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Best Dirty Poems

Below are the all-time best Dirty poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of dirty poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Dirty Poem |

Peg-Leg Pete The Pirate And Dirty Deadeye Dan

Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate was a very evil man,
He used to eat his dinner from a filthy frying pan,
And when he’s finished eating he’d play “catch me if you can”
With his desperado first-mate known as Dirty Deadeye Dan.

Now Dan was quite a ladies man, but also fond of booze,
In bars and streets and hotels he liked to drink and cruise,
He used to taunt old-Peg Leg Pete by dragging up old news,
Like Pete had only ever needed half a pair of shoes.

One day Pete had quite enough and things got pretty scary,
Confronting Dirty Deadeye Dan whose mood was always lairy,
A sudden hush fell on the room when Pete clumped in the bar
And Dan called out: “Hey, Peg-Leg, hop on over, have a jar.”

Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate clasped the pistol on his hip
And snarled at Dirty Deadeye Dan: “Enough of your damn lip.”
The floozy sat upon Dan’s lap was dumped onto the floor
And Dan rose to his feet and hissed: “You’d best limp out the door.”

Across the sawdust, blood-stained floor they faced each other down,
And you could hear a pin drop from the other side of town,
Eyes were locked and fingers twitched and seconds seemed like days
The tension burned unbearably and shimmered in the haze.

Both men drew their pistols and both men fired fast,
Flame spat from the barrels with the bullets roaring past,
But neither man could aim for squat and when their guns were done
They’d killed two people in the bar but they weren’t either one.

The barman Blind-man Billy Bragg and the floozy Scar-Faced Sue
Lay dead as dead as doornails, as doornails tend to do,
And through the pall of gun-smoke and the mist of rum and beer
Deadeye Dan called out to Pete: “We’d best get out of here.”

And so they did, they fled the bar, and vanished in the night,
Back to their ship, The Crippled Cock, and sailed on out of sight,
Never to return to shore, and never seen again,
The rumour is they sank and drowned just off the Spanish Main.

The moral of the story is that when you draw a gun,
Be prepared to end your days always on the run,
“Or in your case, always on the limp,” said Dirty Deadeye Dan
To Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate, that very evil man. 


Details | Dirty Poem |

True Art Is A Dirty Deed Done Right

On my way to the loo,
to drop a big number two.

Cannot wait for my stool,
to slip into the porcelain pool.

And 'slip' is one of the key words here-
don't want a huge splash to appear,
planting a wet kiss upon my cheeks.

Achieving the proper poo-poo,
is an artistic perfection of doo-doo.
A life long process of eating the correct combinations,
and keeping the moisture levels just right-
this can save a lot of personal plight.

When I drop a number two,
after it begins to 'peek-a-boo',
I can do without any soft feculent ejecta
resembling a meadow-muffin,
or a sloppy cow pie.

Neither do I want it come out in chunky chiplets,
or large, hardened boulders.
My number two should not be too hard, 
nor too soft and squishy,
resulting in a mess, so sticky.

I am an environmentalist at heart,
trying to pitch in and do my part,
by not wasting too much paper,
when wiping my crappy caper.

A smooth perfect glide,
proceeded by a nice slide
into the porcelain pool,
with a splendid, artistic stool.

No belly-flop splash.
No sticky residue to deal with.
A perfect crime without a paper trail,
or fingerprints of this dirty deed.

When the art of making number two
is truly mastered,
the end result is better hygiene.
Materials thin and sparse,
separate an unclean arse,
from our sitting arrangements.
Constantly see people on the couch,
laying their face
on the very place,
where so many bottoms have dwelt.

There is no greater pleasure,
then wiping my hidden treasure,
with one single wipe.
One single swipe,
and no residue to show.
With my artful crevasse,
I can outclass
anyone with my gassy sass,
of dropping the perfect pass.
A near flawless white piece of paper,
leaves my dung-dispensing caper.

On my way to the loo
to drop a nice number two-
a release of my mastered doo-doo,
pushing out a classy, clean-cut poo-poo.


Details | Dirty Poem |

Shut Your Dirty Mouth

Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.

I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.

Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
you’re saying.

Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.

Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.

This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.

Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.

Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.


