Best Down And Dirty Poems
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream out bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without any mercy
You attempt to defend 'gainst her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
© Jack Ellison 2015
Her mind is taking her
On a roller coaster ride
That goes against the tide
It crashes deep and wide.
She raises her emotions
Her voice fills up the air
She has a lost, blank stare
Her logic isn't there.
Incessant is her tongue
Insisting she is right
A down and dirty fight
She speaks with all her might.
Determined are her eyes
To get just what she wants
She yells out verbal taunts
The force can truly haunt.
If only she would seek
And listen to the cries
Of wisdom from on High
Her soul won't crash and die.
2015
Vase Dream - c'est la vie
White vase with no design
Dangling there - c'est la vie
I think somewhere in Center City
Apart from everything
In an apartment rising skyward
Lingering on the edge of ledge
Standing tall atop a railing raw
Languishing over the 20th Floor
Or there about
And more - c'est la vie
The balcony did its’ best of course
Displaying the fragile curves
Morning sun light danced approval
Around bouncing beams above the surface
But nothing could stop a soft breeze from…
Poof!.....And off it went… c'est la vie
An alert French man
Pastry smile and all
Happened along
With left handed nimble fingers caressing a Beaujolais 42
The other hand stretched out with stress
As if to field an errant football pass
And in that chance encounter…Catch!...
Tumbling to concrete boundaries down
Bottle released in a wincing crash
Ground favored his mortal urgency
Pottery saved - c'est la vie
Intact
French man’s head cracked
Let’s say opened
Something like an egg
A natural death ensued - c'est la vie
A passer-by seized the moment
Lifted vase and fled
Made off down and dirty
An ally
Another fate for vase awaits
Less encumbered
In a land far away
To dream of ledges - c'est la vie
If so inclined
Or so designed
Modified on 10/21/14 for - c'est la vie - Poetry Contest
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without mercy
You attempt to defend against her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
(A List Poem)
What is your passion?
Impossible to name just one.
From the age of twelve, faith in God
set the course for all that is life.
Second only to faith: Amore.
Ever in love with romance, a taste flamed
by the compelling language of poetry.
Then there's nature, passion-fed
by a childhood replete
with a sumptuous Ozark banquet,
nurturing an ardor for flowers.
Better than food for the stomach
is getting down and dirty,
hands sunk deep in the soil,
matched only by dancing. What can top
moving to the voice of guitar and fiddle,
feet tapping out the rhythm of songs
that speak to the heart if not the soul?
Next, tally those books that fill every room
in the house. Within, I travel to exotic lands
created by ink scratched on paper. I drink
the words from the page, ride tides swept
by the moon, grabbed by songs on the wind,
a mountain refrain, or the roar of a lion.
A last, but time-hungry mania - writing.
Would that words from my pen breathe
power to create climate and justify peace.
Somewhere tonight a soldier stands
The fate of freedom in his hands
He mans his post, he stands his ground
In trouble spots the world around
He could be 18 or over 30
All spit and polish or down and dirty
He might be wearing Army green
Or the uniform of a proud Marine
He could be Air Force flying cover
Or Navy in their crafts that hover
He could be Coast Guard on a river
No matter what he will deliver
He’s pledged to give up life and limb
If that is what is asked of him
And all he’ll ask for in return
Is the respect that he has earned
These footsteps that he chose to follow
Echo through the years so hollow
His grandpa’s grandpa’s grandpa’s fought
With Washington their freedom sought
They rode with Grant or maybe Lee
Fighting for their family
And when the Kaiser declared war
They joined to give the guy what for
Then when that German Hitler reigned
They signed up for that war’s campaign
Korea in some frozen field
They stood their ground, there was no yield
And in the jungle, Vietnam
Never knowing peace and calm
They fight despite the known syndrome
Of what awaits them back at home
In Desert Storm and in Iraq
And Afghanistan, they have our back
They fight for honor, fight with pride
But through the years so many died
Though some may question why they fought
Let’s end this now with this one thought
Somewhere tonight a soldier stands
The fate of freedom in his hands
6/25/12
We have a history club here in our community and the chairman of the club asked if I would write a poem for an upcoming meeting all about Vietnam with vets from each of the service talking about their experiences during that war. I wrote two poems - this is one I will read at the meeting.
