Best Filthiest Poems
The point of no return could be global or individual
but never is it in the middle.
It is a horizon of dreams aloft in hope held by tentative
strands of rope that weaken and deny what hearts are
seeking. It is love, stirred with hate that drips need to
bleed us, heal us and force our tired cope. It is a circle
never ending, a line never bending, and it holds questions
with no answers, like keys to kingdoms none can find to
turn or master.
It is that door, the door, where dear ones come and go,
ones who carry joy, hold us, love us, then, in time
they lack reasons to feel or the want to know us, so, no,
I mean, yes, it is not long-term, strongly rooted trust.
It is a strange, bewildering, momentous fuss that boils in
us until we bubble up our filthiest cuss.
It is same attempts in a familiar game of strange
ranging from old to presentations tweaked as new
that leave us standing without scent of a clue. It is
the reason creating all things we do and the matter
with our universal supply of glue. It is your craziness
fondling my insanity, too.
As a match, it does flame fan mankind’s fire to rise in
heat stroked red curls ever higher. It is the silence
that secrets our desires and the stillness of hush-laced
conspires. It causes human hands failed attempts to grab
sky-warm, star blankets, not to be human had.
It is a riddled fear maze forcing us to run, to race by men
with aimed happy guns, to quick stride far from addicts
selling sons and slowly consider embracing those we have
shun as we forgive ourselves for all never seen done.
It is another day, and, say, someday it might not come.
A quiet prelude
to a mystical piece:
It is apparent
that my spiritual side
must be released.
Perhaps it is
to my squeakin' wheel
the grease.
Upon my brain
I signed the lease.
It just ran out.
Why pout?
Why pick only one?
Museth I.
There are many in the sky.
Allah, Yahweh, Zoroaster
and Ja'Quan
For communion I shall
eat fried wontons.
Worship shall be led
by Daniel Johnston,
and the sermons
delivered by the
filthiest derelict
in Atlantic City.
Life sure can be ****ty,
so I pray to my gods
and hope for their pity.
Buddha came through for me.
But he wanted to borrow $3.50
for some baked ziti.
They were as Jonah was,
cast down into the belly of the whale
They were soon to experience
every unimaginable horror on this ship of hell
On the voyage of the damned,
you hear the cries of the condemned
Be prepared to die as well,
unless God chooses to intervene
A lot of souls won't make it
on the food they were given to eat
Rancid water, spoiled bread
and maggot infested meat
That rank disgusting swill,
you wouldn't even give to a dog
It had the most foul stench ever,
as if dredged from the filthiest bog
On the voyage of the damned,
you hear the cries of the condemned
Be prepared to die as well,
unless the captain wants to hear you sing
You got whipped for moaning too loud,
'cause you're hurting from being whipped before
You got beaten longer than the last time,
as someone you knew was getting beat even more
The drunken prince and the devout priest
are both chained and bound together
The greatest as well as the least
are each tossed off during stormy weather
On the voyage of the damned,
you hear the cries of the condemned
Be prepared to die as well,
unless the cook becomes your friend
Tortured wails in the night
prevent you from getting much sleep
You can't afford to get too sick
from the rough waves of the deep
Or you'll get pitched overboard
to the insatiable trailing fins
Don't be the last to follow orders,
or you'll be the next one thrown in
On the voyage of the damned,
you hear the cries of the condemned
Be prepared to die as well,
unless your body can satisfy ten men
You're surrounded by diseased walls
and an unbreakable trap door
Your clothes reek of a piss odor
from laying on the excrement covered floor
Each day you desire death
within this cruel house of motion
Each night you always pray
this death ship sinks in the ocean
On the voyage of the damned,
you hear the cries of the condemned
But if that ship of woe reaches land,
a new and different kind of hell is awaiting
Do not give thought to your stagnant place.
Everyone has their station in life.
No matter if you've been told other wise.
In the scheme of things you will earn your place in life.
A certificate from the furthest dark of toil.
Ink undried, think in kind, link in time.
From the filthiest of soil.
Endurance patients wealth POVERTY
All in all, the same.
We are as strong as the weakest link of
The chain.
It must be entrained. The bark is worst
Than the bite.
But if there is refrain, let logic come
To the LIGHT of the flame of life.
Every soul has there glory.
Everyone has their turn.
Let no lesson go unlearned.
Let the child befriend the RHYME.
Learn them wrong from WRITE.
Everyone has their station in life.
The stricken even amid the strife.
May the MIGHTY help the weak to
Thrive.
Keep your bearing, no matter what you're hearing.
