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Details | Dirty Poem | |

Love Poem - 29

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
redundancies and repetition,
items that people throw into the wind,
kick around and step upon.

I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn.
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I have already found.

The old man who sits in a rain-filled gutter,
seemingly oblivious to the water sluicing down the hill,
splashing against his clothes -
fists raised up to the heavens in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly beloved wife....

....I fell in love with him too.

I fall in love with things that some people deem as insignificant,
ugly, morose, dirty and immoral.
The more I fall in love, the more I love each passing moment,
including the pain, torture and misery that may appear along the way.

If I write down treasonously treacherous words,
the reader could assume such words to be rooted in rage
or a cynical outlook. But the words are actually born out of love -
I love every single word in existence.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while still maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with the woman 
who is too shy to have a proper conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be very ugly,
when in fact, she is an exquisitely gorgeous woman.

I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of rotting seaweed on the shore,
the way her hair smells baking in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
hypnotized by the essence the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles, the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat who after watching the moving truck drive away,
slunk around the alley in search of scraps -
over the years, she has proven to be
a most respectful and loyal animal.
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms when it shines
through the cracked antique windowpane
which I simply cannot find the presence to replace.


And as for the people who think that my love is a whole
different spectrum of emotions,
or how it is impossible for someone like myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day....

....well, I love them too.





April 6th, 2012

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Texian Macabre Arena

The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
 
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
Summer, afternoon, lying wounded, next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction in a land of disgrace
A blood thirsty battlefield, is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind my hands that bled
Crawlers, rendering their lives upon the open space
 
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing the warm feeling 
Summer rain, lungs of blood, their last dying post
Glorious by numbers, every blade was screaming 
Gemstone losing touch, in touch with the Holy Ghost  
Soldiers come in a little closer, as if they were only dreaming
Crawling, missing limbs, twisted nightmare with no ending

Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under the walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against every last dying breath,
Dirty piles of crashing wind pipes, and sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle and dying breath

The Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on the wall, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
The fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, and face

Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin.
Distant, before Texas and her annexation, 
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!

By:PD

Details | Dirty Poem | |

A List: I'm the Poet -To Carrie

.
                Dedicated to Carrie Richards

I am 
the wandering breeze in the wheat field
the pawn advancing to the eighth rank
the ocher leaves under the window
the One Hundred Years of Solitude
the One Thousand and One Nights
the disappointment of the elderly
the pile of dirty dishes in the sink
the water trickling into the sewer
the hand that calls and defends
the vast ocean that drowns me
the widower feeding the doves
the five drops of Chanel No. 5
the saddest verses of Neruda
the insect hidden in a cocoon
the impotence of forgiveness
the Tango and the Tarantella
the windmills of Don Quixote
the sadness of the hunger
the barking dog that bites
the prelude and the fugue
the glass of wine to share
the illusion of the outcast
the puddles on the street
the new kid in the school
the orphan in the asylum
the color of the shadows
the lies of the politicians
the rain on a sunny day
the message in a bottle
the petal and the thorn
the laughter of children
the blindness of Borges
the feather in the wind
the moss on the stone
the beard of Whitman
the Nuremberg Trials
the door always open 
the underpaid worker
the mistletoe waiting
the hair in your food
the tangerine wedge
the gasp to nowhere
the last surrenderer
the beggar's refuge
the pointing finger
the foam of anger
the broken mirror
the clocks of Dali
the curving road
the trail of tears
the garlic breath
the bitter vomit
the Nazca lines
the lost island
the false note
the joy of sin
I am Death
underwear
buccaneer
sunflower
solstice
silence
sperm
guitar
lover
gore
war 
you
we
I'm  the poet.




.

Details | Dirty Poem | |

I AM

I am Tim
I am Tim
Tim I am
That Tim-I-am!
That Tim-I-am!

I do not like
that Tim-I-am!
Do you like
green eggs and ham?
I do not like them,
Tim-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.

CUT CUT CUT.....That's Dr Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham....now why did I start writing that...Oh I know must have been the 500 times I read it to my 4 year old daughter last weekend...I asked her older sister and two older brothers but no I did read them Dad-I-am!

