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Best Poems Written by Steve Humphries Artist

Below are the all-time best Steve Humphries Artist poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Homonym Poem

SPOT THE HOMONYMS 
For the Homonyms are full of spots!

We were young and wore black
During the war we were under attack
We wear bright clothes now
Where were we?
I thought we were the prey
But now where do I go to pray?
The enemy was there all the time
Is it true they’re so different?
Are we their enemies too?
Am I allowed to scream aloud?
I’ve seen the scene and it doesn’t make sense
Use your senses, can you hear me here?
The son was born under the sun
As the band was banned for being too loud
Now we sit stationary working to pay tax
In an office filled with stationary hanging notes with tacks
My throat was hoarse as I rode the horse
On the road to get the plain old plane across the plane to the sea
I didn’t see that the cereal I ate was cheap 
The serial numbers I read made the birds cheep
I groan and groan now I’m fully grown
The bold man bowled his final ball
As the lady danced at the fancy ball
Then they got together and ate at eight
On the fifteenth storey they read the story
About the man without soul who savored his meat, a juicy steak
And maybe they will meet a savior nailed to a stake by the soles of its feet.
The Jew licked the dew from the grass
As he waited for the money that was due
I don’t want to go any farther Father
It’s not my job to find the source of the tomato sauce.
I’d rather eat my mousse with this hairy moose
Who knows how big is the nose of a goose?
Hopefully the knight will save us from this dreadful night.
I read the red book while all the rest took a rest. 
It’s not my role to continuously roll down hill
Just because I never paid the bill for the birds broken bill
I sighed as the hare with the long hair rolled to its side
So I made the maid alter her plans as she approached the alter
I can walk very far because I’ve got big feet
Which really isn’t such an amazing feat?
He was in a fell mood as he fell of his seat
But he’ll surely heal when they fix his broken heel.
All I really want is a piece of peace
The bee just wants to be while all we want is to go for a wee
You were right to write that letter to complain about the missing letter
I mean if you miss out the H from where how would they know where we were
No they wouldn't know, so it just goes to show.
Are you going to the animal circus show too?
I went and thought it was great but my friend thought is started to grate
I fed the camel a carrot but it nearly ate my 16 carat ring, then i was fed up.
And the pores on my skin opened up as the tiger paused standing on its paws.

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The Beautiful Game

I hate soccer I hate it so much I don’t call it football I call it soccer,
It is a pointless boring game involving no impressive skill or reward,
An exhausting inane farce that distracts millions from reality,
I hate the English; I hate them so much I call them stupid peasants,
Angry, hateful, mostly retarded fools, who are utterly enslaved by their government, 
Ignorant of the facts, they are not free or strong, coward thugs protected by their enslavement,
Ancient tribes once roamed those beautiful isles, each with its own shamanic tradition,
Each with its own herb lore, astrological systems, martial, music, sculptural and visual arts,
Each with its own deep mystical language with roots into the fabric of creation,
Destroyed and overtaken by poisoned humans who were consumed by ego and greed,
Languages and traditions destroyed and replaced by a fake slave language and a fake slave religion.
All of Northern Europe was conquered but nowhere so badly retarded as England and from there it spread.
The scourge eventually destroyed all free peoples of the world even the Native American’s and Tibetans.
And soccer embodies the stupidity of the enslaved, a twisted treat for the cowed masses.

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Religion: Hitting Yourself Over the Head With a Hammer

Christianity: “hitting yourself over the head with a hammer so that when you stop it feels so good.”

Judaism: “hitting yourself over the head with a hammer because you are a chosen one.”

Muslim: “It feels good hitting other people over the head with a hammer.”

Hinduism: “Watching everyone else hitting themselves and others with hammers and finding it amusing.”

Sikhism: “Letting the Guru hit you over the head with a hammer so that when he stops it feels so good.”

Confucianism: “Hitting yourself and your family members over the head with a hammer, in a highly refined manner, for the sake of the community.”

Theravada Buddhism: “There is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels horrible.”

Mahayana Buddhism: “Telling other people that there is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels horrible.”

Vajrayana Buddhism: “There is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels fantastic.”

Jainism: “Please stop hurting all the poor hammers!”

Rastafarian: “Let’s make a hammer shaped spliff! “

Daoism: “Hitting yourself over the head with hammer without hitting yourself over the head with a hammer.”

Masonic: “Let’s sell all these stupid people hammers.”

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Things That Sound the Same

Isn’t it funny,
Fried eggs without legs can be runny
And when being fried they sound like the rain?
And wouldn’t you think,
A gentle drummer would blink if he knew that these things sound the same? 
What sounds like a team of Horses 
Galloping like rhythmic cosmic forces
A Roaring ocean as it crashes onto a rocky shoal?
Or what about
A strong wind with clout in the ear of the man as he goes on his stroll?