IGNITE THE NIGHT.
Do not give up the fight. SURVIVE!
there’s a casing on the floor for every lie you ever spun
make a case in pointing out they’re all coming undone
shameless is as shameless does, was there a point to prove?
well, i’ve got just what i needed now, so tell me, who used who?
two nights of lovin', lips bitten and sucking
ample reason to leave and proof it ain’t worth nothin’ to you
cause your mouth’s full of tricks; the proverbial ditch
and confirmed suspicions; the shovel with which
i’ll bury your name, and make no use of it,
filthiest word i ever knew
so justify for peace of mind, there’s nothing more for you
to find between the lines i write, you had everything to lose
i’ll lay it out and wear it thin.
red riding hood or wolfish grin?
just save your breath, kid. hold it in
and choke on your own excuse.
COPLA 68 INVOCATION: This Bad Guy World
We drop from the filthiest parts
End up wanting to get back in:
Sense of humour
Thank You! For keeping the head’s thoughts
Far from losing face in within
Though women sour
The rest of Life’s littered obstruction
You put in place just to surmount:
Care for children
Till insurmountable damnation
Riding bare-back on Himavant
Men limp broken
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Some men are afraid of ignorance
They go about the land seeking truth
Opening their eyes to the filthiest of things
Wanting to know everything they can
They will never be fooled
Their knowledge will open others as well
Where the truth lies, ignorance lies also
Like a child longing for acknowledgement
Some fight blindly toward it
In hope to destroy it with their own two hands
Instead, it blooms elsewhere and grows
The truth shows us where the evil is
It exists as we do and lives as we live
If evil in the man's eye does not exist
The absence of ignorance is a lie
Some men instead embrace ignorance
They stay where they are, content as ever
Their eyes see and their ears hear
Their desire to know is dull
The current takes them where it may
Truths are all but happenings
Their present is their pedestal
But the truth is still there
Walking in a dangerous dark
Calling on direction and value
Like a starved child screaming for sustenance
Like a father waiting to chastise his son
Ignorance is never ignored by them
It becomes their god
Can embracing ignorance, then, be a sin?
But even the treasure of truth can kill
Dirty Dudes Club (Light Poetry) (Humorous)
Dirty Dudes Club looking for a new president
A dirty guy thinks he is a qualified resident,
He had not showered for the whole year
Nor wash his face, nor brush his teeth, everybody leer.
Guy sent an application to the Club
Describing he was dirty enough,
Lived all his life with raw dirtiest stuff,
On his head, full of lice and dandruff.
To emphasize he is the dirtiest, in all situation
He mentioned that he wrote this application
On a piece of paper he had used in toilet to wipe
To show, he is filthiest and dirtiest of all types.
Dirty Dudes Club rejected his application right away
Saying he is not even par with a mediocre member, in any way
And declared for all of us to remember forever
that all of their members, never cleaned themselves in toilets, ever.
Written by Dr Ko Ko Thein
Salt Lake City.
Laurah Maybelle Rickborn
1907-1935
Life was such a excruciating bother.
I’m happy the long drama is finished now.
My childhood consisted mostly of chores and lessons,
While my teenage years were devoted to daydreams,
Dancing, and the work I did ceaselessly,
On my parents’ modest farm on Painter Avenue.
Indeed, I acquired the dogmatic idea early in life,
That chickens are undoubtedly the filthiest creatures,
Ever created by our very creative creator.
So it was with a strange dose of personal joy,
Whenever I accosted one of our hapless chickens by its neck,
For the celebrated purpose of a quick slaughter.
Then, with speedy relish, I’d chop its beady head off;
Finally, with determined aplomb, I defeathered the thing,
As it death-spasmed still on my bloody lap.
Such are the memories I choose to remember,
As my final pathetic epitaph,
Of a life I found ultimately annoying and frustrating;
Of having to put up with arrogant selfish men,
Who smelled of cigars, whiskey and sweaty talcum;
And who desired more than a quick dance under the stars, indeed!
Of having to endure obtuse women with no life at all, except drudgery;
Simple-minded women who worked like willing slaves,
For their blow hard men-keepers; Blecch!
I wanted no part of that, thank you.
Like I said, I’m happy the drama is finished.
Happy, deliriously so, that
My daily encounters with conceited boorish men,
Are, at last, at an end!
Brava I say, to all women who fly freely!
Fly! Fly! Resist men! Fly!
Born from the Motherland
Brought up from the ghetto's filthiest sand
Born with a purpose
To soar and rise above the coarse
A smile so divine
It can never be defined
Carrying a majestic walk
She portrays herself as classic
Oshun, the goddess of love
Indeed she's pure like a dove.