A father of four and proud of them all
Youngest is still short, my oldest- he's tall
Give to them my time, wouldn't have it any other way
Playing tennis, coaching baseball or driving to ballet

Hard worker, they say, a motor that wont quit
Adapt with a hammer, chain saw or drill bit
Not afraid to get dirty, greasy, smelly or wet
Work sun up to sun down with barely a sweat

My friends are my treasures, I hold them real tight
Each one is special but they all are a delight
If they are ever in need, I'm there in a flash
Bringing comfort, happiness, and the occasional cash

I am quick with the wit and enjoy a good laugh
Not too into vanity, a quick shower no bath
I am a lover of woman and a lover of life
I am married to nature she is a great wife

Grew up rough and tumble, clawing for scraps
Volunteer, mentor, teacher, wore many caps
Wear my heart on my sleeve, shy away from a spat
Tim, Timmy, Timothy...I am who I am and that is that



I am contest
I am male 

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Pirate Bay

```Pirate Bay the Haiku``` 

pirates fierce and mean 
drowning fish, sea to sea 
parrots on their butt 


```Polly Wants A Cracker``` 

bloodthirst & brutal 
Quartermaster Gone Wild 
dirty wings on deck 


```Sea World Adventure``` 
ship crew goes on strike 
sailing the Caribbean 
wooden leg splashing 


~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~ 
                PD & Phil Boy

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Indian Girl

--Virginia Slim--

Different eyes, the same world 
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl 
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair 
---Now listen to  the colors, of transformation, 
On the day she was born, the wind blew in, 
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A  gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim

Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names. 
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl, 
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man 
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,

Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman, 
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero, 
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look, attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas, tricked and captured, 
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over, 
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands

Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before princess, 
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision 
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands

by;PD

Details | Dirty Poem | |

What Only Angles Hear

Daddy never did understand.
That violence doesnt bring comfort.
A lost soul seeking acceptance from a unwelcome hand.

She was silent no one ever knew.
The secrets behind her bruised eyes.
A shocking victem none but all had a clue.

She cried to empty walls never speaking aloud from fear.
A confession of pain and shattred trust.
this is only what angles hear.

Scars selfinflicted  are better than that 
dirty feeling.
As she lays a broken shell gazing  at the celling.

She questions if others know what will they say.
Doing whatever it takes to stay numb.
Innocence lost a parent should never betray.

The guilt was placed apon the wrong head.
Void of all emotion.
No child should yern to be dead.

At times it gets to uncomfortable so in 
another direction we  steer.
For at times it's just to painful to stomach.
What only angles  hear.

Details | Dirty Poem | |

A Little Foggy

The fog is so thick I can not see the sticks, that in a wasted life,
rise off the dirty grave of the forest floor. 
There is no beauty that could compare to the sight
of the thick ground clouds, that embrace my morning. 
To run through the moisturous blanket into the unseen
and unknown would be a spectacular thrill. 
The cool droplet of water stroking my feet, as they are released from
the tall finger grasses. tickle me kindly. 
I chase the fog as its spread of mystery begins to rise
and confines back up into the sky. 
I reach for the heartbeat of the fog, hoping that surrounding my skin,
with its life, it would carry me away. 
I dance with it deeper into the dense woods, where it awakens the pine trees, 
with its wet breath. 
Higher and higher the fog rises.
I climb a welcoming oak tree,
stretching with its limbs grabbing for the clouds. 
Take me away my morning fog, I want to ride this elevator to the sky,
to the heavens, take me away. 
The fog disappaites and I am left with misty hands and empty eyes. 
I look around clearly, seeing the crispness of nature,
basking in all her beauty 
From the heights of this old oak tree,
I realize... I am lost. 


Vibrant Verse Contest
07/30/2014

