Best Crud Poems
I am writing to you because I know you have a wish.
I have been thinking diligently about your wish. It is not
going to be easy but I think it can be done. First I am going
to break down your overall wish into many smaller wishes.
I want you to get that electric car you always wanted. That huge
backyard protected from unwanted visitors. I know you have a love
for life...do you remember when you told me - You should never eat
anything that once had a heart. I miss all those organic vegetables,
fruits, growing foods you use to treat me to.
I want you to be able to see the stars at night not hidden by the
crud in the air. Enjoy a sunset free of gaseous neon colors. Rid
the world of killing machines. Did you know there are weapons now
can kill hundreds in a few minutes, I know it would break your heart
to watch.
Than I want you to fill your lungs in the cleanest of air plumped up
with an abundance of oxygen. Drink from the oceans, lakes, rivers,
bays fresh thirst quenching water. Can you imagine all water life
free of cancerous tumors, fishies free of disease but I am off on
a tangent. I want you to play in the rain without fear. Have you
heard of acid rain?
I want you to get each and every single wish that I mention.
Delivered to you by the most gentle of breezes. In the frozen
fingers of the icebergs. Some in the whirlwind motion of the
smallest of tornadoes. Others through the hairline cracks of
the best behaved of all earthquakes.
I love you with all my heart. I know so many have changed
without remorse. They are so busy looking for the pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow they no longer notice the rainbow.
So many wishes you yearn.
I wish for you mother, at the very least your children would
stop raping you, sodomising you. Mother Earth we your children,
us the humans live here by your grace...well my wish for you
mother is that your children would stop all the denial, all the
arguments, the rationalizations...we have all the excuses for
what we do to you. I wish what you wish mother. I wish your
children would show you the respect you deserve. Just that
no more, no less.
Love, Always
Maurice
20~12~2014
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest Name: My Wish For You
Categories:
crud, love,
Form:
Narrative
There once was a poet who despaired
though blessed with a fair amount of flair
that he was way too thick
to master limericks
counting words an arduous affair
Limerick-writing he'd master not
count sillybulls, meter and whatnot
the elusive punchline's
too troublesome to find
with his thoughts roughly tied up in knots
Spatial dimension impediment
a meter doubled in measurement
at the best of times three
lopsided prosody
shoddy despite its being eloquent
Sillybulls ignored and miscounted
charge around angrily, discounted
with their hoofs on the slam
they step up the bedlam
bewildering chaos uncounted
With pep talks and deliberation
resolved: they're too high 'bove my station
so to rhyme he should stick
and give up limericks
where wordcraft counts naught but summation
*Sillybulls = syllables. My thanks to Ephraim Crud for the loan of the word.
To Wignesan: am I stooopid or what???
Categories:
crud, light, poetry,
Form:
Limerick
As kids, we were brought to the beach
at riverfront...sea out of reach.
Our sand was like mud;
neath water, silt crud.
I'd wallow with fun, laugh, and screech!
Now grown, to the seashore I go
where sand is as white as the snow.
I don't go out far
beyond the sandbar
for fear of the silt down below!
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place~
Contest: Sea Tales Limericks - Old Or New
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
Judged: 08/04/2018
Categories:
crud, beach,
Form:
Limerick
Axe the old Don, a trump peter n piper
of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
ha air brushed pompous ****
Sunkist in Macy's window
then like a jackal hound, he doth run
after public outcry yelps
for his hide leaving
proletarian discord re: pyrrhic victory won.
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
while kissing thing kith
darting forked tongue sharp as bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed
expletives toward lass
sees – especially Fox Television
news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
(quite so many ill mannered indiscretions ago)
inducing said personality
to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults sacrilegiously
maliciously, noxiously, opprobiously
incriminating, hellaciously,
desecrating opportunistically as hiss oh piss
so…NO amp pull VOTE of confidence from me
(thus far ohm host halfway to 2020 election
toward such a volt char quite rude, snooty
arrogant simian with sass.
I van (terribly hard pressed)
to describe while sitting on me rump
how he oh bomb in lee rages
gnashing false teeth
Wilma backside doth slump
still blasting Democratic nomination
(pa hill a reed) as sham –
from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome of
crass bloviation, a malignant lump
whose rants,
sans presidential outcome a shame
bullying with his millions beds this,
that and another woman to bareback jump
disseminating gene pool
birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erected Taj Mahal
phallic symbol, where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash
for his kitty, as if that cachet
to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal
like "Stormy Dan" yells
leering oafish ill pout
while hair rum
(of red follicular) bulls ad hocks
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed locks
resemble a flock
of bronzed sea gulls mocks
heady measly shaped Muppet Ox
dis eased cranial hologram shocks
of a cretaceous, facetious tocks
(sic) exogenous, insidious, and obstreperous vox.