Details | Dirty Poem |

A Dirty Basement Room

A Dirty Basement Room In a dirty basement room a baby cries Weakened mother was defiled Forced my law to birth a child Upon a dirty pillow she lies In a dirty room the mother dies Mother and son soon reconciled Victims of government gone wild A time to live a time to die Angry rapist walks streets free Will they listen to her plea? In a dirty basement room a baby cries Angry rapist runs streets free In a dirty basement room mother dies Will they listen to her plea?


Details | Dirty Poem |

A Dirty Room

Boy was my room a mess!
It'll be considered the best
for a rats' nest.  
I look under the bed,
I find stains that were 
blue, green, and red.
Personally, I'm scared to dread
to know what has stained under
my bed! 
I look to the trash bucket,
it overfills with all sorts
of muck in it 
where the plastic been has
been stuck to it.
I opened the dresser drawer,
an explosion of socks and
underwear hit the floor.
And past, old love letters 
and belts and hats and more
have exploded out to the floor.
My vanity is trashed.
My chair is smashed
And each time I go for a sit,
I fall on my toosh and be crashed.
I've got dirty dishes everywhere,
with extra food for bugs to spare.
It makes a smell of quite despair
that makes us plug our noses in the air.

Sometimes though, instead cleaning
an hour a day
I find it all worth it
to spend four weeks to par-tay,
and only one weekend to clean the pit ;) 


Details | Dirty Poem |

That dirty little N word

           That dirty lil "N" word,
Oh how I hate it so, plagued with such
Destruction, in ways we will never know
           That dirty lil "N" word,
Echos in the wind, teenagers using. It 
Randomly, joking with there friends
            That dirty lil "N" word,
It discredits "who we are" the values, love,
And beauty, beyound our skin colour thus far.
             That dirty lil "N" word,
Used in hip hop songs, continuing its ignorance
For a next generation, to carry on.
              That dirty lil "N" word,
Embarrsed by its content, breeds so much hatred,
From the mental turmoil, it despence.  
               That dirty lil "N" word
Little did I say!! How could a word so lil, impact
Others in such a big way. 
                That dirty lil " N" word. 
Take it as you may, unfortunetly in this culture,
                It is here to stay!!!


Details | Dirty Poem |

Made You Look You Dirty Crook



“Made you look you dirty crook!” And all those colourful phrases Have vanished from our lexicon They now belong to the ages! “Keep your nose to the grindstone!” Is another from way back when So sad they've all but disappeared Wish they'd come back again! Since the dawn of the computer age We speak in a different fashion Conversing in very short sentences Use acronyms without any passion! We seem to have totally lost the ability To have an intelligent conversation Emailing, texting, talking on Facebook A computer age generation! I really long for those simpler days When people took time to listen All the world seemed friendlier then Now feels like something's missing! © Jack Ellison 2012


Details | Dirty Poem |

Made You Look You Dirty Crook

“Made you look you dirty crook!”
And all those colourful phrases
Have vanished from our lexicon
They now belong to the ages!

“Keep your nose to the grindstone!”
Is another from way back when
So sad they've all but disappeared
Wish they could go back again!

Since the dawn of the computer age
We speak in a different fashion
Conversing in very short sentences
Using acronyms without much passion!

We now seem to have lost the ability
To have an intelligent conversation
Emailing, texting, or some such device
Or some other glitzy presentation!

I really long for those simpler days
When people took time to listen
And all the world seemed friendlier
Now feels like something's missing!


Details | Dirty Poem |

"Dirty Wings"

I fell away into night
He tore at my limbs and my life
He left me laying in a corner
Dying with my shame and horror
My wings were bent and oh so dirty
They only came when they grew hungry
As you leave me here to die,
you promised me its the last time
I begged and cried and tried to follow
I lost you as you turned a corner
He flicks the bag all full of wonder
I turned to him all ripe with thunder
My wings were heavier then ever
I ripped them off and threw them down
As they fell they made no sound
My choice was made this was clear
I prayed the end would soon be near
Now only God could tread hear
He pulled me out of terror
He picked the wings up off the ground
My Lord put them back on without a sound...


Details | Dirty Poem |

warning: dirty senyru

at doctor's office
Virgin magazine waits
to be fingered


12/1/11


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