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Jan The Footle Queen-Collaboration

There's a green eyed lady we have seen
She gives to all hugs, smiles and love
Her footle  rhymes soar high above
I nominate her the official footle queen

Funny 
Hunny 


Goddess 
No less 


Witty 
Bitty 

Our queen 
Obscene

My dear 
I hear 

Flirty 
Dirty 

(mistake 
I make) 
Cassie's 
Sassy
 
Demand 
Not Jan 

We'll meet 
Retreat 

Some fun 
Rerun 

Rewind 
Til blind 

Her smile
Worthwhile

Big heart
Does fart

Blunder
Wonder

Our Jan
Big fan 


Collaboration with Casarah Nance


Details | Dirty Poem | |

- Alcoholic - The lion roars



                                          He has no
                                          longer his own will
                                          Caught in the lion's caves
                                          dark gray clouds closes sunlight
                                          He wants but can not
                                          nothing to lose,
                                                                 is he a loser?
                                          Thoughts about life
                                                                  worthless
                                          The past, no roses without thorns
                                          A zero
                                          Tomorrow will come
                                          He sits on a bench in the park
                                                                       cold and dirty
                                           a half-full bottle of spirits
                                           This is his life
                                           a day without sunshine
                                           He hears the lions roaring
                                                         trying to block out the sound






19.05.2013
A-L  Andresen :)

Details | Dirty Poem | |

There is no good in goodbye

Had my heart not shattered into stainless steel shards,
I would have never been severed by a deck of playing cards.
Dealing with the black and red death of fifty two faces,
Shuffling wax coated cards looking for the bloody aces.
In tights worn and wasted, I've been the joker far too long,
Hands on the Kings sword, battles bow to the broken song.

Can I forgive you, for I cannot forget the agony,
A million lies and memories die under breath of me.
Paper cuts drip my poisoned blood in on the wax floor.
Fallen is this house of cards, I cannot stand you anymore.
Faces all they do is laugh at me, mocking my jester grin.
Chiming of these bells on my hat, heart broken harlequin.

Razor blade smile cuts open tear stained scars,
Burns on my palms from trying to reach the stars.
Withering like roses, blown away like ash in the breeze,
Wing clipped angel crawls on the ground with dirty knees.

Arrows hitting the bulls eye, painful piercing pride dies,
When is there ever any good in the saying of goodbyes.


12-26-2014

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Shades of Poe , Speaketh

Shades of Poe , Speaketh


Shades of Poe oft run in my veins
dark, dirty little splashing stains
No Raven stirs my battered heart
nor any signs on my astrology chart

Dark mysteries seep in at night
shadowed beings birthing fright
Muffled sounds sent to alarm
evil crying to scare and harm

Then my soul cries out to Poe
help me now , for you must know
Remedy for this sad affliction
a spell to give quick eviction

Reply creeps slowly back to me
close your eyes to sadly see
Darkness that drives men mad
such my heart and soul once had

No cure can by me be so gifted
you need Light to be so uplifted
My words are my aid little as is
answer you seek can only be His
Son of Light only can save you
my darkness left me only that clue!

Robert J. Lindley  10-12-2014

note:  Tis' the month the Dark spreads 
its evil mists to kids tucked in beds,
scary voices crying muffled shouts,
battles and shadowed little bouts,
goblins, ghouls and witches now abound
imagine such and they are then found!

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Karma

Yesterday, I followed her true invisible form
Colors turning a kaleidoscopic deep and warm

A state of mind, that makes reality feel alive
Stabbing moments that teach how tough it is to survive
And still this dagger is penetrating into my back real slow
Sweeping away the grimace under the rug in a one woman show 

Illusive dreams asking for more and more
Sinking with doom, as karma sways through heaven's door
There she keeps her walk on stilts avoiding kismet
Removing every single footprint before sunset

Spending eternity planning the bliss we cannot see
Quenching my confidence, with a moisture that pleasures me
