Best Arsed Poems
Whilst arching in a turtle-neck
A breeze blew softly by,
Too young to have a nosebleed,
Instead I made it cry.
‘What have you seen, where do you go?’
I wondered up aloud.
‘I’m off to see the Nondle,’
It answered like a cloud.
‘What kind of ventivness is that?’
I arsed as it rolled by.
‘The kind that twickers from the lisp,
And giggles from the eye.’
‘Will there be tea and room for me
Aboard your merry bus?
I’d love to see a Nondle
I’d really make a fuss.’
‘Your snoggling at its finery
Is something to behold.
A notion filled with butterscotch.
A whimsy- ready rolled.’
The breeze, who doubled at the chin,
Continued on its wabe,
Declaring as it gathered speed,
‘Oh, joyous in the dabe!’
And so, with charm and common flare
We followed like a stump.
Growing ever after
To see the Nondles hump.
VOYAGE
we got to the shore
with a common goal to score
who sees us through the vast?
the lot was cast
it fell on goat
to paddle the boat afloat
never was such a story told
but who could be bold
to question the rat-arsed gods
whose empty heads are wisdom
pods
yea the gods were too wise
never to have thought twice
to know a goat can't
concentrate
when a bag of grain is a
boatmate
deep in the water's deep
all passengers left to weep
the grains. o the grain
got goat's sight drained
the water gave a wink
we were about to sink
anytime the water frowned
goat sat down for a human
compatriot to drown
insane goat leading poor souls
towards a common goal
left some souls to perish
for mere maize to flourish
the journey. dreadful journey
was to the island of honey
we started long ago
but not even a fourth way thro
to save maize is goat's aim
forgetting the reason why we
came
we were deceived
we were deceived
our fathers thought on seeing
the gods we've seen the
Supreme Being
the Supreme Being never lies
He, the Almighty One never dies
the deceitful gods lie
the mortal gods die!
"Immolation"
I move into you
like a roaring Queensland Summer
You’re overtaken by heat, yet think I’m unobtainable
I’m too far away
A grown-arsed man
owns the footsteps he walks in
travels his world
scared of a woman
gone
grown-arsed girl
“Man Oh Man
she’s so not safe,
she’s so non-linear”
I move into you
like a roaring Queensland Summer
You think I’m unobtainable
I’m too far away
The fuel is laid
Sparks lit
communication is at least laid
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“Three simple rules in life: If you do not go after what you want, you'll never have it. If you do not ask, the answer will always be no. If you do not step forward, you will always be in the same place.”
"I tore myself away from the safe comfort of certainties through my love for truth - and truth rewarded me."Simone de Beauvoir
The shop floor view of the newly promoted
Oh to be the factory foreman and to wear a posh white coat
Just the thought of all that power brings a lump right to your throat
No more dirty hands or hob nail boots or boiler suits for you
No more rushing through your break time just relax and drink your brew
Carrying your briefcase, there’s no need for you to hide it
We all know that like your head there’s not a lot inside it
With your clipboard and your pencil you can wander round the site
Whilst assuming great authority you put us workers right
You believe we are in awe of you and hold you in esteem
If that is what you really think your living in a dream
We have seen all your back stabbing and we don’t know how you sleep
Everybody knows you as a sycophantic creep
We heard you telling everyone in the works canteen
That you now had access to the managers latrine
It’s true that for promotion you were first past the post
Yet the workers here all see you as a bigger pratt than most
We have read all your new rules and how we face the sack
We are all in the union and we’ll be fighting back
Don’t go thinking as a foreman that your future is secured
Your about to be upended by a young smart-arsed shop steward
Passionless lies turns to unmoved bigots thoughts
with emotionless half arsed hearts consumed by hate
splitting hairs we all know fact from fiction
Try to claim killing the unborn is care giving
then this retro bias claims a man has no right to speak
equality speaks from the soul without division
Where each son has a mother who protects who
when lines are drawn in the sand this is not about gender
This is not about women having the right to kill
Or even twisted sinners of men who live on cloud coo coo
Time waits on no man or woman to love and cherish each living heartbeat
we are brothers and sisters of the one God
His words have impact in those whom truly believe
How busy, busy is the life
Fat-arsed but Oh so humble Bumble Bee
He has no worries. What a simple life
Unhappy. How can he be?
