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Best Nasty Poems

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

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The Best Nasty Poems

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I Wore Your Skin

~I wore your skin~

Brother, I wore your skin last night
Nothing but friction, blood -dry ink
Announcing a crush "Silence by the Sky!"
Integrity denied, endangered enemy

Brother, I wore your skin last night, swollen ankles
  imagery galore, vomit on the lavatory floor
A clown bleeding red, feeding lies to those he rapes
Blades of need, captain catamite chasing a pup
Who can't resist the heat, when fenced
Brother, I wore your skin last night,
White, green and tight, devouring the light 
Mitten wool on your bottom draw
Lipstick waiting to kiss immediate sin
In search of keeping things close to kin
Brother I wore and tore your skin right off
Gross in every demonic way, 
Acrobats all over the home
Docile immunity, lurking with a bomb threat 

Sister, I wore your skin last night
Vanity of nothingness nutted blasphemy
Evil lurking, wanting to undress thee
Comparing notes, breaking bad company

Sister, I wore your skin last night, swollen lips
  scumbag hag, with nowhere to go
Immortal lies weaken by love
Revealing nothing more than her true self
A wraith with no heart, no goal
Sister, I wore your skin last night
Repeating, bleeding, nail biting
Greasy and powerful, needy and greedy
Aching and whining for not placing
Her head lower than shame holding a high
Sister I wore and swore to never put on your skin again
The nasty feeling, of pretending loyalty, is passion
To hate all those who don't fit your skin
A vulture preying sending encrypted messages

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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The Spirit Of Poetry Soup

I see her from a distance as she soars above the skies 
Below her are the poets, they are watching with big eyes 

Some are blowing windpipes to help the wind rescind
Some are pointing fingers and making lots of wind 

Some are leaving nasty notes while others blessing dotes 
Some don’t’ seem to care they are wearing many coats 

I see her from a distance she’s a dove with a broken wing 
Yes we own lyrics/words, and if we want to, we can sing 

Some just want to use you and some they love abuse 
Some write for the passion and some are quite abstruse 

I see her from a distance she lobs and walks with strut 
Sometimes she seems to me like a little wounded mutt

Some are blowing windpipes to help the wind rescind 
Some are blowing kisses to the windmills of the wind 

You can be the Blesser or you can be the Lesser   
You can put a Smile on us or you can be a Stressor  
 
I have to tell you something, I’m longing for some peace  
I’d rather be a loving dove than be the squawking geese

Some people crash and burn, and some they never learn 
Some people change and better, before they reach the urn 

I see her from a distance flying in the sky 
It’s up to us to keep her there and NOT to make her cry.


Written by: Mystic Rose 
May 4, 2014

I love you all and I am proud to be part of your family 
Please treat each other with kindness  
It’s a tough battle out there, let’s make poetry soup a haven 
And let’s start behaving….


 
Ps. This poem was not written with anyone in mind, it is not my intention to 
offend anyone just to make you aware of how much this site means to me 
and to all of you.


Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015

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Halloween's Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh now alive in this famous predestined time
Where dubious shadow shades run a riot as the ghastly ghosts of darkness,
Begin calling to all goblins, ghosts, ghouls, and witches in the graveyards;
To come alive—as black cats call out their signals to all lost souls seeking, 
Powerful black magic spells to aid the spirits of ancient alchemists as they
Brew their potions to dull the senses and conjure all the evil spirits on Earth.  

A falling silver-layer mist appears as these uncanny evil spirits invade our
Mortal plane and lost ghosts appear as hungry human skeletons looking for 
Sustenance and seem to be horrified at the stillness broken by a death-cold.
They scream as bloodless fingers touch cold shivers without a warm heart; 
And who knows for sure the sad and mournful song from an ancient grave,
As “The Undead” conjure ravenous demons seeking warm blood to feast on. 

Blended into the dust are the crows whose shadows as a “Dark Phantom,”
Begin to form and take his shape—yet fear not the potent occult light as
That special Halloween Eve super moon beams brilliant and bright making  
Its presence known as your destiny and destination are already decided as
The Ancient Alchemist beckons all of us to drink widely from his mystical
Chalice of Darkness as all malice is reconciled—the birds and beasts speak.
 
Life as we know it is offered upon the Demonic Alter as the Dark Phantom
Initiates all human sacrifices as a drool-dripping envy of all existence drops; 
And the lustful and vengeance-seeking Vampires scrape along the walls as
Sharp poisonous thorns begin tearing behind their secret inner-vision as the 
Deep-dark and dismally-damp curtains open and eclipse the radiant dawn as
An unpleasant and horrible pain visits and our heartbeats grow faint and stop.