Arching a dirty deed, aiming all fingers that point at me
Spreading her demonic ecstasy, a mass of light weight, we can't see

A giggle-some laugh, I cannot hear
Tainted, in a nefarious way as the night disappears
Delighted, she glistens through the celestial world alone
A whisper of love with an impossible auspicious tone

Epic and exquisite, she works incognito striking whomever she wants
She Is The Enigma!" She Is the Illness~ that forever haunts
A mysterious lady whose perception flows with her own timeless oasis
An Empress is working on her own simplicity basis

My body impervious to react to conflicts that dwell with deep desire
Aggressively my defiant ways will allow her excessive universe to transpire
Like a lily we give in to the beauty of her empress exploding ravenous lust
It's magical and feeds off of the revenge that deepens with thrust

Down in the lilac valley, storming down like a glacier leaving nothing below
We caress we emerge, then we dust off the repellent of her forsaken glow
Leaving us with wounds, when our conflicts ricochet
Impacting us with a rebound when everything bounces back our way

She Springs in like a breeze that dwells and leaves gallivant
Past shadows, swing back with a darker chant
Leaving nothing but a Chinese Aster garden terrace
Her crown, sheer vixen and vigor with Victoria's fantastical lace

Her candle desalinate effect with a gentle glow
Everything to her is an issue with the results that come and go
Karma's punishments sail real slow, against the wind, waged by the zephyr
Rebuilding from the aftermath of, Karma's payback splenetic weather

Close your eyes and feel the consequences we embrace
Secretly every wage comes with reward from our hubris sin
A grasp with no escapes from the repercussion and deeds in our hearts
Doors spillover, in a significant unexplained phenomenal start

...

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Didn't Don't

.

Didn't Don't
Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
   didn't don't       
            didn't don't
Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it. Don't doubt it. Don't think.

Somebody handcuffs my steps. Somebody determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will, there is a slap on my head
      and phosphenes like stars that command my orbit.
Before I can recognize differences, there is a slap on my hand
      right hand, not left hand...never ambidextrous; 
      and time out is isolation without a trial...and I learn
                               the fear of wrongdoing
                               remote-controlling my existence,
conditional on demand, predesigned
      and easily
      and obviously
      frightened
An aborted freedom escaping into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat

I'm the observer of other lives, not mine               
tied up and chained, in captivity 
attempting to prove an alibi 
                    for being alive.
No one cares
not even myself

Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
   didn't don't       
           didn't don't
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.

commitments, commandments... Commandments, Commitments
                               Salvation... Damnation
Sometimes deception makes them ring in a low tone. Sometimes
I do what they say, and not what they do, and not what I want, and not what I think.

                 Through   fragments   of   this   duplicity,
                                               and   this   duplicity, 
I would be able to rebuild myself,
                                and Myself, into another hypocritical being;
and the intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth,
                                or the liar paradox,
                                will be sovereign
leading to the use of tricks and cotton swabs.

When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise,
I would be happy through imaginary experiences,
consistently depurated,
consistently believed to be true.
             
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin...my flesh off of my bones?
How could I blame them? How could I possibly judge them?
Order and obedience in confabulation...in conspiracy...in complicity

If somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
If I'm the only one guarding my own cell
If I'm the jailer, and the convict, and the crime.


.



Details | Dirty Poem | |

A twisted tale -Mardi Gras-

Mardi Gras "The Medieval Story"  

On a hot, heavy night in Orleans,
Joan and Jane were seen rubbing chest on chest
An inviting, intimate moment, to undress
Two pretty trimmed tops, eating like dames
They touched in ways, that drove those who make war insane
The secret spilled, before the sun sprawled across the floor

Medieval England, banging on iron set doors,
