Best Dirtier Poems
Toilet Bowl Committee (aka: Uptown Hood)
A lavatory confinement
my$h!tdontstinkcomode.com
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If you want to moderate this place, pick up the pace
From the mouth down to the @$$
Your so called kind has no class,
Fed by these political rejects, never elected for what was!
No matter,
They wipe their assets clean with our dreams
Forgetting to wipe their own toilet seats clean
Trying to make us feel dirtier than scat
Feeding off our paper when their toilet bowl water level is low
Toilet bowl PO-poes, wiping without dental floss
Missing everything in between reality
Trying to be kind, saying "One Day We'll Be Good Enough!"
Offering their Golden Plunger,
straight from the Home Depot shelves
No Thank You! My plunger a true gift from Mr. Wal-Mart himself
Next time you feel the need to offer a reference point
Please caption your name when you drop by,
Rinse thoroughly when speaking my name,
Then I will listen when you talk civilized
Correct my punctuations and spelling errors
The weakest trait you wear
You are no Prophet, just white tissue turning brown
Your Justification comes from old dry grapes falling from the vines
Ridicule will never give you the respect, for what you are!
We, the few poets from the hood,
overpower any change you offer Goodwill
Crumbling and flushing what does not meet your standards
Trying hard to force feed us soup, without giving us bibs
Thank you
Toilet Bowl Committee
For clogging up my drain with your bull$h!T
By: Keeping it Real (The Downtown Hood)
Date: 12-15-13
~*~
love
i used to think it was measured
by the depths of one's eyes
the swells that formed
when blue turned gray
a cloudy day
with the taste of
warm summer rain
rain
how i loved to feel it
splashing against my face
washing all my secrets
into the puddles of mud
that looked dirtier
than i felt
feelings
i never knew they came assorted
like gummy-bears and rainbows
i only knew one
but i learned it well
learning
i guess you taught me well
i could out run fists
and fits of rage
while not only talking
but sassing back
like some spoiled teen
teens
i remember mine well
loved the color red
and how it dripped
in finger-paintings
on half-slit wrists
now riddled with scars
scars
yeah, i have a few
more than others
but who's counting
except
when counting
one's last breath of air
air
i loved to feel it
warm little breaths
kissing my cheek
in the height of day
but at night
i hated the exhale
it fell too often
like me
me
i guess i never knew love
not until you were gone
from my life
life
seems to blend
differently now
in an assortment
of colors
i never knew
existed
existence
means
no longer liking red
Lets get personal Final poetry contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
I'm just not an athletic go-getter.
Won't catch me in a teams scarf or sweater.
But what I watch on TV,
That always does it for me,
Wrestling- and the dirtier the better!!!
a lot of so called ladies say us men have dirty minds. maybe these ladies have dirtier minds because they're alway's obsessing about how men do. maybe these so called ladies minds aren't dirty enough! (no, i'm not totally anti feminist). I've met so called good girls with bad hearts and I've met bad girls with good hearts.
Pyrrhic revenge
They’d eaten his books, his clothes and lean paper money,
Whetted their teeth against his coins and an old jar of honey.
They’d blown cold air nightly, as they gnawed whilst he slept,
Eating bits of his extremities that lay in the path they crept.
No out-of-bounds, for every nook they could roam,
In his one room shack - the pigsty he called home,
Pooing on his bed and table; sometimes, boldly in his stare,
And, not inside his drawers, pots and pockets, did they spare.
By heavens, for such a man in his youthful prime,
There was none dirtier; whose home had more grime,
The constant reek of gunge - what better invitation,
To every pest; flying or crawling, for cohabitation?
He’d hoped to kill the poverty that to him, had seemed to glue
With the job for which he’d been invited for an interview,
Alas! His file jacket was barely held by its leather threads,
And his results and certificates; partly eaten, were in shreds.
Enough! he’d thought, and bought a mousetrap,
With smoked fish bait, he’d soon heard the trap’s first clap,
Of the fathers, mothers and offsprings, he’d caught one,
With this and others after, he’d planned his vengeful fun.