An unending agony screams sonorously as a deafening silence falls over us. 
In this “Land of the Dead,” they make their own laws overwriting all limits,
As a vile, creeping, malevolent mist crawls down into the valley deep below; 
The Devil's Advocate slithers on in a nasty, vicious way under your own skin,
As shivering timbers of truth of a living being watches outside our bodies on 
This Halloween Eve as our individual dreams enter the Twilight Zone forever! 

The Devil’s clever wizards and witches concoct an ancient poisonous mixture,
As the boiling cauldron of demonically-enhanced soup is stewed with care and 
Fresh toads, spiders, worms, beetles, ticks, and tiny black snakes are added in.
This unholy and potent poisoned soup from centuries past is now blessed by
The Dark One—to take life from the living and give nourishment to the dead,
As the veil between The Living and The Dead disappears on Halloween Eve!   

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(October 1, 2015) (Free Verse)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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Being Bullied

Sometimes we all say things we don’t mean
Private thoughts to be kept inside that should never be seen
Then others join to be part of the scene
They use nasty words that are meant to demean

Scared to speak for fear of ridicule
How can others be so cruel
They join in because they think its fun
Not knowing the harm they do to anyone

Social media can be fun
But to those being bullied the damage is done
‘Do it, do it, just go away’
These are the words the bullies may say

Until one day the victim they may crack
Those poisoned words can’t be taken back
Till one day they can take no more
And are found lifeless on the bedroom floor

And then those who mock and those who scorn
Turn up at the funeral of those who they now mourn
So think before another word you say
Because the bullied may not be able to face another day


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

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In Forbearance

Where was I 
when repo men invaded,
possessed,
boxed me up within his cool heart
fragrant in its distaste of warmer climates?
You know,
climates governed by love.
(Daydreaming of knights, that's where.)

Now I have only so much patience remaining
for this slapstick brain-
a nasty reminder, the heckler of my heart,
what spews sensibility
when I simply yearn to err. 

And I scarcely have time to mourn
his devil's smile
leaving southward in moving vans
transporting my pieces
(all the valid ones)
with him
as I sit numbed,
next to climbing ivy poisoned by my disbelief,
broken
unpaid for.


Copyright © Melissa Schwartz | Year Posted 2005

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this is why i woo words

This is why I play philosophy
 on the field that lures lore,
 to gain the literati’s lovely trophy
 and the golden grains of life to explore.	

This is why I fraternize fair play
 on the pitch where wisdom wonders,
 to dichotomize shadows and sunray
 and to preach ours’ to plough and not to plunder.

This is why I write white
 on the surface that’s clean and clear
 to rid the world of nasty knight
 and to harmonize monks and men each year.

This is why I woo words 
 to have rhymes as my errand boy
and lyrics as the golden cords
around the poetry pen I will always employ.


Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2008

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Wild Cherries

A giant snowball in springtime
From twenty yards out the sound and smell
Closer now; breathing her numbing scent
Listening to the drowsy hum
of greedy and jealous bees
forced to share her bounty
with Tiger and Zebra Swallowtails
School will be out soon...

Memorizing every branch within reach
Her limbs are just low enough
for a boy to scramble up quickly
fleeing imaginary monsters
still lurking and prowling below
Taking ignorant and blissful advantage
of this daughter of the wild; his protector
His big sister to run to...

Shiny and slippery black bark
that oozes burgundy sap
which dries in animal shapes
Summer twilight is coming
Bats twittering overhead
chasing nasty mosquitoes
A noise echoing from far off
A door slamming maybe...

Tucked safely away in his favorite pew
(Naughty boy, eating during church!)
sampling her forbidden fruit
sweet and sour...half is seed
Thieving Blue Jays get the most
Screaming and scolding arrogantly
yet flying away unpunished
Grannny will make jelly...

Oh everlasting Father, creator of all things
He knows that heaven is far beyond the grasp
of a feeble and fumbling mortal mind
But when You decide to send Your beloved Son
back to rule the earth for one thousand years
If he is judged worthy to be in that count
May one humble servant say if it's like this
that would be just fine...





Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2009

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Jukebox Gigolo

Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!

Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!

Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.

Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.

Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first, 
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.

Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.

Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow, 
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.

Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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Animal of the Night

Animal of the Night

The animal of the night has an evil courage as its defense,
And with simple lies it now catches the filthy beast easily,
And can now stand and bask in God’s purest of sunshine,
Whilst valor and glory speak all power to one’s destiny!

Darkness doth now pervade and drinks slowly from that
“Chalice of the Faithless Heathen” who hides among the
Soulless Ones who are consumed by their hateful actions,
And spit thoughtlessly at your good will and human pride!