All around men and women, wanting to witness the whiplash 
Beads and beads of love, thrown at their feet
Joan' and Jane', having fun in front of, yesterdays courtyard
Sweet acts of flagellation were performed to stimulate the crowd
Screaming, and receiving, intense, brutal lacerations 
In the eyes of endless nudity, everything wet in between 
Left to right, a secluded society, dance in masquerade 
Two men rise and ravage Jane, from hip to hip
Join-in, was a Jouster, and Lord Johnsburgh, 
They came-in a little closer to claim, Joan
Closing, and inflicting as much damage as possible

Crestfallen forces of the unknown, -the audience grows
Remain firm and indulge this wet period of the Middle Ages,

The first crusade, held stones in each hand, 
Applauding to neck the beauty of friends
A noose hanging high, held no head on this day
Yelling to feel the pain perils of anguish, 
This was in reality the vassal of Jane
The King, ask to see them on their knees
Before he seeded, sending the Spanish tickler, 
Fetching for the finest skin
At her end, Joan, watched Jane, spread like never before
Perfumed skin, rising up in smoke, -Joan's final stroke
Left burning at the Stake, In a Medieval World, from hell
The Siege of Joan and Jane, did not end well
 
A lonely Bard, now sits and sings a sadistic tale,
A tale, of dirty deeds, -a dancing bloody masquerade 
Joan and Jane, compensating for the Mardi Gras Parade

By: SKAT

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Cloud - Recited

http://youtu.be/X5lfjFatgZU

Floating in the sky...
Changing patterns fill my eye...
What will you become?

Vagabond and wanderer...
Riding wind so high,
No matter where it blows.
You thumb your way to places
I have been and some I'll never know.

Chameleon...
Changing shape and color,
Hiding your identity,
Until you speak with beauty and power.
First, a turtle, moving slowly.
Crawling and paddling in peaceful grace.
Next, a shark swimming swiftly
Consuming those around you.
Finally a dinosaur...
Your neck and tail extended
So I will know your name...
Forgetting you're a cloud.

Vagabond and wanderer...
Just vapor in the air, traveling everywhere.
Marshmallow treat
So soft and sweet...
Then dirty and dark...you loudly speak.
Rain, thunder and lightening are your friends.
It's pleasant when your anger ends,
And rainbows arch to show me where you've been.

At night, your shadow hides the stars
And makes us wander where they are.
You choose to show selected few
The moon and stars...romantic you.

Sunrise...you meet the sun with colors of the day.
A canvas. A pleasant palette 
Where light can play.
Sunset...you form a beautiful pillow
To gently catch the sun.
So rays may rest til morrow come.

Vagabond and wanderer...
Tomorrow let me see your face,
Another chance ...
To watch you dance...
Until you catch a ride...
Shift shape...
And hide.


Ray Dillard
2-14-13

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Love In The Trenches



Now this is my definition of love It's much like wrestling in the mud You get down and dirty And say things quite flirty Then it all comes together with a thud You scream out bloody murder together Promise your undying love forever Roll over and whisper The name of her sister Then you realize that wasn't too clever She pummels your head without any mercy You attempt to defend 'gainst her fury You start to see rainbows And a bunch of pretty halos A ferocious little dynamo this girlie Well eventually you recover your senses And are able to put up some defences You plant a big smacker On this sweet li'l attacker Then it's back to love in the trenches © Jack Ellison 2015

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Response of A Harried Housewife To Her Spouse

“The children are always interrupting. You never have time for me,” her husband whined as he dropped his dirty clothes right there on the floor by the bed. Trying not to roll her eyes, she gave this quick response to her disgruntled spouse: “The kids, chores and mishaps have me spinning, and you tell me you feel rejected. To have a blissful home takes two. Consideration is key. I’m also missing you! To be successful in our bed, take time OUT of it. . . for ME!” A Double Etheree written May 27, 2012 for David Williams' The Three H's Poetry Contest

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Exposure: Part I

Today I conceived myself as a poet for the first time,
and not because of employable meter, rhyme, and flow -
I will leave such devices for the wordsmiths and Masters.

And not because I can write poetry....what I do,
should be labelled as something else entirely -
not as poetry.
I am an organic recorder, filing away bits and pieces of zeitgeist,
without rhyme or reason,
almost as if ghosts are guiding my hand across the paper,
