Best Disgustingly Poems
When my father was in a drunken stupor,
He could be a disgusting, nasty pooper
His paranoia would send him into a rage
Everyone was against him took advantage,
So he thought, while inflating his self-worth
A vain man of massive ego and matching girth
He lashed out at those who loved him most,
Of his superior qualities he would often boast.
When he was sober, he could be Mr. Milquetoast
Some said he was one of the finest men on earth
It is true, he could exhibit considerable mirth
We wondered how he could turn the page
He was, indeed, a smart man, …even a sage.
Among friends he was considered a trooper,
But he could be a disgustingly nasty pooper
When my father was in a drunken stupor.
Written March 8, 2022
[Verso-Rhyme]
#68 on List of 100 Best Poems
Poetry Soup
April 1, 2022
A Meeting after an eight hour day
Should include jubilant jiving,
Exciting conversation,
Lively chatter,
Not a speaker who drones on and on and on and on and on and on
In a disgustingly un-metered monotone voice
No lilt
No cadence
No melody
Just a methodical sameness
I am making a list of things that might get her excited-cobra biting her thigh,
School building burning to the ground, tiger tracks in the snow around her car...
Hooray! At last our unknown speaker has encouraged us, the audience, to talk.
We all lean in at our tables and talk toward each other
Loudly and rapidly
Words galloping out of our mouths as if a shot
Has been fired at the starting gate
Wrap it up! Wrap it up! Someone yells
I look up amazed. Her voice is excited.
We get a warning however we cannot shut up
So we keep talking
Wrap it up! Wrap it up! She yells.
A shriek type warning
Which we ignore
By the time this is over I decide
We did not need a cobra or a tiger.
All we had to do was be ourselves.
It is nigh onto impossible to control a roomful of teachers.
All I see in a superficial world,
Are fake grins,
Snotty comment,
Catty remarks,
I'm silent in the wings,
Hidden,
Seen only by my fellow shadows.
But we who are the silent,
We see the knives in the backs,
The disgustingly sweet smiles that mask malevolent intent.
I can see through the fake silence
To the inner cacophony.
Real silence is lost to the petty,
Who have small minds for all they talk about are others.
Not one of us dares to step in and wipe off the face that they wear
But I am tired
I hate to see the ignorant people
Who pretend to know everything,
But I feel the need to tell them that what resides in their heads is nothing but fluff.
I pity this misguided youth,
Who are taught that they are never good enough.
So I step out of the shadows,
And wipe away the paint.
Your touch kills
Your voice deafens
Your sight blinds
You make me sick!
People like you should be shot
Yeah, I've heard that before
Infact, I've heard it quite a lot
You can't claim me as yours
And after that escapade
Im done with you furthermore
Im not property
Im not a toy
I dont belong to you
Im not here for your "Joy"
So sickeningly sweet
You make me sick
So disgustingly fake
You make me sick
You think its all a game
You make me sick
Will you get bored
When its all played out
Another word, another nail
With all your lies
Your words have gone pale
Seeing through your eyes
I know now, its all a blur
Do you know what you're doing
Or is everything on a spur
Dont pretend to be human
It doesnt suit you
Nor or you beast or alien
You have no kind
So sickeningly sweet
You make me sick
So disgustingly fake
You make me sick
You think its all a game
You make me sick
Will you get bored
When its all played out
Why in his presence, did her soft heart, always like sweet
cotton candy melt?
Orchestral songs engendered the tenderest feelings, to her
heart, so aquamarine velvet.
Such starlit, subtle, shameless, suggestive glances!
An antennae in every way was she, inviting kaleidoscopic,
tsunamic romances.
On the fog cradled ship, with a cape of fog, blessing her
chiseled,moonbeam face,
His arms enclosed her in a velveteen gold, cuddled in his
silent, starshine embrace.
Oh, poetess, penning of feelings of deep intimacy.
Your poem, will be stamped “romantic “?
A term, you loathe and find so very meaningless and worse,
utterly curt and disgustingly pedantic!
But only a poet who knows your heart to its scarlet
inner flaming core,
Has the outstanding bravissimo to knock on your truly
insatiable, heart’s-door!
Dare he try his wings and wish for such magically,
exotic, sensual satisfaction?
Wrapped in those twilight, wild, moonbeamed curls
of Eurydice’s Olympian extraction!