Hades’ very own dark demons tilt their evil night shades
While justifying the hurt and depravity of an “Ugly Brute”;
A truly lost soul without any mercy, blind—as “He” throws
Freely a nasty spiteful spirit on your earthly fire of reality!

Hence, Hades’ mark and mask of utter darkness and terror
Descend now into the very conscience of your Spirit World;
Burning hot with the force of “The Furies” seeking revenge:
Tisiphone, Megaera, and Alecto all appear sans Merci now!

As their eternal gorgonesque spirits creep upon you furtively,
Your once handsome visage turns into a sad and horrid portrait
Of an old animal soul in the mirror never to see the Light again,
As clouds darkly shade your horizon and fate in Hades’ name!

In this eternal land of darkness, the dead do not suffer this fate
So easily, and cast not without honor in their chains the notion
That fear itself, vice destiny, cries out now for your forgiveness,
As One-Eyed Beggars seek and see the basic good within you!

Each day now fades into its own doom, into a dark mist of evil,
And hides carefully inside a “Mountain of Consciousness” where
Your ethereal spirit knows who you really are—as black snakes
slither slowly and silently toward your spirit-mirrored reflection!

You—that “Animal of the Night,” wear now your deceptive mask;
The reality of who and what you really are makes my skin crawl!
You can never return from this darkest “Pit of Hell” my old friend,
For thy animal-human spirit is doomed to all this darkness forever!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 22, 2015 
(Narrative Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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- Halloween's Evil Visage Cometh -


Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh now alive in this famous predestined time
Where dubious shadow shades run a riot as the ghastly ghosts of darkness,
Begin calling to all goblins, ghosts, ghouls, and witches in the graveyards;
To come alive—as black cats call out their signals to all lost souls seeking, 
Powerful black magic spells to aid the spirits of ancient alchemists as they
Brew their potions to dull the senses and conjure all the evil spirits on Earth.  

A falling silver-layer mist appears as these uncanny evil spirits invade our
Mortal plane and lost ghosts appear as hungry human skeletons looking for 
Sustenance and seem to be horrified at the stillness broken by a death-cold.
They scream as bloodless fingers touch cold shivers without a warm heart; 
And who knows for sure the sad and mournful song from an ancient grave,
As “The Undead” conjure ravenous demons seeking warm blood to feast on. 

Blended into the dust are the crows whose shadows as a “Dark Phantom,”
Begin to form and take his shape—yet fear not the potent occult light as
That special Halloween Eve super moon beams brilliant and bright making  
Its presence known as your destiny and destination are already decided as
The Ancient Alchemist beckons all of us to drink widely from his mystical
Chalice of Darkness as all malice is reconciled—the birds and beasts speak.
 
Life as we know it is offered upon the Demonic Alter as the Dark Phantom
Initiates all human sacrifices as a drool-dripping envy of all existence drops; 
And the lustful and vengeance-seeking Vampires scrape along the walls as
Sharp poisonous thorns begin tearing behind their secret inner-vision as the 
Deep-dark and dismally-damp curtains open and eclipse the radiant dawn as
An unpleasant and horrible pain visits and our heartbeats grow faint and stop.

An unending agony screams sonorously as a deafening silence falls over us. 
In this “Land of the Dead,” they make their own laws overwriting all limits,
As a vile, creeping, malevolent mist crawls down into the valley deep below; 
The Devil's Advocate slithers on in a nasty, vicious way under your own skin,
As shivering timbers of truth of a living being watches outside our bodies on 
This Halloween Eve as our individual dreams enter the Twilight Zone forever! 

The Devil’s clever wizards and witches concoct an ancient poisonous mixture,
As the boiling cauldron of demonically-enhanced soup is stewed with care and 
Fresh toads, spiders, worms, beetles, ticks, and tiny black snakes are added in.
This unholy and potent poisoned soup from centuries past is now blessed by
The Dark One—to take life from the living and give nourishment to the dead,
As the veil between The Living and The Dead disappears on Halloween Eve!   

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(October 1, 2015) (Free Verse)


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

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Halloween Memories


      I was dressed as a witch for Halloween that year long ago,
And with my friends we were going from house to house;
            At that time kids could still do that without fear,
Our street was perfect for Halloween trick or treating fun.

      It was a hill with many cozy old homes some heritage,
They all had big covered porches and glowing windows;
            And all were nestled behind great ancient trees,
It was a memory I cherish, one of innocence and sweet joy.

      Sometimes, I was a princess, or a ghost, or a pirate,
And other times it was hard to tell exactly what I was;
            The leaves crunched under our feet; the air crisp,
Mother told us, "only go to houses that have Jack-O-Lanterns."

