Best Foul Poems
I bought a parrot but he has a foul mouth.
I let him loose so that he could fly South.
But he came home again.
This proves that I can't win.
He says the F word two hundred times a day.
He offends everybody and drives them away.
Nobody will take this bird even though I offer to pay them.
I'm going out of my mind, it looks like I'm stuck with him.
I have the only parrot on Earth that's a sinner.
If he doesn't shut up, he's going to be my dinner.
(This is a fictional poem)
Categories:
foul, bird, funny, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
One day when a brave dashing young drake,
Landed upon a coastal salt lake.
He saw a pretty young duck,
But, he was way out of luck.
For the gorgeous young duck was a fake.
Far too late, he found out his mistake,
As he started to shiver and shake.
When the wildfowler's gun stuck,
That left the drake quite dumbstruck.
He fell prey to a giant sea snake.
8 / 3 / 2019.
Categories:
foul, bird, nature, sea, water,
Form:
Limerick
His soul was calloused from being hidden, protected, defended. His voice lacked the listen harder whisper of the preacher’s temptations. He claimed to be just another “foul-mouthed saint” unraveling the mystery of life’s implications. Yet he possessed a charm, a beguiling attitude that invited interest, an aura of “something” you just couldn’t get a handle on. He could talk or he could listen – as required. He taught the nuances of the game, the touch pass, how to throw an elbow (when necessary), how to play the game…of life. He would teach you to play to win…but never let you win…until you did.
Somehow you knew he believed in you and shared that belief with you. Oh, he was loud!! He yelled…not at you, but to encourage you…and you heard him. His voice would echo through your life in a more resounding tone than the echoed reverberations of the chapel preachers. His voice was that of the moment, the streets, the family, the spirit of life. It was the voice of “another foul-mouthed saint”.
A confusing sound
A man laughing at himself
Spiritual joy
5/14/2021
Categories:
foul, life, religion, spiritual,
Form:
Haibun
I
If one evangelizes for God, caution
Must never be thrown to the wind
In (mission) field, social science education
As anthropology says, learn, be kind:
Slow to judge, eager to understand
Many spirits roam each people & land
II
I helped a grandmother escape a lover
Long dead, but haunted her home, bed,
Every lover she had, from age 40, widowed
That young, robbed of any joy, but Jesus
How does one from America fight dead
And jealous but dead lovers, causing chaos?
But on one's knees: Jesus, thy Holy Spirit
Will boot out every foul spirit
Hanging on to this lady, even to her church:
In South Africa. 'traditional healers' (Iniquity)
And a Constitution permits sangoma witchdoctors -
Fought on my knees, I begged Trinity for favor
For safety, and power in prayer, the Blood
Of Jesus, pleaded, as in Egypt pre- Exodus
Gave Mrs. Gert the freedom she'd long lost
Yet having to leave that church where she and
Gerald had worshipped - he, merely, secondhand
Categories:
foul, anti bullying, christian,
Form:
Free verse
The sordid words from his foul mouth
are enough to make a crow blush.
though unknown morphemically
despite this fact his vulgar sounds
are numerous syntactic f-words.
His nouns resound all who have ears
his verb usage quite disturbing
adjectives objectionable
combined they’re quite poetical.
Though universally profane
he utters these words unashamed
in perfect alliteration.
And if his diction does fall short
he’ll add this as a last resort:
......................../´¯/)
......................,/¯..//
...................../..../ /
............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸
........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\
........('(...´(..´......,~/'...')
.........\.................\/..../
..........''...\.......... _.·´
............\..............(
..............\.............\
Categories:
foul, on writing and words,
Form:
Verse
It is hard to foul air
in a sleeping bear's lair.
Volodymyr Knyr
2014
Categories:
foul, animal, environment, humorous, nature,
Form:
Couplet
One can write limericks on a dime
All you need is some rhythm and rhyme
A quick li'l jest
Now that's the best
Just make sure your joke arrives on time!
(preferably not passed the fifth line)
NOTE: I was gonna post this for the Limerick Contest, but I wrote it a day too late ... in any case it was fun nonetheless :)
Categories:
foul, fun, funny, giggle, humor,
Form:
Limerick
“I think the lemonade was poisoned, Sir,
he’s been murdered!” Watkins said
“I can see no other reasoning
for why the victim is lying here, dead.”
“Let’s not jump to hasty conclusions,”
Detective Inspector Bones, replied
“There’s protocol we have to follow
before we establish how he died.”
“So get on with it, my young Watkins
you know what you have to do.”
Watkins nodded, then put on his gloves
And went off, in search of a clue
The Inspector, a man revered by his peers
For his keen, analytical mind
Bent down, to examine the body
To see what evidence he could find
There were no obvious signs of trauma
No lumps, or bumps on the head
No bullet hole, knife wound, marks on the neck,
Nothing to say why the man was dead
“You can take him now,” the Inspector called
To the men, suited up, from the lab,
“Perhaps we’ll learn more from the Coroner,
once he gets him on his slab.”