Categories:
crud, 12th grade, abuse, anger,
Form:
Imagism
Pumping black blood
Sea life falls dead with a thud
Petroleum mud
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
Categories:
crud, animals, death, nature, sea,
Form:
Senryu
Memories, like treasures, are oft tarnished by time
stored in that vault in the back of your mind.
But dreams buff them,
until they shine.
Polishing forgotten thoughts with remembered loves,
you wipe away life's crud down to the shine.
And amidst tears and rusted promises;
you discover golden moments retain their shine.
Do you believe Hope's a Genie
powered by imagination?
Then, rub its lamp;
and make it shine.
Categories:
crud, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
We're out here in the Land of Sand.
We came to take a stand, and lend a helping hand.
But every hand I see is shooting back at me.
It's hard to feel too welcome when all the shot and shell come.
This isn't working out much like we planned.
I cannot wait to leave the Land of Sand.
We're out here in the Land of Mud.
It's nasty and its wet, and I've got the raging crud.
There's water to my knees and snipers in the trees.
I don't smell like a flower,
It's months I had a shower.
Our CO is a clone of Elmer Fudd.
I cannot wait to leave the Land of Mud.
Oh, home, sweet home.
I dream of hot dogs in the Astrodome.
It's where my heart is turning.
I'm yearning for home.
We're out here in the Land of Bugs.
They buzz around my head like a thousand thirsty thugs.
The skeeters and the fleas are worse than enemies.
It's hot here as a sauna and all the local fauna
Bounce around like they are high on drugs.
I cannot wait to leave the Land of Bugs.
Oh, home, sweet home.
I finally got my orders to go home
It's where my babe is bedding,
I'm heading for home.
So now I'm back at home at last.
The mud and sand and bugs are all back in the past.
But kids are screaming, neighbors scheming
Wife is pouting, bills are mounting.
Home life is really dull,
I'm bored right out of my skull.
I think I'll put my papers in again,
And go off to the Land of Ice -
Seems nice.
I think it will suffice.
Categories:
crud, humor, military,
Form:
Light Verse
The Only Topic
Every Morning I get up and the very first thing I do,
Is switch on the Teli, to find out the latest Hullabaloo.
Well it might be Carl, Sam or Kochy/Kochie on 7, 9, SBS or the ABC.
They won`t be talking about murder, riots or some ship in a storm out to sea.
You guessed it, it’s the Corona virus their on about and how much damage it has done.
The effect upon our economy, all the latest fatalities who have unfortunately succumbed, the stats of infected ones.
I`ve heard it all before, for months and months, on they go,
But I need to hear it again and again, even though it makes my spirit low.
We have mostly forgotten all the millions in refugee camps, around the place.
The starving, abused and mistreated who daily, have the same old issues to face.
We worry about the mental effects this is having on the people of our Land.
When we should be thanking God above for our fortune rare and Grand.
There is still a heap of freedom, plenty of food for us to buy.
Money from the government and civil servants who still care enough to try.
This is not a time of sorrow but a time to come awake.
To see what we are made of and give the crud a shake.
This world has always seen tragedy, wars, famine, disasters and pain
but it also has beauty, warmth , love, mateship and life giving rain.
So buck up ol chaps and put a grin above your chin
Not everybody loses and not everyone will win.
But we can all make our choices to either cry, grizzle or complain
Or to rejoice while the breaths still in us and to keep ourselves sane.
The virus isn’t here to deny us, rather it is another sort of test,
And like every challenge in history before, we will beat it just like we did the rest.
Categories:
crud, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
“Route 66” (Part 2)
The Wicked Old Witch stalked her, flying above
on her revved up battered old Peugeot Stick made from
twigs and oderous putrifying brown crud.
Up to this point all silent, the ugly old hag now cackled her passive abuse,
“You may have those Red Shoes Dot, but what matters to me you dim-witted dove,
is that, I now possess forever,
what you truly “most” Love.