      "TRICK OR TREAT!" We would yell when the door opened,
But if the person said, "TRICK!" We would be so confused;
             When my bag got real heavy, I took my loot home,
And had a costume adjustment or even maybe a change.

      At the top of the hill was an old house; a haunted house,
It was dark and rundown and had a nasty black cat hissing;
            A real witch lived there; she ate little kids I was told,
Mother said, "don't be mean, she is just a lonely, old lady."

      I would like to tell you about the old lady who lived there,
But that is a whole different story, maybe another time;
           After the trick or treating, we examined all our treasures,
Our loot consisted of candy and chips, apples and other stuff.

      I gave mother the apples, she seemed to like them a lot,
My baby brother tried to eat all my candy but I hid them;
           Mother said, "don't eat it all at once!" (mother that is silly)
The next day, "oh mommy, my tummy hurts so bad, bad!"

___________________________
October 6, 2015


Narrative


For the contest, Happy Halloween, sponsor, Kelly Deschler

First Place


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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Animal of the Night

The animal of the night has an evil courage as its defense,
And with simple lies it now catches the filthy beast easily,
And can now stand and bask in God’s purest of sunshine,
Whilst valor and glory speak all power to one’s destiny!

Darkness doth now pervade and drinks slowly from that
“Chalice of the Faithless Heathen” who hides among the
Soulless Ones who are consumed by their hateful actions,
And spit thoughtlessly at your good will and human pride!

Hades’ very own dark demons tilt their evil night shades
While justifying the hurt and depravity of an “Ugly Brute”;
A truly lost soul without any mercy, blind—as “He” throws
Freely a nasty spiteful spirit on your earthly fire of reality!

Hence, Hades’ mark and mask of utter darkness and terror
Descend now into the very conscience of your Spirit World;
Burning hot with the force of “The Furies” seeking revenge:
Tisiphone, Megaera, and Alecto all appear sans Merci now!

As their eternal gorgonesque spirits creep upon you furtively,
Your once handsome visage turns into a sad and horrid portrait
Of an old animal soul in the mirror never to see the Light again,
As clouds darkly shade your horizon and fate in Hades’ name!

In this eternal land of darkness, the dead do not suffer this fate
So easily, and cast not without honor in their chains the notion
That fear itself, vice destiny, cries out now for your forgiveness,
As One-Eyed Beggars seek and see the basic good within you!

Each day now fades into its own doom, into a dark mist of evil,
And hides carefully inside a “Mountain of Consciousness” where
Your ethereal spirit knows who you really are—as black snakes
slither slowly and silently toward your spirit-mirrored reflection!

You—that “Animal of the Night,” wear now your deceptive mask;
The reality of who and what you really are makes my skin crawl!
You can never return from this darkest “Pit of Hell” my old friend,
For thy animal-human spirit is doomed to all this darkness forever!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 22, 2015 
(Narrative Quatrain)


Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015

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No More Soup For Me

I sought a place to post my poems and thought I'd found a fit for me.
At first I was thrilled and felt I belonged to a pleasant community
But I lost my taste for soup and then came to the sour realization
That it's a site of more takers than givers, one rife with idolization.
It's overdue for me to take my leave. This is a place I no longer belong.
I've had enough of those who can't seem to tell what's right from wrong.

I don't want to read nasty words from writers who use vulgarity
or comments of praise that were made without thought to sincerity.
I never liked the idea of 'you read my poetry so I'll read yours, too.'
A tit for tat mentality?  Isn't that what politicians and children do?
I don't want to be in a place where people argue, fight, and grumble
or with those pretending to be nice, but complain of others in mumbles.

I never thought my poetry was on par or better than many in the soup
but I was pleased with what I posted among all those in the group.
Scripture tells me to consider others superior, so I have lowliness of mind.
Humility is a quality I wish to emulate, so it's on humble pie I've dined.
I don't have an ego though accused of having one. I'm not pretentious
but this soup has those who are eager to be obstinate and contentious.

Pointing fingers and throwing insults?   It sounds infantile but it's true.
I've even been called a hypocrite by one who shares this site with you.
No judgement will I make of the one who stoops to callow name-calling.
Reaping what we sow is always the repercussion of what's befalling.
I've not mentioned any names because I prefer exiting on the high road. 
We're all responsible for our choices and some people have no honor code.

A poetry site should be a place of camaraderie, not one of self-defense.
A place where encouragement reigns, where no one is stressed and tense.
Galatians warns to stay away from dissension, hostility, envy, and jealousy,
so in accordance with His Words, this soup is not a place where I should be.
In the eight months I've been around I met some of you who were kind.
I hope you know you meant a lot to me and will often cross my mind.

