Arsehole Poems

Politicians

Politicians 
when asked a question 
will never answer with a yes or no. 

They'll question the question 
to avoid the truth 
then disappear up their own arsehole.




PS,  and that's what they talk out of now days.

REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY

They used to call me an arsehole, now they call me a head case.

Suicide

It’s unanimous
uncontested
irrefutable
no doubt
no conjecture
I am an arsehole
bad-tempered
foul-mouthed
and irredeemably crass
all my conversations
revolve around me
my opinions
about everything
are always right
I have done everything 
I have been everywhere 
it has taken almost seventy years
for this message to reach home
but 
upbeat and eternally optimistic
agony aunts aside
it is now too late for me to change
so, do I remove myself
and not be missed
or, do I forge on
unliked but endured
‘tis a quandary
that has bested me
if truth be told
most days
my choice lies 
but a hair’s breadth away 
from the former solution
do not be alarmed dear reader
the above are merely the musings
of a crusty old bullet
I shall remain
irredeemably crass 
until the lights go out
aah life
what a thing it is.

This Is a Poem About the Shivers

Real fear
as it crawls
from the nape of your neck
icicly popping skin
along arm
hairs raised in surrender
unable to stop what will become
I never look at shadows anymore
incase there is a face their theyr'e
that sea me-i love using the wrong swords
see you
just open your phone
Who is that in the background
feel my oil slick tendrils
kiss your shoulder
talon crawl across your ripping flesh
when stomach and arsehole
are closer than before
Brian turns ewe to your brain
that tightly held breath
heart above sound
feet rooted in molten stair
see my face
as the darkness turns away
afraid to look again
if mirrors reflect light
why can you see your shadow in a mirror
and will you dare to look
sitting in my favourite
seat the spittles of rainbow
spewing from the box of idiots
dance accross my wall
macabre marionettes forbid into cryptic cryptids
and the end of the scream
is unheard

Substandard Tires

Substandard Tires
The customer rants and raves at me saying it’s all my fault
And my colleague’s and my employer that he’s got no family
He threatens all of us with court and is off to see the judge
You’ll be in the dock all together he warns for murder
Treating me like I’m the CEO and God of ACME Tires
I just answer the phone and reply to emails
I never made the substandard tires on his car
That failed and killed his daughter wife and sister
He rants and raves and it lasts an hour
All recorded he states finally stopping
If I was employed by the Illuminati 
Making cups of tea would he sue me?
For not making his tea sweet enough
Now I nod and say what an arsehole
I’m so glad he can hear me
His tires will soon fail…

Guess My Name

i cannot contest
a judge of a contest
the best is the winner

but when the cup
is given based on
based and abrasive

words and what some
say isn't poetry then
i must say i try best

to be the basso
if a trio with a low
droning moan of want

and knowing even
the bass cello tells
what the score is

so i ask for no
forgiveness for
if

you can't love and
laugh then no matter
what you are

you 
are an
arsehole

1st Place Winner

Do you have to work hard to maintain it?
You've held the title strong for years.
Is it a natural born talent or acquired?
Did it come with blood, sweat and tears?

Must be hard reaching down to touch your toes.
But its a requirement needed to pass.
Holding 1st Place every year must feel good.
Honestly.... does the sun shine out of your ****?

As they announce you this years winner...
Your feeling admired wanted and adored.
But wait!...  First can I Please take a photo?
Of you accepting the "Arsehole of the Year Award"

That way I can show all my friends....
That people like you really do exist.
And yes!  Your s#*t really does stink!
So run along now....  You wont be missed!

The Train Set

It was spread out all over the living room,
clicked along escarpments and apartments, soon
reaching a station, waiting for master's command,
It left, exuberant, at the touch of a magic wand.

Hornby was sub-standard, Triang was better,
engine would haul along nicely if you let her,
The Golden Arrow went past Harrow, gague narrow,
we leaned out of the window, some arsehole said hello.

The Flying Scotsman rounded a corner, took a turn,
ran into a poetry book, some people never learn,
obstacle removed, twice, journey half as nice,
we know how they run, grown men - not mice.

Finally, going the other way - know what jealousy lacks,
measured decorum on the other side of the tracks.

Damaged

Damaged

The damage is done,
It's not over quite yet,
My tally and your sum,
I'm here with no regrets.

Caught out by the one,
The unsuspecting foe,
Mere words from your tongue,
We stand toe to toe.

Apologies may cleanse,
A corrupt and tainted soul,
Not this time friend,
Forever you'll be an arsehole.

(c) 2018 PJ Bayliss

Come On God

The world
your design
please sort it out ! 

We know you can
your a power unlimited
everybody here is waitin ?

Stop teasin us all !!
Get on with it !

PS Sorry yesterday about me swearing !  
But you are a bit of an arsehole !!

The Orchard

The Orchard of femininity 
Fine day sun and sky, I walked in an almond tree orchard
the scholars call it a deciduous bush and the learned
has no artistic sense looking for a Latin name
like the tree would care.
It is peaceful here a feminine place, and no one shouts
“Get off my land you, arsehole.”
The trees are dressed for the ball getting married to spring,
and since they are equally beautiful no competition. 

When deflowered they will be pregnant and bear the fruit
called almond; not yet, though, they will look lovely a few weeks more 
before taking up the burden of motherhood as
yellow wildflowers nod in harmony.

The Orchard

The Orchard 
Fine day sun and sky, I walked in an almond tree orchard
the scholars call it a deciduous bush and the learned
has no artistic sense looking for a Latin name
like the tree would care.
It is peaceful here a feminine place and no one shouts
“Get off my land you, arsehole”
The trees are dressed for the ball getting married to spring,
and since they are equally beautiful no competition. 

When deflowered they will be pregnant and bear the fruit
called almond; not yet, though, they will lovely a few weeks more 
before taking up the burden of motherhood as
yellow wildflowers nod in harmony.

You Say Tom-Aaa-To

YOU SAY TOM-AAA-TO

Never ever say sorry.
No matter how put,
a meagre sorry tastes

like yesterday’s curled sandwich,
obstinately irrelevant
to any serious discourse.

Instead, play for effect;
make your mark
with the equivalent

of a six course lunch,
a gourmet spread
of words, allusions

and classical reference;
then profusely apologise
with discipline and skill.

When sitting down
on completing this task,
you may append, quite silently,

the word *******, if American,
or the much more redolent British word
arsehole, even if American !

(Challenge words : sorry taste obstinate relevant serious play lunch gourmet apologise)

My Life Is For You

My life is for love but I hate my life,
To give everyone what they need just gets me in strife.
I love to help and make you happy,
But I ignore my needs, I feel like the content of a nappy,
Your needs always come first,
I consider your feelings but I just feel worse.
I am the ladder for you to climb,
To better your life, one rung at a time.
I, in the meantime, am walked all over,
Trampled into the ground, feeling like Rover.
I try to change, think of number one,
But when your what I need, myself I have just done.
I revert to normal to get what I want,
But loose you the same and just turn to the plonk.
I fear if I change I’ll become like the rest,
An Arsehole, a Wanker, and that’s just at best.
So I stay as I am to feel like Pooh,
For my life is to love and it’s all for you.

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