and I really don't have much say in the matter.

I am a stranger in a crowded world,
a stranger amongst people I have known for years,
not quite fitting in anywhere, but being in all places at once.
I write the words down, they in turn speak to me.
A clear, mutual agreement -
the smell and feel of new paper,
the liquid, brashness of ink as it penetrates the virgin whiteness
of so many possible observations, opinions and stories.
The words know me intimately.
We aren't strangers.
The reality of vowels and consonants is where I truly fit.

I was moving through a crowd of familiar faces -
a familiar feeling of strangeness and alienation,
when I came across a Persian face I had never seen before.
A real stranger.
Not one I have known for years.
She mentioned not being into sex,
how she only wanted to talk about things she couldn't mention to friends -
her mind felt as if it was floating by the moon 
and she wasn't sure how to reel it back into her skull again.
I told her not to worry, sex isn't the only thing on my brain.
She said that sex was the only thing on her brain;
but in a different way.
She explained how she had been kidnapped in Iran,
imprisoned as a sex-slave, 
repeatedly raped by rich business men who wore wedding bands.
I asked if she was filled with hate.
She wasn't quite sure.

"What does hate feel like?"

"Well, it shouldn't be mistaken for rage, anger or frustration.
Those emotions are red hot to the touch.
Hate is a cold thing.
Like a Raven perched on the railing of a bridge,
sleet bouncing off its feathers,
not caring to fly away even though cars are barrelling past,
flinging up dirty, February slush.
There is nowhere left to fly to.
The trees are all cut down,
dumpsters have tight lids,
for some reason the fish are all belly-up in the river below,
dead from some mysterious reason.
Its stomach aching from hunger,
the Raven smells the reason for all of this death
emanate from the strange looking beasts walking and driving past.
It is all their fault -
they are the poison behind it all.
This is hate."

(cont'd)

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Tongue Study

Tongue Study 4/22/2014


Tongue Study

Steady it wags
needing to know
more,about the
the very thing that
causes wars.
peace and pain
I study my tongue.
Much has been said
about the tongue yet
how has it pertained
to my own.
My tongue has delivered
and served,it has given
and taken,it has blessed,
it has cursed.
It has been written
and it has been SAID.
the tongue can be tied,twisted
curt,sweet,sharp,wagging or
bragging.

It may be your
native tongue
or foreign,it may be
exciting or boring.
If quiet is your tongue
the cat may have it.

If you use your
tongue to speak ill
of the dead you may,
challenge a force and
be cursing your life's course.

The tongue's confession's
may sweep out
dirty secrets from the
corners of your mind.

Wise words have fallen on death
ears, words smothered by pride.
truth escaped lying eyes.
Ignoring what you saw and
twisting what was heard.

Tongues may bond
with imbeciles or angels
forming positive
or negative energy.

Be careful,mind your tongue
it is closes to your own ears
and will affect you first,rather
before the others hear.

Be not at the mercy of 
an imbecilic tongue
read their eyes
and duck the darts
about to be thrown. 

Do not despise the
foreign tongue
for it is the aptitude 
of the brain, the tunnel
to his bilingual do not
expect the champions,
to cater to the dunce,
who can barley
master his own tongue.

In general I have concluded
weather you live by the sword or
stand on principals, I had to
learn to manage my tongue
as I would a loaded gun.

I will not justify my tongue
when I use it's power for wrong
and neither hold my piece,
to placate the sword of the unjust..
the real power is in
the righteousness
of the spoken tongue..

For those who live by
the sharp and sworded tongue
and wield words as death
blows to the innocent,
or those who are silent,
while others suffer
May also die
by the mighty tongue.
or by the holding of it.

Details | Dirty Poem | |

The Other Woman

While your hands caress my body, is it her face that you see?
Is your thunder of release now brought on by HER memory?

Am I just a luscious body that contains HER living soul?
Just an instrument of passion where your craving are made whole?

Life has played a dirty trick, though, for our story’s gone and changed
Sentiments which were so true then, all have now become deranged

I am left to grieve and wonder how she came to steal your heart
Was my love not good enough, then? Did she fill some hidden part?

Did a fantasy not flourish, was some longing left unknown?
Tell my heart what made you love her, why your heart for me is stone?

Here you lie in pleasure’s arms, yet every thought is there instead