I'm moving on to enriching phases of what's important in my life.
I wish everyone well  -  no hard feelings  -  no bitterness or strife.
My hand still holds a pen so I'll write when the words fill my head
Time for me to take my leave.  In soup waters I'll no longer tread.


Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016

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Witchy Poo From Dunedoo

I'm Witchy Poo from Dunedoo,
I'm a flaming outback witch,
You won't see me rounding cattle up
Or digging in a ditch.

I like to cast spells,
Just like those city witches do,
I've cast so many spells outback,
Successful ones too.

Did you know that emus 
Always used to fly,
That is until that nasty bird,
Well....dropped one in my eye.
So I cast a spell
So he could only move along the ground,
No more zooming through the sky for him,
He's terra firma bound.

And as for those walking kangaroos,
Too many gathered near my shack,
So I cast a spell of hiccups,
Just to get them back.

But my most successful spell of all,
And there certainly is no doubt,
Was when I took the rain away
And created all this drought.

There's only one more thing to tell you,
And that's how I got my name,
The locals gave it to me,
Just after the emu took its aim.


authors note:  Dundedoo is a real country town some 400 km north west of Sydney{ NSW Australia} in the outback


Copyright © john williams | Year Posted 2015

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Lego Narcs - Under The Cover Of Night

Night! It’s around nine thirty maybe ten. The phone rings. The voice is irritating, the words frightening. Within minutes I’m in a car with my mate. Within minutes I arrive at my own ground zero. Exit the car. A body walking says you must be Courtney's Dad. Yes I am. I don’t say those words, I don’t say anything. I enter a strange house. My eyes go into a computerized scope mode. I assess the scene. Devour every image. There is talking. I can see that I am involved and in conversation. I am breathing the moment committing all the three dimensional images to memory. That’s what I do, that’s what I always do, I pay attention to detail. I record it in the recessed region of my brain, the file I named celluloid. This is one of those moments. You don’t just live it you also live outside of it. You adjust angles from the ceiling from the floor from every degree from one to three hundred and sixty. Your camera guys are working at a furious pace. We only get one shot at this take anything we miss is gone for ever. I'm looking at the undercover guys, three cops. There’s the linebacker in the middle the young basketball player on your left and Meatloaf standing on your right. They are still talking to me, but they are one dimensional a cruel reality, so you send in your third string rookie quarterback to deal with them. Meanwhile your sixteen year old is a part of all this. She just happened to be here. They know she is an innocent bystander, well at least they do now. She is sitting on the end of one couch among the devastation created by ... I think they call them the law. No hurricane could have caused this kind of disarray not a lifetime of hurricanes. This is what the good guys do they tear places apart stand with sanctimonious airs. I think that my third string player is getting a lecture something about the friends his daughter keeps but I am barely paying attention to him. I want to crawl in to my daughter’s skin absorb all the pain she is feeling. I want to hug her mind gentle supply her the exhale she so desperately needs right now. You don’t choose unconditional love it chooses you. All that matters is how much my daughter is loved and can I trade it in for a magic sphere of protection. For her part she is scared to death but I can also feel she is somewhat relieved that this has come to an end. Relieved I am here. Relieved she will be coming home with me. All this will just be a nasty memory. We look at each other. We both think this 'too has passed.' I don’t like to judge, but boy it sure seems like the bad is on the flip side of this vinyl forty-five. That’s the law as it turns out. They can bust through your door with a battering ram. Ransack your home. Step on your soul. Hand out unwanted lectures leave with a pat on the back. You want to scream you want to yell foul. To what avail? Serve and protect for what, from what? They found two lousy marijuana plants, that’s right two lousy plants. They can get a search warrant destroy everything might get in the way of their large swollen heads and destroy lives, destroy people. They can destroy, destroy, destroy and destroy, never serve, absolutely never serve and less than protect a lot less. In fact they can put a young sixteen year old girl in danger walk out laughing. They will even be commended for their acts against humanity. Remember those laws. The right to be someone to not be looked down upon by the hired help. I guess in the end that is our only bonus in all of this, they are after all only the hired help. So let them worship their false Gods in their agnostic ways. From my perspective they have acted like demons this evening. Only one angel walks out of this man made mess. Thank God she’s my daughter. Feb 26 2016 armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016

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POSSUM JUGGLING

POSSUM JUGGLING  
  Written By the Poets Listed After The Poem.  
  