6/4/2024
True love for a nerd (specifically a logophile)
True love for a nerd, specifically a logophile... is him not interrupting you while you read, just watching your face, and you, who could read through 7th period in all its rowdy noisiness, who wouldn't look up from the page to see the world end... feel his gaze, and you look up. And smile. And then look down again because, come on, you have to make sure the main character lives.
It's being able to flirt in an extended metaphor in such a way that I'd like to think is at least as poetic as "Oh what light through yonder window breaks."
It's laughing at how disgustingly cliched it all is and not caring.
It's discussing grammar and definitions and both of you are interested in the conversation. Or he pretends, and that's just as good.
It's a bed full of scraps of poetry and suddenly sitting up at midnight because his smile is like daybreak, like summer, and lovely and oh my god someone needs to put it into a poem; sleep is a neccesary sacrifice!
It's letting the person you wrote a poem about actually read the poem you wrote about them.
It's being able to read poetry to someone that actually enjoys it for the beauty of words and not solely because it's horribly romantic... although it is.
It's playing word games, tossing rhymes back and forth until the volley is stopped short in the face of an argument over whether non-english words are permissible.
It's him suddenly saying... "We should read together."
It's him saying he wants me to correct his grammar. It's being accepted as a grammar nazi.
It's hearing intelligent thought come out of his mouth... I am an admitted sapiosexual, and damn, he makes intelligence sound hot.
It's like the unread book that you found on your shelf when you felt sure you'd read them all.
It's the story you'd thought you had predicted at the outset but that surprises you by being unconventional and utterly unexpected... it's almost frustrating... yet exciting.
It's the poem you didn't understand, and then you did.
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
I would answer by saying that it is the absence of your fathers earthshaking glance at the dawn of an unpredictable night. I would answer by saying that it is the acknowledgment of the neglected truth, that life is nothing but a series of scenes in an indisposed screenplay. And that death is the anticipated protagonist, a patient gift disgustingly disguised underneath the smiles of all that which we think brings us happiness.
He was an unpopular celebrity who enjoyed his liquid food
Acting weirdly normal when he was in a happy mood
He’d been on a heavy diet and was eating lots of jumbo shrimp
They were disgustingly delicious with hot chili and on his diet he won't skimp
His stomach was growing smaller and now looked awfully pretty
I hear his dieting was an open secret and not virtual reality
Once a star of film and stage he could stand out in a small crowd
His face was pretty ugly but his quiet presence was quite loud
This was his goodbye reception for he was now a failing star
Now his full time job in his retirement is propping up the bar!
08~20~16
Contest - Oxymoronic Obsession Sponsored by David Lindsay
Stanza 1 unpopular celebrity, liquid food, weirdly normal. happy mood
Stanza 2 heavy diet, jumbo shrimp. disgustingly delicious, hot chili
Stanza 3 growing smaller. open secret, virtual reality, awfully pretty
Stanza 4 small crowd, pretty ugly,
Stanza 5 goodbye reception, failing star, full time job in his retirement
INNER CITY – old neighborhood today
Not at all what it was
Not yet what it must become
Voices once so dear drowned out
by decadent color
Noise so disgustingly near
Sit and think longingly on old neighborhood
Shrug
Shed a tear
All the gym's a stage
And all the pale boys merely players;
Unconvincing ones, too.
At the theatre entrance
I part with pride
For a curious form of Vaudeville.
The maxims of inertia invert.
No longer are the masters
Of the ruling class.
To make up for their deficit,
They perform:
Cackle, strut, and prance disgustingly,
Strive insensitively to sound “street,”
To be street.
(Street actors.)
It must be black magic
To float over concrete,
To steer balls
Into circles.
Audience: the girls and I,
But especially
The dark magicians themselves,
Who either sponsor their imitators,
Or disapprove and sneer.
Cheated of my cash again,
I hurry backstage
And recognize the actors
Without their costumes,
Sporting familiarity: Hollister, Jansport, Abercrombie.
The bell rings; they exit;
The shoe polish
Washes off their faces;
They morph
Into rich white boys
Once more.
I was 13
When a boy first told me I was ugly
I was 13
When I started lingering in the makeup section at Target
I was 13
When I began to dislike what the mirror showed
And I was 13
When I stopped eating
13 was the age of Jr. High
Name brand T-shirts
Disgustingly strong Axe cologne
And fitting in.