I’m sufficiently tired, and have time on my own to contemplate. I still reckon I did pretty good; as the following words will convey. There are a few areas where I could have improved, but I will not be documenting them here.
My colleagues were fantastic. We did a good job in the most dire circumstances.
Here’s to the writing-
This is the problem
the rest of the world can wait.
Life starts with “A”.
gett’n down and dirty
all hands in
fight against nature
I am a nurse
I’m always fighting nature
but then again
nothing heals better
It’s not my job
to make these decisions
It’s my job
to fight the repercussions
she just crashed
you’re wading in the wash
and she was gone…
Somewhere the flood gates opened
and my fingers weren’t big enough
to stem that flow.
The rain had passed leaving fields of mud,
Mud to work with, to rest and to play.
Mud in our shoes, in our pants, in our hair,
Mud to brighten the rest of our day.
My girl and I, we worked the sheep,
Counting, marking and drenching together.
We tackled and fell, dragging each to the side,
And did it both dressed in full leather.
When we completed the sheep, all ewes and one ram,
We relaxed with a beer on the ute.
And we talked open talk about how lucky we are,
And I told her, in mud, she looked cute.
She whipped my legs out and laughed down at me,
Our day it was done by two thirty.
So I pulled her to the mud, and within half an hour,
We had both gotten down and got dirty.
All men approach the inevitable hardships of choices made or forced upon
A day of “paying the Piper” some may say
Does one go about endlessly searching- trying to live as if won
Or get down and dirty- on hands and knees-searching for the answer to life’s impossibilities
A parent’s love and concern for the addict child- will my baby ever be OK
The face of rejection in a divorce- the feeling of worthlessness and betray
Death of a family member- the emptiness they leave
The- I want to be when I grow up- but it’s never achieved
The loss of friendships- when you choose to do the right thing
These needles in the hay- searching for impossibilities- we tarry on
The needles of lost keys, eyeglasses, or wallets seem trivial in comparison
One simply retraces steps having taken- then the needle is not lacking
But the needles of real life are worth one’s searching
How wonderful to the parent having the prodigal son’s return
How hope on earth is gained in the miracle of a new born grandchild
How comforting new friends become- having ethics and values as me
How wonderful to find love- a lover who would choose me
How grateful for work –whose talent I am blessed
Persistence the key to hardship’s impossibility
The joy of accomplishment when having found the needle in the hay
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream out bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without any mercy
You attempt to defend against her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
© Jack Ellison 2015
Next month I'll be fifty
What rhymes with fifty?
Sixty
Ten years to make fifty
the new thirty
Get down and dirty
Like Stallone and Willis
Maybe buy a few guns
"Yeah we bad."
"How we gonna hit em Sly?"
"I don't wanna DIE HARD!"
"No John Wayne Gacy for me."
Try to breeth like Jack Nickelson
I can feel it allready
An unimaginable ammount
Of cool being showered
Down on me
All I have to do is
Keep my mouth shut
Just what's wrong with you my morose friend?
Just what is it that you can't comprehend?
You've had sixty years to solve it all.
That seems like plenty of time after all.
All the great philosophers had it down by thirty.
Why are you so slow to accept the down and dirty?
We live, we die and we come and go.
Just what is it that is so hard to know?
You, me, she, we only have one shot.
We can make it a good one or we cannot.
The only value that can be defined for sure
is that life be held as a sacred treasure,
and not defiled by anger and greed,
or devalued by foolish action or need.
Love and protect each other unconditionally
makes the only sense in light of the mystery
of what comes before and what comes after.
Anything else only provokes cosmic laughter.