Possum juggling is a trick conjuring sport.  
You should never do it if your arms are short.  
Nasty teeth are gnashing as they're tossed in air.  
The juggling of possums requires flair.  
Full-grown possum are very massive fellows.
Their bulk when lifted, like handling jell-o.  
They are so at ease as they fly through the trees.  
Are you ever so tall?  Fight them on your knees! 
Though cuddly and soft, please never be smitten.  
Asleep they appear, in a flash you're bitten.  
Upon one look, so UN-cute the ragged claw!  
Surely reminds me of my mother in-law.  
In my compost bin found this fury creature.  
Pointed nose, stinky as my English teacher-  
For that part which sticks out of the can at dark.  
Not a pretty site though pink, duck. It’s a fart!  
Quickly grab his leg and throw him really high 
Let the little blaster soar into the sky! 
Be quick, juggler, Granny Clampett is waiting 
It's possum stew she hopes to be creating 
Wait, I forgot! My arms are too short for this.
Now on my face sprinkles a souring mist.
The moral of this story, surely you see!
Never juggle opossums! Just let them be… 

Contributed Poets (in alphabetical order)  
Charma Chircop, Austin Daver, Carolyn Devonshire,  James Frazer, Robin Gass, James M. 
Goff, Raul Moreno, John Robbins, James Peranteau, Dane Smith-Johnsen,


Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2009

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The Deadly Obsession

When I met you, you were nice and polite
 You did everything right 
 You brought me food to put me in a good mood
 You had a good attitude
 You were basically a cool dude

 You began acting strange why did you have to change
 You texted me eight times a day if I didn't come home right away
 You gave me nasty stares that I couldn't bare 
 You followed me everywhere that's not fair
 I wonder if you ever cared 

 You turned into a devil
 I don't feel safe with you because you raped me  now I'm carrying your baby
 You pulled out a knife one night and threatened my life that's not right
 You cheat on me and beat me I can't take the heat 
 I don't appreciate you I have to defeat you before you  defeat me
 What did I do  to you for you to treat me bad I loved you
 I gave you a baby how could you act so crazy
 I gave you my heart now it's falling apart 
 It's time for me to make a new start 

 No more stressing for me
 Just blessings for me
 I hope you will learn a lesson that you had an obsession



Copyright © Ileane Ogilvie | Year Posted 2014

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Lost

Horrid, horrid thought;
Tiny Mother reaching forth,
Reaching always to enfold,
And in enfolding just to hold.

Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and deed.
What to do? What to do?
I am me, and I am you?

Looking for a glint of power.
Searching, searching, hour by hour;
Love…caring…heedless heart;
No Mother were you from the start.

Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and deed.
What to do? What to do?
I am me and I am you?

Broken waif, soul chafed;
Battered daughter, mother’s pride;
All that’s beautiful she must hide.
All that’s soft, all that’s warm, half formed.

Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and undone deed.
What can I do? What can YOU do?
I am me, and you are you?

Crushed like flower pedals in a fist,
Flung haphazardly in the mist.
Nasty, sour, bitter lost;
She was forced. We are forced.

Is all lost?


Date 10/12/2008


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2008

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Call Me Baby

Call Me Baby
I must confess I’ve caused a lot of mess, blatantly calling you nasty names, playing all kinds of childish games. I used to think you couldn’t get enough of me because I was hot stuff. Never thought you would ever leave - that you would always stay, I believed. Now you don't call since you've been gone… like the proverbial cheese, I am standing all alone.
Without you, Baby, I’m feeling so crazy, really scatter-brained and hazy. I feel like such a big fool losing you and losing my cool. Tell me this is truly not the end; please give me a second chance to make amends. I’m sorry I did you wrong; so sorry for stringing you along. Please let me make it up to you; I’ll do whatever it takes to start anew.
We were so wonderful together; I promise this time it’ll be even better. I miss being your leading lady… please, please call me Baby.
Poet: Pandita Sanchez Written: 10/13/2015 Contest: Trashed #3, Broken Wings


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2015

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Signing Off

--Goodbye--To my Addiction-

The time has come to part,
I will leave many with broken hearts
If one day you call on me,
I'm sad to say I will hold my tongue missing each one relentlessly 
I'm not doing this for me; I am doing this for you
I could stay here and win, and not give in 
But, this soup bowl comes with demons and nasty shadows
Demons and nasty shadows, taking and crashing my light
Demons I had to fight off the entire time I was here
Shadows hating the way I welcomed every poet with a happy cheer
Demons and shadows whom drown in their selfish everyday pity.

