Best Arsehole Poems
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)
Categories:
arsehole, funny, philosophy, social, sorry,
Form:
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!
Categories:
arsehole, abuse, angst, betrayal, boyfriend,
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
arsehole, lifelife, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Don’t often see him
7/8 asleep
But I’m sometimes surprised
Brushing my feet
Purring and arching
And pushing up high
Ecstasy shows in a half closed eye
Black white and furry
Real smooth to the touch
But not really keen on fussing that much
So soft and cuddly you fail to remember
He has in his mind a deadly agenda
Hey human, scratch me here, scratch me there
You only think that you’re covered in hair
You feed me Iams and think I’m so nice
But I really prefer the heads of live mice
The warden of the garden on constant patrols
Listening for sounds like the digging of moles
One eyes the ground the other the sky
Watching and waiting for things that might fly
For this week I have but one major goal
To tear that magpie another arsehole
He goes for me when he can, him and his mate
One will tease me from my lair the other lies in wait
They got me in a tree one day I was hanging off one paw
Down came the magpie crow, I couldn’t hold on much more
One quick peck and I let go
Bloody hard that beak you know
Hit a few branches way below
Crash -landed on the floor
I’ll get some food, maybe a nap and
Lick my paw like nothing has happened
I’ll strut and swagger and act so sublime
Knowing that pie is on borrowed time
I go out at night while they aren’t around
Scout around and find some new ground
Under a bush I make a new lair
Lie in wait for my friend of the air
I eat a few moths spend a night on the tiles
And maybe I’ll doze for a time
Aha they’re near you can hear them for miles
If he lands up close he’s mine
Hello Jake you look all smug
After your night on the town
You had better get on to your rug
And have a good lie down
Dream a dream of shredded bird
Dying all a quiver
Bet you didn’t expect me
To be chewing on your liver
Sorry about the garden mess
Hope it doesn’t make you queasy
We had a tear up I must confess
And he came apart real easy
- this is a poem by my dad about our pet cat "jakey"
Categories:
arsehole, bird, cat, dad, death,
Form:
Free verse
A LESSON LEARNT
I'm sat here in my front room
and i'm feeling all inspired
No ones having a go at me
or making me feel tired
Of the constant bloody arguments
the put downs and the moan
the telling me i'm useless,
the huffs, the puffs, the groans.
No more anxious feelings
or being afraid to speak
No more feeling insecure,
or feeling like a freak.
I'm not alone, i've got my kids
my friends and family,
but also someone great is here
and that someone great is me.
I vanished for a while
and really lost my way,
But that was down to being bullied
each and every single day.
One thing we all need to know
and believe within our hearts,
Is that all of us were victims
and targeted at the start.
Not because we're useless, ugly, weak
too fat or too thin,
But cos we're kind and gentle people
who, un-knowingly let the bully in.
And not because we're stupid
but cos he was very clever,
at making us feel worthless
so that he could feel much better.
The truth is he's an arsehole
and he really is a prat,
For not knowing that the day would come
when we'd start fighting back.
We'd stop listening to his ********
and we suddenly start to grin,
cos we know deep within ourselves
we're worth a million of him.
One thing to remember
is that beauty is skin deep,
cos as they age, their looks will fade
and all your left with is a creep.
On the other hand there's us girls
who are beautiful within,
We're the kind and gentle one,s
who let that bastard in.
But let's not be ungrateful
for the lesson he did teach,
For we now all know the difference
between the lover and the leach.
Categories:
arsehole, abuse, boyfriend, bullying, courage,
Form:
Quatrain
In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
where a newborn child was suckled, there.
Then, while a mother gently brushed my hair,
father read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh Bear.
Later, it became a galloping horse at county fair,
a sheet tossed over transformed into a pirate lair.
Sometimes, it was a rocket for Digby and Dan Dare.
A space for reading torchlit tales designed to scare.
Once, in the den, while lazing in the chair
Is where I first heard Simon Stewart swear
"S**t, bugger arsehole, I don't care."
He said, but as for me, I did not dare.
I studied A's on E's quoted from Voltaire
read Descartes and voted Tony Blair
Sprayed purple dye on tall spiked hair
Rocking gently, floating in mid-air.
A broken heart, a broken love affair
I tried to end it all once in that chair
The world hates me, and I hate it; life's so unfair
I'm still here but always have that cross to bear.
Dreams of becoming rich, a millionaire,
was I just building castles in the air
while rocking with a gin and tonic in that chair.
Then, later, I woke up the worse for wear.
I now have children of my own, a pair
We sit, for I have much to tell and much to share
About love, life, and death; how to prepare;
and read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh bear.
In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
I wonder how it ended up in there?
The younger generation doesn't seem to care;
but then again, why should they, to be fair!
Categories:
arsehole, life,
Form:
Monorhyme
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.
Categories:
arsehole, 4th grade, imagery, magic,
Form:
Prose
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
Categories:
arsehole, betrayal, perspective,
Form:
Quatern
I’m with a partner, on occasion, if I’m lucky,
But just as luck is, it’s never there for long.
Family and friends are always around,
Yet no matter who’s there, alone I am.
Always the lover, never the loved,
The hardest thing to do, to hold onto myself.
Happiness is false, the mask I must don,
To show that I am there, I can be relied on.
Family and friends, true to their name,
Treat me as such, their not to blame.
Partners it seems, their purpose is to do,
Treat me like the dirt that lies under their shoe.
A matt to be trodden on, left on the floor,
Used as their need takes, ignored until then.
Beaten occasionally, then dropped back to the ground,
Looked upon in disgust until I’m needed, yet again.
The dirt is ground in deep, forced into my fibres,
Yet I endure this torture, trying to find a measure of peace.
The dirt ground in, festers inside, filling me with sadness, anger and hate,
Begging me to turn the tide of my fate.
Use them first, before they can use me,
Give into my dark, become an arsehole, let them see.
With all I have been through, it would be easy to do,
But what would happen to me?... I’d loose me too.
So keep to my morals, treat as I would be treated,
Get used and discarded then used a bit more.
Keep taking my punishment, dreaming of peace,
However it comes, happiness or death, what ever my fate.
Painfully hard, resisting temptation,
The hardest thing to do, to hold onto myself.
Categories:
arsehole, depression, girlfriend-boyfriend, life, lost
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
arsehole, bridal shower,
Form:
Sonnet
They used to call me an arsehole, now they call me a head case.
Categories:
arsehole, humor,
Form:
Monoku
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 !!
Categories:
arsehole, allah, faith, god,
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
arsehole, angel,
Form:
Sonnet
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.
Categories:
arsehole, truth,
Form:
Rhyme
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…
Categories:
arsehole, america, anger, betrayal, business,
Form:
Blank verse