With glee, to the street he’d stepped with the vermin,
The fate of which, only he could now determine,
He’d doused it with petrol, amidst street kids cheers,
But oblivious of his folly, and fate’s inaudible jeers.
With a single match strike, it was engulfed in flames,
And what happened next, he had none to apportion blames,
For, in blind anguish, the rat had dashed back into his room;
The house had charred, smoking with a mile high plume!
In Carolina there is no helmet law
As my girlfriend complains, all I hear is blah, blah, blah
She is still stewing over me buying all the accessories in the catalog
I tell her to bow down to me, I am now the Big Bad Dog
I am now sportin' my new leather chaps
Up side the head, from her I get a smack
I will mark a new territory the Hell's Angels would fear to tread
Looking hard and ridin' dirty on my Moped
At this point, I tear the sleeves off my blue jean jacket
She tells me to stop trying to Mac It
I smile with my Gold tooth displayed
She tells me I need help, she drops to her knees to pray
Then she asks me if I stopped taking my Meds
I tell her I really love you, it's a Two seater, we can both ride dirty on my Moped
I tell her I haven't shaved for Five days
She says she sees the peach fuzz on my face
I look at her and tell her I am a 15 year old trying to make it in this dog eat dog society
Either get on or get out and miss my noteriety
She says she's had enough and besides it's almost curfew
So I depart to the trailer park and pick up that floozy Gracie Lou
I tell her to hang on, it could get wild, I am what they call pure white bread
She grabs my waist and is ready to ride dirty on my Moped
It can't get any dirtier, a trailer girl that smells real bad
I look back and recall, this was the best summer I ever had
I died in my sleep last night
Too tired to put up a fight
But you know how the story goes
Won't you give my love to Rose
And if I had a wishing well
To my death I wish I fell
But this cat just lost his tail
Still got eight lives to pay my bail
And sometimes I just wish you would
Tell me what it was that you know good
But all I hear is that quiet smile
Of which I ain't seen in quite a while
You confuse crows with that Crooked Smile
Trying to fly that country mile
I want to die laughing in my sleep
Don't want death to take with no slow creep
So I have learned to live real fast
Every new day dies in the past
I broke the mold but the cast was kept
"Don't throw it away" all the angles wept
That swinging sword took my right ear
I got seven lives I've got no fear
And sometimes I just wish you would
Tell me what it was that you know good
But all I hear is that quiet smile
Of which I ain't seen in quite a while
You confuse crows with that Crooked Smile
Trying to fly that country mile
At the Pearly Gates I met St Pete
He put me in line to clean God's feet
Eternity turned till my turn fell
My God his souls were dirtier than hell
"Why are we made of water dirt and blood"
He said "I love dancing in red mud"
Trampled by love I'll asphyxiate
My death six felt just like eight
And sometimes I just wish you would
Tell me what it was that you know good
But all I hear is that quiet smile
Of which I ain't seen in quite a while
You confuse crows with that Crooked Smile
Trying to fly that country mile
If my blood stains have ruined your new sheets
When I kill myself again I'll be more discreet
Falling from the sky the injured Angel sang
Words written in red with the shotgun BANG
Those words in red, they rang real clear
When I needed you the most you'd disappear
And I will try not to lose life five
But nowadays I'm dying trying to stay alive
And sometimes I just wish you would
Tell me what it was that you know good
But all I get is that crooked ass smile
I told her I didn't care,
eyes open wide with innocence,
seeping hatred
through the cracks in my retina.
I felt her draw her yellow-parchment
skin over me, like a web
of history and headlines -
years and years of forgotten words
burning themselves into my memory
for the second time, only
dirtier.
I smiled as she took over my
gag-reflex, swimming
over the muscles along my spine,
tantalizing all my knuckles,
crackling at the tips of my hair.
I dreamed I sank my teeth into her
and snapped the bird-bones at the
hollow of her throat
and blew the sand that was her marrow
into a desert of insignificance.
I stood in the sky
and watched as I turned my face.
I watched my pupils fill up with tar
and I watched
her blood run down
my chin.
and I didn't
even
flinch.