For those smiling on my departure, 
I want you to have this wonderful gift 
So please copy paste this moment from the bottom of my heart
**I hope this gift brings you laughter, knowing 
I've been sad, these past few days, drying up my final soup tears**

I will miss this part of what makes me ME -my love and lust for poetry.
I agree with many I should never surrender to the envy of demonic dust
Giving up the passion that completed a part of my soul for years
But, the reality of life, is the life's I give and given when I make love happen
In my heart I know it's time to give myself back to reality
SO AT THE END I WIN, I'm the one who ends up with an everlasting smile
I'll finally be free from this place, where most treated me unfair & unkind
Free, from the negativity of the few who hide behind a dishonest disguise?

Wait until you notice your soup bowl's going stale
You will miss me, and I will miss you
But, my enemy will miss me even more
Reminiscing the times we spent hogging up 70% of blogs,
Arguing and fighting over not agreeing with many thoughts.
But, it was never the differences of opinions, it was more like---
Let's slay the Destroyer, a name like that should never be on top
So please know I am sad, and this is not the way I want to go
I'm not leaving you because I want to 
I'm leaving you because, the rumors are 
"The soup is better without the sweetness of the poet destroyer."
The only big thing about me -was my heart not my ego 
I never claimed to be the best; 
You're the one who claimed I am good enough
You took me in and returned my love
In ways others could and would not accept.
And for you my loving poet friends, and fans
I will walk away with my dignity/integrity; 
I can CARELESS IF I PLACE OR DON'T PLACE IN YOUR CONTEST
I guess I'm finally growing up 
In becoming the bigger/better poet.

Signing Off ---Love 
The Poet Destroyer


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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The Two Foods

Health Food natural, low-calorie nourishing, strengthening, boring kale, *kimchi, chips, chocolate tantalizing, satisfying, fattening salty, sweet Junk Food *Kimchi is the national health food of Korea, fermented vegetables, particularly cabbage. It's nasty-tasting stuff, but to each his own. For the Diamante Poem Contest of Regina Riddle


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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If I Were An Animal What Would I Be

                             I like it cool and I like it dark.

                                  Long deep sleep makes me grrhhhhh.

                                       Wake me, I'm a nasty mother.

                             My stride is slow, and low, and mean.

                                         Piss me off, I dare you.

                                              I'll show you how cuddly I can be.


                                         Food binges turn me on, 

                                                   Bring it all, I can handle it.

                                         But watch your back,

                                  You can't walk all over me anymore.

                                                          *     *
                                                              *
                                                          

                                                   I'm waiting for you.

                                               Next time, you're dinner.


Contest
If I Were An Animal, What Would I Be?

Brenda Atry
5/12/2011


Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2011

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The Endless War

(not to take too seriously; I think I am immune 
to my "enemies" by now!)

How near to us are foes we can’t resist
when cells, like terrorists that we can’t see
accumulate!  What parasites exist
within our very homes!  We can’t be free
of them, and even the perfectionist
can’t rid his castle of the enemy.
They have no need of camouflage.  They breed, 
for on those cells sloughed off our skin they feed!

Though microscopic, they are numberless.
For those with allergies, the “mighty” mite
can wreak some damage. Nasty, they possess
the air we breathe, the beds we use at night!
And they will never simply evanesce. . . 
To kill them off requires a constant fight,
but no one, sadly, perfectly defeats
them, even vacuuming and changing sheets!

Inside the fridge, on counters, in the sink
lurk others. Do not be too much at ease.
The very sponge you’re using, which you think
is helping, could be spreading a disease!
Who knows what swarms in water that we drink,
on spinach leaves or just a piece of cheese?
How fleet is time; how bleak to have to spend
it on a war  we know will never end!


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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A Broken Heart

A Broken Heart

I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow,
My love’s full of such anguish and fear;
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.

My heart seeks such a palliative yarrow,
My thoughts are shattered, no longer clear;
I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow.

My desire’s gone, a victim of a much harrow,
My emotions are awry and bring no cheer;
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.

Your anger strikes my heart like a poison arrow,
Your evil intent revealed with no sugary veneer;
I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow.

I live my life now with no surcease of sorrow,
Your former love declarations ring now so queer;
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.