Pale white against the ghostly fog
Smoke curled for lack of oxygen
Black rim glasses hide, head bows
Conceal eyes of cool cat daddy-o
In dark, goatee, groomed and moody
Beret tilted silhouetted, covers identity
Captures blues wrapped in a sax
Brown paper bags cover booze
Jazz releases notes unknown to claps
Fingers snap approval to the poets silence
Something to be trusted no matter what
Underworld shadows gather dust
A secret spot built on a fog bank conjured up
On a dingy dream found five steps down
A hideaway ten degrees below zero and counting
Leading beyond all cafe dive boundaries
Cold nights survive on hanging tunes
College degrees wall to wall leave hollow marks
Jive time turkeys hold on to hot tea instead
Twilight characters friendly as death reset
Step down in reality to displease history
Bass man puffs his last cigarette
Joint smokers fill up the cavern
Underworld types gather with germs abounding
Fallen ash in trays lose attention
Coffee stains on tables remain
Stale as bread half consumed
Down and dirty with the blues
Tinted in a melancholy stench
Night life rises numb, basement ready
Dim lights permeate the senses
Lays waste to the alley cat man
Smoke rises in a trance to swoon
Turtle necks hold stiff men intact
A band doing hourly sessions Jam
Bass players hammer out shadows
Discord is all that matters
To mimic politics, smoke marijuana
The attraction of the day is on the menu
Curse words say it all
Snap and double snap poetry incognito
Verses flow like painted butter on walls
On melted atomic babies breath powdered bottom
For war, use the toilets next door on the right
Bullets are the flavor of the day
The favorite flavor after blanks
Matchstick men in bazooka suits flirt
The moon turns supersonic jello cool
Cool cats know squares from pigs
Cubes are abstractions of night sticks
Never mix with visions of gas lamps
It is a gas man, can you dig it
Elephant dancers run wild man
Suspicious of pigs who shoot first
Ask questions about bacon later
Snap daddy snap on beatnik back
dance to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha
dance to my heart beat
repeat2x:
Boy verse:
Im dancin to tha beat (beat)
movin my feet
got my body in motion
to tha rhym of tha beat (beat)
she movin fast ay
im talkin nastay
we gone stay past eight
and go to my place
dance to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha
dance to my heart beat
repeat2x:
Girl verse:
Im ready for wateva
you know wat i mean (mean)
lets get down to tha point
lets get down and dirty
I can make you fanticize
cus yo head between my thighs
when you look at my third eye
boy I make you mezmerize
(so)
dance to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha
dance to my heart beat
repeat2x:
Girl verse:
Im playin game of twister
im all ova tha room
im even on tha dresser
my body all on you
im playing game of twister
im all ova tha room
im even on tha dresser
my body all on you
we can dance on the bar
even make love on ya car
boy you make my heart roar
(roar, roar, roar)
you make my heart roar
(so)
dance to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha beat
to tha
dance to my heart beat
repeat2x:
A season – Ages ago
Ages ago, many a seed had been planted.
Their blossoming brings, being taken for granted,
never seen, acknowledged or appreciated.
As gardeners, sowers of, we are fated
to pay an intolerable, unbearable price
for all, all we experience that is not nice
for a parent to see, to feel, believe to be,
that has come to be a part of you and me.
------------------------------------
I – like the south pole of, a magnet pushes - away ?
I – like a distant planet without gravity – ejects ?
Is it that I repel ?, instead of attract.
Is reality ?, for me, anything beyond abstract
and truly above contact ?, - such a pity
to get down and dirty, get to the nitty-gritty.
------------------------------------
A beam of energy, a wave of light, a speck of dust
in the vacuum cleaner bag of space, brought to light
within the vast womb of our universe, have I been.
My life’s impression being, being that speck of dust,
which, speck, upon speck, upon speck, upon speck
of dust gathers, accumulating upon my soul.
Dust to dust, atom to atom, gas to gas, a planet to create
until all is to heavy, I no longer am able to carry the weight.
The weight become so unbearable, these shoulders
begin to droop, drop off – back to dust, to atom, to energy,
to that vacuum cleaner bag, to the universes womb, there ,
once again to start it all over, back on the merry-go-round.
Maybe ?, a lighter load ?, a brighter road ?,
a much better story that could be told ?
What will carry us to the next time ?
What path will we walk next time ?
What journeys will be ours next time ?
Maybe ?, when it becomes next time,
and we gather, are carried into ?,
I might impart something of value,
a new start to help carry them through,
after they have been dropped off
- blown away by the winds of times passing –
to create their own planets, live their own lives,
their own experiences without influencing
the gardener with a world of negative forces,
what has seemed a lifetime of negative energy.
B. J. “A” 2
January 19th 2003