He trundles round my garden where my roses grow
He is so gentle and slow
He always checks each blossom missing none
He drinks the nectar. Even stops to hum
Not like his cousin the Honey Bee
Which dashes here and there Shaped like a wasp
and therefore most carefully watched
Is safe in his hive and lasts the winter through. From cold he is free
The temperature tumbles
Alas the Bumbles
No hive as such
The Queen her Workers and the independent Drones
Will die
Mind you, the drones live high wide and handsome
Once hatched they leave the nest in mid summer
Their only function is to fertilise the Queen who bids them welcome
The baby Queens live with their mother
Only the newly mated Queens will live
And start the cycle off again
Sugar Maple was a beautiful tree
Just as pretty as a tree can be
With a solid and straight trunk so strong
And reaching ever up with graceful arms
Sugar Maple was enjoying some little fame
From folks near and far, from everywhere they came
To admire Sugars autumn gown of red
She shook her limbs and flipped her ginger head
Then as autumn gave way to bitter cold
Bare limbs appeared, making Sugar feel old
“That's just the way of nature”, said Old Dog Wood.
“Most trees lose their leaves, as they should”.
But Sugar Maple was determined to shine!
When she noticed the evergreen, she asked Pine,
How to keep her beautiful colored dress,
As he kept his eternal greenness.
Crude Pine couldn't help himself, he just laughed…
“Don't you know some prefer a lady who is bare-arsed?!”
Indignant and angry, Sugar Maple harrumphed…
“ Just you wait for Christmas, you soon to be old stump!”
Sweet tears began to flow from the Sugar tree then,
Just as the man passed, one of Sugar Maple's friends.
He came to a halt to admire her like most days…
Her foliage nearly gone, but he smiled anyway.
That evening, the man and his whole family too,
Came to see Sugar Maple and try something new.
They told her while performing some strange actions,
That they were trying something called, Sugar tappin’!
“You are a Sugar maple our beautiful dear,
You're so special you cry Sugar tears!
Once you fill this bucket from the tap, to the top,
We will replace it until your sweet tears stop.”
Then the man continued,” your sugary sap will provide,
Such delicious treats when we're winter deprived.
Candies, syrup, and desserts by the pound,
Which can only happen once all your leaves fall down!”
Well that was wonderful...for she knew she could fill their coffers
And she had much more than just beauty to offer!
I Have a Serious Case Of... (how the title SUPPOSED to look!!!)
Boredom.
Ennui.
Tedium.
Apathy.
Disinterest.
Indifference.
Lethargy.
Monotony.
Dullness.
Lassitude.
Listlessness.
Repetitiveness (repetitiveness).
Incuriosity.
Jadedness.
Disregard.
Immobility.
Unfocussed.
Distraction.
Disinclination.
Aversion.
Avoidance.
Discontentment…
… or just plain “cannot be arsed”!
Have no pity for the overweight,
the out of breath at the garden gate,
the struggling in and out of cars,
cnsumer of syrup and chocolate bars.
Walking sticks and mobility scooters,
the difficult bras encasing hooters.
Red faced men and lard arsed women,
their promise of tomorrow slimming.
Condemn me now, I'm for the blaming,
in this campaign, this body shaming.
So many things beyond control,
my ugly skin and shallow soul,
but when I walk I leave no hole.
People say I'm out of touch,
I think that we accept too much,
fat piggy people should disgust.
Their need,
selfish
greed,
want,
desire,
gluttony,
feed,
pig,
and
opinionated.
Big is beautiful,
big and proud.
And all the while,
the dying sound,
cry of starvation,
die of starvation,
you,
You lie of starvation!
because the pudding was not chocolaty enough!
because there is no ice cream left,
if your wanting mouth needs to consume,
feast on torment of starving children,
drink only tears of broken mothers.
1. A dangerous vision coveting another,
blurred by envy to need a mental monocle.
she burns in such deadly blast
not to realize the soul already promulgate itself
to the better one.
Nothing can serve as a wake up call
to warn against the penalty point.