My spirit’s in tatters from your hateful harrow,
And your face now haunts me with a nasty leer;
I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow.
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
November 14, 2014 (Villanelle)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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A Day on the Farm

"You really wanna know? Cause I'll tell ya if you really wanna know. You'll be thinkin' I'm crazy before I'm done, but I'll tell ya... ifn' you really wanna know." The day started like any other, up before dawn, breakfast and fuel for the combine. Outa' the window I saw the sun rise above the horizon, no clouds in the sky, waves of heat pulsing like slow heart beats above the drying wheat fields. Already the fields are half bare. The twenty two acres out past the barn were harvested last week before the weather started to change and the 40 acres at the bottom of Rocky Point was finished just yesterday, hell'uv-a-place to plant wheat, what with all them rocks that broke three disc blades and the boulders that we had to plant around, too late to dynamite 'em by the time the rain stopped last spring. The plow got stuck in the muck for a whole day before we got the seeds in. But we did it and reaped a good return on our efforts that first year, thank God. I remember that piece of land from when I was young. We used to have an old green barn out there where we kept the live stock. Paw said it wasn't much good for nothin' else, said you couldn't grow anything out there. I think he was just scared to. There'd always been rumors 'bout that place. Some folks said that Indians had buried their Chiefs under the big boulders, and prayed to their heathen gods up on the hill that looked over the valley, said that some day they was gonna come back and reclaim this land for themselves, at least that is, that sacred part below the hill. Every morning around 6 o'clock me and Johnny would run out to that barn to feed the chickens and slop the hogs. He was always faster 'n me so he got to choose whatever he wanted to do. He liked slopping the pigs even though they smelled to high heaven. He liked ride'n on there backs. I'd laugh my head off when they threw him in the mud and he'd have to hide from Paw so he wouldn't know. Paw would wack him good if he found out. I can hear him now, "Boy I'll burn your hide if'n you don't keep off of them pigs. Your gonna break their backs. Your gonna wind up kill'n one of 'em, one of these days." Johnny would always be quick to reply, "But paw we're just gonna eat 'em anyways." Hard to believe I always like them hams so good at Easter after smell'n 'em for so many years. "I know, I know, I'm git'n to it. Give me a minute. I wanna get it straight. It ain't easy to talk about and you weren't there." I saw the clouds rollin' in long before I got out to the good fields on the other side of the creek. This was where our best grain was grown. We bought this land the year that Paw passed. I remember the tears Maw cryed when we got it. It'd been a dream Paw had for a long time. He was gonna put a road through it to the main highway so's to cut our drive to town by five miles. I've always felt bad that he never got to see it. I went on watchin' them clouds wonderin' if we might just have us a late fall twister brew'n. They was nasty look'n and it's been nasty hot for this time of year. I pulled the choke on the old combine and it coughed to a stop. Didn't see any rain fall'n as I neared the creek from the Rocky Point side but it was get'n aweful dark, and the clouds were startin' to swirl and boil way up in the sky. As I watched I swear on my Paws grave that I saw a horse runnin' across the sky. It was like the ones you see when your layin' on your back in the grass on a hot summer day lookin' up at the sky and pickin' out shapes in the clouds,... but it wasn't. It was breathin' and glarin' at me with fiery demon eyes. Then out of the darkness I saw another shape. It was a face, all white with dark puffy round cheeks. It looked like the pictures of Santa Claus we used to take with the kids after the Thanks Givin' day parade downtown. He'd huff and he'd puff and his cheeks would billow out and all-a-sudden he'd let out this big bellow, "Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas," but when the face in the cloud bellowed no sound came out, just ice cold wind. It near 'bout froze me to my seat in that old combine. The windows glazed over with frost and my hand got stuck to the steerin' wheel for a second, pulled some skin off get'n em free. I turned on the headlights and wipers and as the Window cleared I could see ice twinkling like jewels on all of the wheat stalks. Down by the bridge I could see the weeds reflected in a thin layer of ice covering the water. Then all Hell broke loose. Thunder so loud I couldn't think clear, and lightnin' everywhere striking every rock and boulder. Mist rose up after each hit like ghost risen' out of the grave. I forgot about the cold cause the storm froze me solid. A bolt of lightnin' hit the top of the combine and the thunder shook the cab so bad I hit my head on the back of the seat. For a few minutes I was in a daze but as my head cleared I could see fires all over Rocky Point. I didn't have time to do anything but start the engine of the combine and move it over the bridge to the next field so it wouldn't burn up too. I watched as all the grain left at Rocky Point burned to cinders. Funny thing is all the other fields around that one were OK. Not one never burned. It was like someone drew a line around the place, strangest thing. The weather guy on TV tried to explain it. What'd he call it? Oh, a micro... something, blow, burst, something like that. He didn't explain what I saw, but that don't matter no more. It's over and done. Lost all that good grain, though. Had some scientist from the college down in Lawton come by and do some lookin'. They kept scratchin' their heads and mumblin', looked kinda befuddled to me. We talked and they said something about the soil ph was wrong and there seemed to be salt all through the dirt, maybe all the way down to the bedrock. Well, All I know is I'm guessin' nothin'll ever grow in that field again. Can't rightly say for sure though, never plan on findn' out.
11/20


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015