Now of age
The men are out to break her cage
The values of her mother have brought them to rage
Isitha esihle asidleh they mourned ( *The good you do will never be seen or appreciated by people but they will notice all your flaws, make yourself happy and never depend on men for happiness for they will ask for happiness in return*)
Oshun Oshun Oshun
They're out to hunt her flower
To leave her sour with no power
She was the goddess of love
She now stands as the goddess of fury
The culture that once preserved her mother could not preserve her
Her smile which was once so divine is now like a band-aid
It covers her but still it hurts...
Sugar Won’t Melt in His Mouth
By Elton Camp
For Rufus it’s a weekly task
To pull out his Sunday mask
He dons it for an hour that day
To assume a sanctimonious way
A chrome fish his car does adorn
To tell all that he’s been reborn
Any little children he will greet
A big smile for all he may meet
And bogus words he does say
“I’m to glad to see you today”
“The Lord’s blessing be on you
In every single thing that you do”
The pastor’s sermon he’ll commend
Yet thought, “When will it ever end”
Service over and he’s paid his due
So he returns to his personality true
Rufus will scowl, curse and watch TV
The filthiest sex show he loves to see
And tells his wife he’ll be running late
When, in fact, he is going on a hot date
In his business he lies and cheats
And delights to count his receipts
When he finally draws near to his grave,
It’s, “I’m sure the Lord my soul will save”
Then at his funeral, the pastor will avow
“He’s walking streets of gold right now”
I fought one piggish Titan and I won
As if that devious Leech existed not;
Sealing the very firy nose of his gun
With ball-like rags to sap every shot.
A long-lionized mogul of giant name
Slew my low fists by a magic stroke;
Vilest Judas glossing in pesty fame,
I his two-timing fang spookily broke.
I know not if such a scheming villain
Fickle arms dim for want of glut gain,
Ever shall by Time's rare marvel floor,
And ink selfsame serendipities more.
May the Highest Star your ochre clip,
And pelt plagues and fates your ship;
Until Hades her filthiest minion finds
Sulfurous frying betwixt fallen minds.
May your fiendish bow of foxy veneer
Snap mid-hunt as looms hugest deer,
And life's fave tooth turn fatal sore;
Your daintiest morsel tartest grow!
Frequent surfacing in night club
And the Lion sprouts from a cub
Soon, you cease to be submissive:
Life begins to be permissive.
With others you may shoulders rub
Sometimes, sincere courtesies snub.
A used-to-be-meek aggressive,
At inconstancy progressive....
In night clubs be sure of hubbub,
The filthiest thoughts served perfumed dub
Yet, life here should be extensive;
Clubs heal could The Hypertensive:
Others are asleep you are awake
And, for the fun of it, sometimes rake.
What is it intrigues one to know existence
Is it the thrive for life or living we endure
Famine of life as deadly as dark soul we live
Like book, covered words hidden inside beneath
Definition easy to read, trust no one
Life has no remote, only change can you do yourself
But your act, pain and sickness you kill with knowledge
With everything you do, side effects be tremendous
Is it we think we are, therefore we are not
The genius to smartness but yet we are so dumb
Our consequences are deadly no matter what we believe
We speak big words, no one understands ever
Word like court judge, guilty I find in ignorance
To think you are better the paper did not say
But only you succeeded to graduate, not top of class
But equal like all others before and after
Your brain no different, therefore you think
Famine of life, like decaying world we stay
We claim to help when in fact we do not know
Just another species, dead at the hands of man
Is starvation of the dream or one's stomach hungers
We fight the loosing battle to be the same
Each one different inside with the same struggle
Where money rules, what is it to have
That I have not but reality to face everyday
Where is freedom of life that I pay to live
To breath filthiest of scum's who reign
That only one day I be taken away to the heavens
Real or not, I just know I be free
Of the famine of life, my thirst as dry as desert
Where weeds, only growth to my older days
Famish, just another day I hunger in presence of mankind
It's drained me so lazy
I can hardly move anymore
My legs fell limp
My arms dried to stone to hold me up
Oh, wait ol' kind depression
I know you haven't forgotten me
You've tested me to see the limits
Reached much too soon and I;m done
The filthiest cadavar behind me
Repeating her words: "Don't touch me dirty bastard, Burn in Hell"
I'll meet you there young one
Holding more I'm just a boy brutally shoved in the fire
I'll wish you all farewell as I ride to paradise
Depression has defeated and gone with obsession