Dot was dying bit by bit from the inside, but her fierce Warrior Spirit,
kept her soul burning with pride,
her head held up high,
however, at this point in the story, she wished she had a big gun loaded
with sharp deadly bullets of Bromargyrite.
Dot ignored the covetous old hag, pitied her, that much can be said,
you see, her brother the mindless Scarecrow, was bolted up tight, locked in a cold Tin Shed -
(punishment, his crime: “no brain in his head”);
Dot continued to soldier on forward,
kept up her Warrior’s stride
and thought of the moral in that story about one’s own bed,
there was nowhere to hide.
Dot now thought to look down at her magic sparkling shoes,
Ruby Red,
thought clicking them twice but what was the point,
all that was Home was now dead.
Dot took her eyes off her feet, with eyes now open wide,
she stood stock still, she noticed with pure horror,
clearly understood -
Toto, whom she loved “Most” of all
was missing, no more by her side,
nowhere to be seen
in this dark nightmarish neighbourhood.
A Lion came out of nowhere emerged from the mist,
Somewhere a tawny owl hooted “Who? Who? Is this now a tryst?”
He was holding his tail and a deck of Queens Slippers,
He purred ever so nicely, “Where to now Missus?
I’ve got your back. I’ll stay true.”
“How hard can that be,” he thought, “to dissolve all of her indigo blues?”
Somewhere in the background all foggy
but right on track,
ACDC was playing, that song,
you know the one,
“The Jack”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Dec 2017)
Categories:
crud, betrayal, courage, imagery, integrity,
Form:
Free verse
I try to take the high road so I can see just where we are,
I look up at the night sky, wish upon a shooting star.
It’s hard to clean up your act when you are dragged through the mud.
It hard for me to come up shining, when I am covered in all this crud.
As I embark upon the high road the stars shine just for me.
The full moon provides a beacon of light, so that I can see.
I listen to my heart it knows what I shall be.
I stand upon this high spot my spirit just feels free.
The high road takes longer but the rewards are great.
Hope and faith collide creating my new fate.
So much seems to happen that I simply can’t relate,
As the time flies right by, hope it’s not too late…
Can we meet upon the high road and wonder of the view?
Can we listen to the questions when the answers seem askew?
I start out every morning; it’s a brand new day.
Don’t listen to those people they have all just lost their way.
On the high road we find justice and perhaps a little peace.
The soul shall feel thee freedom from the cage it is released.
When it comes right down to it we are defined by what we do.
It only matters where you’re going, not what you’ve been through.
As we walk upon the high road we see what we’ve become.
The principals become the glue so we don’t just come undone.
Maybe we can sit out on the edge and watch the setting sun.
I find myself simply walking where once I had to run…
Categories:
crud, hope, inspirational, life,
Form:
Narrative
These big mother mayflies
spend larval lives in mud
eating detrital crud,
then molt and take to skies
to mate, lay eggs and die
hand on to newer blood.
Freedom's brief days passed
water phase starts anew
next cycle to accrue.
From time's undying past
through eons have they last,
each generation true.
Delectable to trout,
match the hatch or you're out.
Inspired by John Gerrach's Sex, Death and Flyfishing
Categories:
crud, fishing,
Form:
Sonnet
Wrote this for Carolyn's Vacation Humor contest, but I went a little overboard
with the amount of lines.
It was such a big elation
Finally getting my vacation
Two weeks off with lots of plans
That were supposed to be be so grand
A second honeymoon to take
A welcome and inviting break
Memories to fill our hearts
Happiness right from the start
Turning into fun and laughter
We could carry ever after
Swimming in waters so blue
Hawaiian Island grand and true
Leis placed gently on your neck
Being greeted with respect
A pig luau smelling good
Like a yummy supper should
As your lying in the sand
Fruity drinks place in your hand
A perfect dream this should be
Instead nightmare reality
Faces us up ahead
A horror and awful dread
No blue waters for our swimming
Just a pool that needs some skimming
No Hawaii in our sights
Just a scary place at night
No pretty leis or hello greeting
Just frightful people we are meeting
Our pig luau turned into crud
Our meals all tasted like mud
No sand or delicious drinks
Hard floors and water from the sink
Our vacation turned from memories
And pictures for our friends to see
To a hell that always burns
When a drunk pilot took a turn
Landing us so far off course
It couldn't get any worse
Stepping off the plane and crying
We were brought to Rikers Island
Categories:
crud, vacation,
Form:
Rhyme
Mankind, you're so proud and tall
You really think you know it all
And once you had discovered fire
to such great heights you did aspire
Once, gladly, of myself I gave
but now your plan is to enslave
Do you think it is your right
to consign whole species to the night
You rob the forests of their trees
and think you can do as you please
Disfigure me in your quest for oil
and with your wastes, my seas despoil
My rivers now flow red as blood
choked and dying with your crud
I've pleaded, but to no avail
as you wiped out the mighty whale
My atmosphere is choked with fumes
just to heat your fancy rooms
Radiation blights the ground
Everywhere your footprint's found
Pesticides pollute your crops
Acids taint the pure raindrops
My icecaps melt with global warming
A hole in the ozone layer is forming
I am your home, your ONLY home
Amongst the stars you'll never roam
Will you then, your home destroy
with these methods you employ?