** Written to describe one of the seven deadly sins... wrath
Stop pushing your religion down my throat
Banging my head against your bible, mister
Throwing hell’s fire in my wake
To awaken some sort of lost
Regurgitated state
Of disillusionment
Trying to distress the demons of out of me
With your condescending
Deeper then understanding
Voice, resounding in these
“heathen” bones of mine
Holier then thou
Gung ho attitude
Heads twisted over pews
Whispering allegations I hope I never hear
Because the words that are spiraling out of your mouth now
Makes my blood seem
A little thicker, darker
Eviler, all of the sudden
By the dark eyes of Judgment
You have no right to judge me
I’m not a Muslim, I’m not a Jew
And I guess I’m not a Christian
Because if I was I guess I would be losing my religion
Flushing down the drain with my soul
Down to hell like they say
All the lonely people
In their beds fuming in their self righteous anger
Drowning happiness devout in their heads
Burnt in by branding of scorning and lighting of torches
Against ordinary people
So what if my hips sway a little bit too much when i walk
My skirt is a little shorter
My stance is a little stronger
The words flowing from my mouth are a little bit dirtier
My soul is a little bit hotter
Poetry streaming from my pen is a little bit spicier
Does that automatically mean
That your God
Wouldn’t love me?
Every other week during summer, or fall ...
there's a loud noise rattling my huge window
facing the shady street
where no kids are seen.
.
Old fashioned grass cutters like the one I had made a minimal noise,
I don't have to visualize it, or see it to describe its actual color...
days ago I saw one with a dangling front the front bumper,
and the small, miserable guy was trying to snap back in its place.
I came outside and yelled, " Fix the darn machine and let me sleep! "
and giving him a second nasty look running my mouth as a truck driver,
" Sir, " he replied, " I am trying to fix it and finish the job and leave!"
" Do it quickly and let me get some more sleep! " that was my answer.
And just in case you wonder
what its color was .....you are
in for a shocking surprise, it was much dirtier
than an abandoned car
with a finish similar to a chocolate's eclair!
Most people need to see Magic in technicolor
because they want to see all of the bright creatures
like Brownies and Pixies.
I don't want to see the façades
that Brownies and Pixies
present to the majority of Society.
But I need to see the Dirtier and Grittier
side of Magic because that is where I belong.
The Truth of Magic is messier and more dangerous
than People truly understand or want to know.
I am one of those People
who put their lives on line
To make the World a safer place.
And Society refuses
to recognize our contribution.
And I hate them for that.
The stream grows dirtier
as it flows down
towards the ocean.
In a boat
as I drift with the tide-
the water darkens
more and more.
Yet I glide
on this winding stream
to the infinite ocean.
Wonder what thought went in creating!
Naught is the purpose in breathing,
see only crowds around,
blind people with eyes are found,
they know not to open their eyes,
they catch not the catch life sighs,
only a disgrace to the human race,
hide their sores behind the lace.
Pretty they are and they look fine,
inside they are dirtier than a swine,
does the creator charge a fine?,
it's all and all is mine,
think i care you dare to rhyme?,
you are not worth a dime,
up and over is your time!,
go and cover your copy with lines.
More fragile than oldest antique,
dirtier than history itself,
angrier than stormiest night;
more delicate than frost in the hand,
I'm frightened, used, bruised, abused and
b
r
o
k
e
n.
Don't touch me.
I need you
but gently, be with me,
help build me and trust me.
Don't push me,
or use me,
nor scare me.
Share with me, teach me, just
s
l
o
w
l
y
until I'm ready....
Don't touch me.
jay is different than he has ever been
a neatnik of course, and he is my twin.
whereas I am a beatnik, messy and thin.
he is a cleaner, a duster, no dirt on his chin.
I am slovenly, a messy hoarder, a collector, a slob.
my dungarees are usually filthy, rolled up in a glob.
no one is dirtier than I except maybe our uncle Bob.
bob eats like a hog sloppy buttery corn on a cob.
my brother’s cleanliness is annoying; it gets in my way.
he is way too serious, always cleaning, never has time to play.
his skin is sun-deprived, he stays inside to wash down the fray.
a beatnik, I am the exact opposite of my neatnik brother, Jay.