13 was when that one popular girl
Looked down on me
Because I raised my hand in
English class
And yeah maybe that was
Partially cause the blonde 25 year old,
Straight outta college
English teacher was
Cute, but
It was also cause
I liked being good at something.
Something I liked.
In English class
I didn’t have to worry about
Fitting in or
Rebelling against dress code or
Getting my first kiss or
Valentine's day.
But the day that girl insulted my
Converse I-
...Gave up.
I stayed in bed and cried
Feeling too sick to eat the
Double mint chip ice cream
My mother offered.
And the next day at dinner
I simply had too much math homework to eat.
And the next day it was spanish
And the next history
And the next and
The next and
The next
No one noticed
Until ten pounds of me were gone
I don’t blame them, my
Friends had their own problems, and
My parents worked long hours.
Ten doesnt seem like much
But I was a scrawny 13 year old
And that was a tenth of my body weight
Parents got me back on track and
It was like it never happened
Except whenever a doctor has me step
On a scale
I still get that going down in an elevator
lurch of fear
In my stomach.
I am 15
This morning my boyfriend told me I was beautiful
I am 15
Today my favorite shade of lipstick is Metallic Rose
I am 15
And have my disagreements with the mirror
I am 15
And still breathing
Covered in darkness wearing a veil of evil the bride stands before her groom
and a vile host of wedding guests. The heat and hate that filled the air was so
thick that they all choked on it. Baffled and amazed that Lust the biggest ****
ever was about to be wed to Greed. Everyone watched with anticipation as a
union of sin was joined in unholy matrimony. The words that flowed from
the mouth of Pride the priest cut through the air like swords. "Disgustingly
wicked we have come together in the presence of demonic forces to behold
the joining of this devil and **** in unholy matrimony. This band and
covenant of marriage was established by evil in darkness. Lust will you have
Greed to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will
you obey him, lay with him and fulfill his sexual desires as long as the both of
you shall live?" With the flames of hell burning in her eyes Lust answers "I
will". "Greed will you have Lust to be your wife; to live together in the
convenant of marriage? Will you supply and adorn her with riches as long as
you both shall live?" With a twinkle in his eyes that sparkles like gold Greed
answers "I will". "By the powers invested in evil the bride and groom may kiss". As their lips
touched their
wedding guests were as silent as a corpse. Turning her back to the wedding
guests Lust throws a bouquet of Poison Ivy and Venus flytraps over her head.
Stepping in front of Sloth, Envy snatches the bouquet out of the air.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The Green Poet aka Red Seven aka The
Brown Philosopher
Happy New Year, Dear Friends!
September30, 2019
Ah, apples with honey.
Clipped or spiraled or Round Challah,
so yummy!
And prayers for a sweet year.
Oh, such a treat.
For both eternal souls and for
human tummies.
But better your prayers to Hashem
be filled with gratitude,
You know these fruits are His plenitude.
This poet honors all Jews and
Israel your great nation!
Which your enemies are always
planning for your devastation!
It just pains me to see anti-Semitism
on the rise now.
Even in our Congress!
As the very far left,to The Squad,
disgustingly has now cow-towed.
I would volunteer in Israel if
only I could.
Israel will stand strong despite
the multiple snakes,
That have tried to destroy your
country and you.
These vile. perverted, evil snakes!
So keep your traditions and do
have a sweet year!
May you all be written in the
book of Life!
Have no fear!
La Shanah Tova!
Love and joy be yours!
Panagiota Romios
I had a minor habit where I
Chewed and chewed on my fingernails.
Continuously until red flower petals bloomed on my fingertips.
My nails irritated me every time I looked at them.
I wanted so badly to get rid of the
disgustingly sharp teeth at the edge of my fingernails.
Like an itch that won't go away, they constantly lingered in my mind.
They stared at me,
Begging and begging me to help them become more beautiful.
The idea ate away at me until I finally took the courage to bite it back.
And it made me happy to admire the
pretty purples and romantic reds that painted my fingertips.
I fell deeper and deeper into the abyss.
I tried to crawl back up, find a way out, but I couldn’t.
My fingers no longer had any grip.
I yearned for perfection, so I bit them more.
I bit them until they got smoother and smoother,
And eventually until there was nothing left.
I am still satisfied even though my fingers constantly feel numb
because now there is nothing stopping me.
Now I can’t feel them as they weep.