Naked, grieved, I’m left to wonder what it feels like to be dead

Eileen Manassian




Details | Dirty Poem | |

Time For More

Ooo ah baby, I just gotta hear you some more,
Put on my headphones,a world of worlds we explore,
Lyrical romance, you got me spinnin' on all night,
Hearin' your language makes me tingle ya alright.

Baby you got me on, got me up, got me going,
I hear the rapping of your tongue sexy baby, I'm glowin'
I love it so much, Oo this heart ain't slowin'
Here is what I want from you, but I bet ya already be knowin'

Time for more, I hit repeat
Play that song again, threepeat
Over and over in my head playin'
Yeah baby I like what yer sayin'

Doin it dirty, that's the way we like done
Ridin' with no saddles oh you're the one.
a pitbull got the bark you gonna make me bite
Here's the way I like it, uh huh baby that's right

Time for more, I hit repeat
Play the song again, threepeat
Over and over in my head playin'
Yeah baby, I dig what yer sayin'

I'm gonna be your freak, give me your moment
Just an hour or two, it'll be time worthy you spent
Tie it up, take it down, get a lil' nasty I like it wild.
Come and kiss these tasty lips melt into mild.

Time for more, I hit repeat
Play me another musical treat



08-16-2014

Details | Dirty Poem | |

Casarah's Soup Party

I went to a garden party, where all the soupers came 
They didn't recognize me from my avatar, only from my name. 
And those who have only pictures of flowers or of bugs 
We sure did enjoy giving them a lot of kisses and hugs. 

Cause we all write now, we verse our stanzas well
We can't write for everyone, but we get to write ourselves

Soupers came for many miles, all the poets were there
Peter brought Vera, there was some magic in the air
And over in the garden, to the toad's surprise
Jan stood in Stan's shoes hiding in his disguise

Cause we all write now, we verse our stanzas well
We can't write for everyone, but we get to write ourselves

Lott-in-dah-dah-dah, lot-in-dah-dah-dah.

The music was lyrics the poets have all posted 
And wine and champagne were drunk when we toasted 
Said hello to Arthur, for he is one of the three
When he told his dirty limericks, it was time to leave

Cause we all write now, we verse our stanzas well
We can't write for everyone, but we get to write ourselves

Lot-dah-dah-dah (lot-dah-dah-dah) lot-in-dah-dah-dah.

Someone opened the bedroom door and found the Poet D.
Writing verse and greeting new poets, being nice as can be
If you go to Casarah's  party be ready to stay up all night
We will dance and write, with all our might, for poetry is our right

Cause we all write now, we verse our stanzas well
We can't write for everyone, but we get to write ourselves

Lot-dah-dah-dah (lot-dah-dah-dah) lot-in-dah-dah-dah.

Cause we all write now, we verse our stanzas well
We can't write for everyone, but we get to write ourselves

*sung to the music of "Garden Party"
Tim Smith
Dave's Dreams Contest
6/28/2014

Details | Dirty Poem | |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.

Details | Dirty Poem | |

DRUNKEN POET

         *DRUNKEN POET*

There I see him sitting like a dummy.
Asking me for more shots of rummy

Talking about his detox days.
Talking about his poetic ways.

Rhyming my eyes comparing them to the moon.
Whispering lines saying he wants too spoon.

Next thing you know his words start getting deep.
Poeting out words revealing he's the family's black sheep.

His blood shot level was releasing his emotional word.
Dreaming that I was in a bath like a dirty bird.

Intoxicated with a breath so refreshing.
Designing me a thousand  passionate ones in the meshing

Falling for his physical and mental temporary drunken state       
His sense of intellectual things where hitting me real straight.

Swallowing his words like a forbidden love potion
I excessively indulged him with more alcohol to inspire his motion

Admitting to me that love was his downfall. 
For me he fell from the stars and than began to crawl.

Proposing a toast for the sake of love
Rambling how I'm the only one he's dreaming of

Nourishing me with his ocean water of affection
Re-bonding his words for me to be his resurrection

Call me crazy for feeling the connection!
Allowing him to penetrate his poetry in me like an injection.

A character so loving above a 99% liquor proof test.
Romancing me with the disguise that he is the best.

Restraining myself from this drunken poet called my husband
Remembering that he is the one fool I can not stand

In his most charming rhyme he called me his rehab.
By that time I knew it was time to call him a cab.

Reminding him about his Alcoholic Anonymous class.
Now all of a sudden he starts acting like an a$$!

Putting his drunken sober poet mind  to sleep.
Anyways tomorrow he will still be the same poetic romantic creep!

BY: P.D.