What was once a silent partner in thoughts
transform to wicked acts and a stench
not to be overlooked, wanting a friend to be less.
2. Sees up through her friend
both are fine, she wants to be finer
both are well, she wants to be better
a onetime dove becomes arrogantly disloyal
a part-time energy with flashlights
relevant to the downfall of another,
exhibiting abrupt vagaries,
playing billiards not even to win
but to break the board,
watching closely in a bad timing
to revert all positives with negatives.
3. In the flowing dam of our love,
you poured strong acids of your crude emotions.
you are the one downgrading your worth to a bric-a-brac
your unexplained anger proves the more
that I’m by far better.
On this affliction, you stay rat-arsed,
giving jealousy so much importance
to be obsequious to it.
Time to be matey with the envied has passed,
let this dark heat continue fighting
for the devil may care.
Behold the cold village watchtower fog
and holiday summer fields bundlin' hay,
the Officers Club back door buyin' grog
till all our money slowly pissed away!
Up the back roads hoonin' in the hot seat
and down Sparkin Hill runnin' on fumes,
or ride that city bus into Queen Street
after school up in the snooker rooms.
And lock and load shoot to kill in dead fall
the winged corpse of blackbird and pheasant,
when fools, tricksters and gamblers staked all
in the gamin’ rooms of Hitchcock Crescent.
Oh youthful crimes and misdemeanours
in Hillmans, Zephyrs and Cortinas.
And when the sins of youth had lost its thrill
I would walk to the house up on the hill.
In the bright burnin’ lights of the prison
runnin' like a fugitive in the night,
and as the last beer and hormones kicked in
so did crimes of passion in the moonlight.
In rush of young blood in curves and curls
between the sweaty bales of Percy’s barn,
where tales of turgid boys and bare-arsed girls
spread like the clap village rumour and yarn.
Oh youthful crimes and misdemeanours
in Hillmans, Zephyrs and Cortinas.
And when the sins of youth had lost its thrill
I would walk to the house up on the hill.
And in my rum soaked body and soul
hungover in my DTs and detox I lay.
Smokin' doobies of Acapulco Gold
sorely truly fu*ked on my bed of hay.
Through all my changes I was a dreamer
and lived a trepidation and a ruse,
but when she lay bare and I between her
I lived the dream in my puberty blues.
Oh youthful crimes and misdemeanours
in Hillmans, Zephyrs and Cortinas.
And when the lusts of youth had lost its thrill
I would walk to the house up on the hill.
Written: April 2000
For years I roamed this land,
without any real care for the world,
not one place to often,
before I'd move on again.
I'd picked work up here and there,
only to feed my habits,
alcohol, gambling and drugs,
was really the only things I care about.
I'd built my life on selfish illusions,
this I realize now,
so much time wasted on nothing,
I could have made something of my life.
Even after my children were born,
one main habit I still had,
balancing this with family life,
sort of made things hell.
Restricted by what I wanted,
I wanted way too much,
I couldn't have it all,
enough had to be enough.
Only last year did I come of age,
when I finally realized,
my children are the most important things to me,
I changed so they could survive.
No more half arsed parenting,
drunk most of the time,
it was time to man right up,
take responsibility for what was mine.
Yeah sometimes things get hectic,
but I wouldn't change a thing,
my babies have there Daddy back,
and I wont go back to those days again.
Those days of constant struggle,
robbing Peter to pay Paul,
all because I had issues,
which really wasn't there fault.
My babies are a lot happier now,
I have more time I spend with them,
helping them all to develop,
now takes up a lot of my time
When I'm not with them, I'm here writing poems,
about different things I think they need to know,
I can't teach them everything about life,
but I can teach them about mine.
Contest: COMING OF AGE - frank herrera
M.Mahauariki © 2012
I hate you even more-er now
No I hate you mostest
You slimy evil fat arsed cow
That’s why I keep you closest
They warm,
midwinter’s summer days.
And,
by thinning blood in thickening veins,
for lustful and immodest reasons,
cause men to think,
against god’s odds,
they’ve managed to reverse the seasons.
We dumb-arsed, head-f***ed, simple sods.
nine torn kimonos
man sits staring out window---
bare arsed slacker
*a stitch in time saves 9