched and her voice was grave.
If you knew what it is to be born a slave,
And to feel a despot's ire!

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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The King of the Vasse

A LEGEND OF THE BUSH.

MY tale which I have brought is of a time
Ere that fair Southern land was stained with crime,
Brought thitherward in reeking ships and cast
Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast
From angry levin on a fair young tree,
That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see.
So lives this land to-day beneath the sun,—
A weltering plague-spot, where the hot tears run,
And hearts to ashes turn, and souls are dried
Like empty kilns where hopes have parched and died.
Woe's cloak is round her,—she the fairest shore
In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er.
Poor Cinderella! she must bide her woe,
Because an elder sister wills it so.
Ah! could that sister see the future day
When her own wealth and strength are shorn away,
A.nd she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand
To rest on kindred blood in that far land;
Could she but see that kin deny her claim
Because of nothing owing her but shame,—
Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall,
If carted rubble be the basement-wall.

But this my tale, if tale it be, begins
Before the young land saw the old land's sins
Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud
Far-blown, and widening as it neared,—a shroud
Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure,
And mark the leper-land while stains endure.
In the far days, the few who sought the West
Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest
Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain,
And help them live their lives with less of pain
Than crowded Europe lets her children know.
From their old homesteads did they seaward go,
As if in Nature's order men must flee
As flow the streams,—from inlands to the sea.

In that far time, from out a Northern land,
With home-ties severed, went a numerous band
Of men and wives and children, white-haired folk:
Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke,
As year was piled on year, and still their toil
Had wrung poor fee from -Sweden's rugged soil.
One day there gathered from the neighboring steads,
In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads,—
Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons,

[...] Read more

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The Brighton Poem - Work In Progress

I live a prophecy
As homage to Mann
And Bogarde's smug smile

Same draped
The white shirt
The yellow tie
The sea blue
The white paper
Coloured pencil
Uncovered definition

Sea striped some light some dark
Sky stripes of cloud muddle perception
No Tadzio just man and sea
No Tadzio just sea and me
I lean on the green rail
My tailored jacket on my arm
Unsure of that water or land
The world stretched of free perplexity

The cool anatomy past and effortless
The memory of craft's man days
A single page on an opening
We both stand with eye contact

The image remains sure on recall
Fixed on the page by time
The place fixed by today's freedom
The sea by line advances recedes

The thin enticement of the strand
A strip of realism sans understanding
A cool texture of light
It is where to be sometime

The Brighton Poem - the second opening

My single pen lets it's ink
flow by my arm's forced ideas
the moment ad - libbed into words
From mute the roaring imperative writes

Standing facing the slip of ocean
Here we abide mute and shinig
Once drawn once written once spoken
Nodded to as this day's genesis

A single figure descends the ramp

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Oliver
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I think that comedy really tells you how it is. The other thing about comedy is that - you don't even know if you're failing in drama, but you do know when you're failing in comedy. When you go to a comedy and you don't hear anybody laughing, you know that you've failed.

quote by Carl Reiner
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South Shores Lake Worth

Hemp's South Shore Comedy night,
you could hear comedy, have drinks and a bite.
Sitting with Jim at a table in the back,
watching the comics yak and yak.
It was fun I have to say,
Jim and me did comedy starting at 8.
Jim was a deadpan comic so he worked his punchline
he had a laugh all the time.
He even sang a Johny Cash song,
it was "Ring of Fire" a joke about his
_____not his dong.
Now I went on stage after him with Razel so cold,
she would make fun of the audience, she was bold.
For Razel would make fun of anyone she was mad at,
she was blunt and obnoxious like a brat.
Now funny times with Jim was such a delight,
we had fun at Hemp's South Shore Comedy night.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 13,2012

poem by Christina Sunrise
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South Shores Lake Worth

Hemp's South Shore Comedy night,
you could hear comedy, have drinks and a bite.
Sitting with Jim at a table in the back,
watching the comics yak and yak.
It was fun I have to say,
Jim and me did comedy starting at 8.
Jim was a deadpan comic so he worked his punchline
he had a laugh all the time.
He even sang a Johny Cash song,
it was 'Ring of Fire' a joke about his
_____not his dong.
Now I went on stage after him with Razel so cold,
she would make fun of the audience, she was bold.
For Razel would make fun of anyone she was mad at,
she was blunt and obnoxious like a brat.
Now funny times with Jim was such a delight,
we had fun at Hemp's South Shore Comedy night.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 13,2012

www.suzae.com

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Free to Liquor Up and Pray

They've joked themselves
Right into remoteness.
Mintrels of salvation conditioned...
And prepared to say 'cheese'
With the guaranteed backing,
Of an appropriate missionary squeeze.
Promoted to angelic heights...
They have become addicted to and love!
Hoping one day they too will be declared saints,
For a display of good behavior...
Exquisite manners and pristine etiquette!
Wishing to be considered good children,
For the rest of their lives!

That needed 'fix' keeps them affixed
To the crucifix as if their sacrifices
Are ones to be praised.
These actions keep them crazed...
And so entertaining!

In pews praying to be released,
From their own demonic fears applied.
As they request for a more repetitiousness,
To hear Lucifer's name proclaimed from the pulpits!
By ordained and orthodox pimps!
Or whoever adorns a mask representing...
A disguised lust,
Probing the congregation for a mid-week tryst!
'You can handle your sins my brothers and sisters.
Like I fondle my own.
For I too have sinned...
But don't keep those tithes from coming in!
Remember...
The more you give,
The more you will be deceived! '

Shouldn't that be 'received? ',
Reverand Hoodwinker?

'You get my drift!
Just fill my pockets with your love!
That's all I ask! '

And this has kept them insignificant.
With minds stripped and powerless.
Desposited into divine images of ludicrous concepts.

'He's got a new CD out you know? '

Who? Reverand Hoodwinker?

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Poet wishing, watching, waiting

My life’s ludicrous lust.
A poignant perplexed poet, pondering.
Outside drones descend to dull him.
His envious egocentric eyes resting empty.
His fearful façade forever facing,
A woeful world which watches his wasting,
Only to see his exterior disintegrating,
The crumbling and scatterings of his dreams emptying,
Turning to fragments all to be wasted,
Turning to dust free of his lust.
Never to live.
Never to trust.
Never being seen.
No shining beam.
My life’s ludicrous lust.
Inside it blossoms, how I wish I could trust.
To follow my lust, all I need is trust.

poem by Paul Latham
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To be persuasive, we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible, we must be truthful.

quote by Edward R. Murrow
Added by Lucian Velea
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To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; credible we must be truthful.

quote by Edward R. Murrow
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