Watkins returned, “I can’t find anything, Sir,
it seems our victim was here all alone
there’s no sign to say he had a visitor,
or intruder within his home.”
“Everything’s locked from the inside,”
He continued, a frown on his face
“If someone was here, they’ve been clever,
getting out without leaving a trace.”
The Inspector picked up the lemonade glass
Its smell gave him a vital clue,
“You’re right Watkins, the man was murdered
and I say the murderer, was YOU!”
“While I was here, examining the body
it gave you the opportune time,
to go around the house without hindrance
and remove all trace of your crime.”
“But you can’t put one over on this old dog,
I’ve seen it all in my day,”
He turned to the uniforms, by the door
“This is our killer boys – take him away!”
© Janette Fisher 06.04.10
This was written as a homework assignment for my writing group from last night - we were
given 'I think the lemonade was poisoned' and this is what I came up with.
Categories:
foul, mystery
Form:
Rhyme
A child hears a song on the radio
and the music sets his mind aglow...
at his age he’s too young to know
he’s being sucked in the black, black hole
of foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
Tuned to the beat that fills his ears
he merges with the sounds he hears,
he doesn’t know just how severe
the words that pulse play a role
in foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
Sex and surrender are entwined
in lyric beats of metered time
and as all decency is undermined...
verse by verse the words take their toll
through foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
As he is swept by carnal tides
religious values wash aside,
all moral binds become untied...
a beast within then gets paroled
by foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
So, entranced by the tunes he plays
song by song he gets dragged away
into the beat of world decay...
he’s in lockstep on a fatal stroll
with foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
The handlers laugh at all of those
who think that they have smelled a rose...
but it’s just the thorns shoved up your nose
by agents into mind control
with foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
Categories:
foul, music,
Form:
Couplet
Curse words are used by the educated and the ignorant without shame,
and they often appear in lyrics and movies;
what's the scope to divulge such obscenities?
On buses, trains and other public places mouths shout them with rage.
Most parents blame their kids' behavior on bad company,
they admit that if they are taught respect early, they will be the champions
that our society will praise immensely with eloquent words;
some will question, " What have they accomplished to have won a trophy? "
Speak respectfully whether you are a Moslim, Jewish or Christian;
be the model that they should highly admire and imitate by all means,
to be lenient and allow them to cuss is to offer them a venom that kills....
don't hush and let them abuse and demoralize you: fight and win!
Copyright ( c ) 2015 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
foul, abuse, character, faith, language,
Form:
Rhyme
July 30th 2010
Face of Foul
Clever thy is or thy once was?
On a clear day, I did indeed pray.
So then, the clouds flew over me.
After many adjustments came doves.
Then feathers tumbled as they fray.
Thus, a backstroke of a quill is a key.
Far far away in a land farthest from thou:
I cover fields of flesh mind body and soul.
And not one sole an error in face of foul.
I have sown them all together as a whole.
Let you be known: I have put my foot down upon your Mighty Head!
Let ye also be known that I do sleep in a Queen, not King sized bed.
®Registered: Ann Rich 2010
Categories:
foul, nature, nostalgia, parody, passion,
Form:
Light Verse
My dream, my desire
is one with a naughty theme...
four women and me
engaged in some sweaty fun -
dribbling, scoring.......basketball.
For "Tanka me a Dream" contest sponsored by Michael J. Falotico.
by George Aul
Categories:
foul, funny
Form:
Tanka
Bitterness holds me.
I do not like her embrace
because it is cold.
Her touch makes me rot
not outwardly, but inside
corrupting my soul.
Her wretched voice crows:
"Everyone else is crooked."
No one else speaks up.
I do not love her,
but when she is here with me
we see eye to eye.
She then reminds me:
"Condemnation will come soon."
I hate her also.
Together they drone
robbing me of any will
to get up and leave.
The sisters love me.
I withhold my affection,
yet they cling to me.
They each take a turn,
kissing me with rancid breath
and bugs in their hair.
I want far better.
I need better company,
yet I sit with them.
Categories:
foul, angst, depression, hate, introspection,
Form:
Haiku
There once was a star quarterback
at the bottom of a stack on his back
He thought real fast
and let out a blast
Then the defense cut him some slack
Categories:
foul, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
Foul fowl
I was staggering to the mall,
in my own decrepid way,
When I got accosted by a Shiela,
who shook my hand said ‘hey’,
Busy as a flustered bee,
I brushed her off today,
A parting quip from her it came,
“With rotten breath, I'd not be game,
To walk the streets, like sweet Igraine,
A toilet duck would drown in pain,
This bludger is insane,
Beware foul, fowl, hey, hay.”
Don Johnson
i have this affect on women....
Categories:
foul, adventure,
Form:
Ballad