You care not for this pollution
What then, mankind, is the solution
Should I let you on Earth remain
or wipe you out and start again
Mankind take heed you have been warned
So far my warnings have been scorned
One day soon you'll feel my rage
I'll knock you back to the stone age
With earthquakes I'll destroy a city
Too late then to ask for pity
With fire and storm and tidal wave
I'll consign you to the grave
What you've done make's no sense
Now I demand much recompense
Mankind, betrayer, of you I tire
Heed my words ... my name is Gaia
Categories:
crud, anger, betrayal, earth, environment,
Form:
Verse
The time when Juno excruciated was
Due to Salome against the Theban blood,
As many times was shown to be the cause,
Atamante became so insane and crud,
That when his wife with two sons saw
To go on and have both hands full could,
Shouted: “Let us lay nets, so I can draw
The lioness and lion cubs when pass”;
And then he stretched more than one cruel claw,
Catching just the one called Learco, alas,
And revolved and stroke him against a stone;
She then drowned herself with others at last.
And when the godsend lower had then flown
The Trojan height which before had dared all,
So that with his reign the king too was blown,
Sad Ecuba, poor and captive to bawl,
After she saw Polissena was died,
And of hers Polidoro on shore haul
Of sea she gloomy was aware beside,
Frantic then became and barked as a mutt;
That much the pain just made hers mind so tied.
Never Theban or Trojan furies but
Were seen to be with any wild so much,
Not hitting beasts, nor human limbs to cut,
As much as I saw on two faint souls clutch,
Which biting run just quite in the same way
A pork running when the pigsty opens such.
One reached Capocchio, and as to slay
Rapid snapped at his neck, so that, its pull,
Constrained his belly to rub ground and lay.
And the Aretine who remained, trembling full
Told me: “Gianni Schicchi is the sprite,
And goes around treating others as a fool”.
“Oh!”, I told, “if the other won’t bite
Your body, then please try to tell me
Who he is, before he leaves this site”.
And he: ”That the ancient soul has to be
Of wicked Mirra, who in the past became
Lover to hers father, doing love as spree.
She went to sin with him seeking hers aim,
Forging herself in the someone else shape,
As the other one going there, with blame,
To gain the woman grace and then to rape,
Forged himself Buoso Donati guy,
False testifying to the will reshape”.
(continues next)
Categories:
crud, fantasy,
Form:
Terza Rima
We are not your average - coffee shop and deli.
Here the atmosphere is happy - and the owners are friendly!
We can start you out with coffee - or something else if you desire.
Our goal is to please you - so are standards are much higher!
We have breakfast items - and yes we have lunch too!
Both are served throughout the day - no reason to be blue.
We're working on new items - to tempt your taste bud.
You don't have to continually settle - on other people's crud!
We have many tasty flavors - so you can mix and match.
Keep your hands on that drink - someone it may try to snatch!
We even have milk shakes - and they bring such delight!
They can turn your day around - and make you feel all right!
We're located on Francis and Lidgerwood - across the street from Double Eagle
Pawn.
So quit procrastinating - don't allow your palate to constantly Yawn!
Take out or delivery - whatever is your pleasure!
It would be a real mistake - to miss out on this fantabulous treasure!!!
Footnote: This quaint little (Old Pals) Espresso and Deli is in Spokane Washington. Current Hours of Operation are: 7:00 AM - 6:00 PM 7 days a week.
Addendum: They have closed the location I wrote about and do not know if they have reopened elsewhere or not. Was sorry to see them go.
Categories:
crud, celebration, drink, food, giving,
Form:
Rhyme