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Trypophobia

You must take a fat dead man’s corpse
Ideally smooth skin on the back,
Not too rotten, hopefully white,
Then you must take a small device, 
Like a small metal ice cream scoop,
The edges must be razor sharp,
Then begin to scoop perfect holes,
Out of the pale, cold, soft back flesh,
There will be a small sucking noise,
As you turn the spoon and gouge, 
Make perfect hollowed, concave, bowl
Holes, uniform across the back,
many clusters of deep depressions, 
When the back is full of punctures,
Take ripe spider eggs and place them
Inside the holes ready to hatch,

Next take a decapitated,
fresh, three year old infants head, 
Behind the cheeks of a child’s face,
There are cavity like chambers
In the soft bone, that house teeth,
Waiting in these bony hollows
Ready to replace baby teeth,
So you must remove the cheek flesh,
And reveal these horrific pits,
Take out the teeth from the sockets,
This makes a series of smooth holes,
You must procure botfly maggots,
Ordinary maggots won’t do.
Carefully insert the maggots,
In the holes of the pitted skull.

Now run your hands along the back,
And your tongue across the skull bone,
As your tongue passes the hollows
A small vacuum will be created
And a suction noise will be heard,
The dry wriggling maggots will,
Gently and briefly touch your tongue.
As your hands cross over the back,
Passing over the spongy holes,
Your fingers will encounter the, 
Small, soft, warm spider eggs inside.

As the skull and torso decay,
The whole scene will attack reason,
This hideous alarming sight,
The stench of decomposing flesh,
The sound of the hatching spiders
And newly formed swarming black flies,
Spilling out of their putrid holes,
Will stun your mind into a state,
Of confused and nauseous shock.

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My Reeking Rectum

Sniff my reeking rectum,
Smell it with your nose,
Inhale its lethal fumes,
It smells like a blooming rose,
Place your nostrils against my reeking rectum, 
And indulge its rank, stuffy scent,
Put your nose right up my anus,
And delight until you’re spent,
Don’t be shy now,
Please don’t choose to delay,
Quickly sniff my rancid, stinking, reeking rectum, 
And draw in its pungent bouquet.

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If I Was Leonard Nimoy

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place, 
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.

If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.

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Butterfly

The Butterfly,
Fluttered by,
Not like butter,
and not like a fly,
more like a sky flower,
passing with a sigh.

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Thailand 1, What Is Paradise

What is beauty?
What is paradise?

Is it in temperature?
If so then I'm too hot here.

Is it in visual sensation?
Here the sea is vivid blue,
and expands generously embracing wondrous unfathomable islands
Of a million greens,
The girls of every colour make my guts flutter and my eyes roll
sighs through gritted teeth
Exciting in vision,

Is it in odour? 
It smells like rotting corpses and poorly designed sewers,
I struggle to not heave and wretch with every step.

Is it in tactile sensation?
I am covered in mosquito bites and scratches,
my throat burns and I itch itch itch
The echo of warm hands leaves me wanting.

Is it in taste?
The food burns my stomach and blocks me up,
all the many flavours blend into one overpowering taste of foreign grease.

Is it in sound?
Screeching Thai's make me wince,
complaining mothers,
tuk tuk drivers,
massage girls,
suite sellers
assault my ears with their constant cries for attention.

Is it in sex?
In the act of sex- yes,
Only in the same way that salt water feels as if it quenches your thirst as you drink it.
But inevitably just makes you more thirsty.

Is it in friends and company?
Too little loneliness and I start to hate,
feeling suffocated by their ignorance,
drowning in their shallowness.
Too much loneliness and I go to places I can't explain.

What is beauty?
In form?
in sense?
Does not paradise belong in the thinking so....
It's all subjective.

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Happy Fathers Day Big Fat Dad

Happy Fathers Day Big Fat Father!


Happy fathers day big fat Dad
I forgot to get you a card but don’t be sad
Its not that I forgot, more that I got distracted
You know what it’s like when you’re mean and tight-fisted

I said to myself as I left the house,
I’ll get him a card but I will use my nouse,
What would dad do, let me see
I know, he’d try and get a card for 20p

But when I got to the blasted shop,
Wide eyed and in amazement I had to stop,
For you see the cards were very expensive
Something I knew you would find offensive,

So after spending my money on myself,
I decided to give you something of far greater wealth,
I know, I thought, I will make him a card,
All sentimental a real colourful work of art!

But then it occurred to me while I was trying to be kind,
You wouldn’t appreciate it because your colour blind,
Not only that (and this broke my heart),
You wouldn’t understand it, being a silly old fart.

So after thinking and pondering all of the night
I didn’t know what to do, try as I might,
I was starting to worry and with seconds to spare
I wrote you this crap poem and I don’t even care!