Best Foul Smelling Poems
“ Affirmation without discipline is the beginning of delusion. Jim Rohn “
Relentlessly I pace around the room,
like a caged lion, dreaming of vast forests,
yearning for savannah grasslands,
vaguely remembered.
I fret for I feel inadequate,
still, I yearn despite the drudgery of life.
My thirst for you is insatiable,
always increasing though deluded,
as if I'm living in some devastating desert
where no fertile oasis thrives.
How can I enforce discipline? I cannot do it.
Night deepens and I yearn for the day.
Lying in bed I wonder
how much of all this I can take.
At last, my wife's home,
reeking of foul-smelling cigarettes,
reeling with too much drink,
dress soiled with what I dare not think.
She smiles at me, I freeze revolted.
Her kiss is blistering
as I wipe her saliva off,
I help her reluctantly
to her dark solitary cot.
How easy my fire is quenched!
All sweet song is muted. I despair.
How many wearisome nights are appointed to me?
That we should exist
when life is just like a passing wind,
it comes and goes, extinguished forever.
Till then, she and I are but chained,
each to his own devious devices.
Will I ever see joy again?
I retire to my fitful sleep
and dare to dream.
Perhaps one day.....
Who knows?
The newborn dawn is nigh,
its first rays are fresh and bright.
Yet, despite reality and delusion,
I dare to dream.
Placed 1st
Categories:
foul smelling, angst, anxiety, betrayal, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Occasionally I despair,
an eternal uphill struggle,
a hopeless walk to sanity:
what else is there for me to do
but scream?
Occasionally my stomach rumbles
as pain, hunger and strife
make it grow distressingly tight.
Occasionally I try to fight
and seek that elusive light
at the end of the tunnel
only to find an inky blackness,
ebony obscurity of darkness
that smothers the soul.
Occasionally I search
for a twisted street or
an endless channel
only to discover a world
devoid of any kindness,
languishing in defilement,
foul-smelling with pollution,
tarnished with infamy and slander,
and an ever-reigning lust.
But often I stand up,
for myself if for none other
and look down towards the horizon
and find what I require: hope and trust.
PS Sorry I left Poetry in the lurch but was hospitalised for three days. I hope to read your poems soon. But please give me time.
Categories:
foul smelling, pain,
Form:
Free verse
The musty, foul smelling
Boat rocks
The room is dim
And silent
Everyone is waiting
For the shores of Ellis Island
They hope to have a new life
Start over in America
The room awakens
When the captain yells
"Land ahead"
Everyone cheers
I see the gleaming copper Statue of Liberty
I can smell the fresh salty air
My heart is filled with optimism
My dreams are so close to coming true
But the same cannot be said for others
Some are sent back for illness
Or not enough money
Or no ride
They send you back
To that hopeless land
Back on the dim boat
Where dreams once lived but now are lost
Yet others are let through
To the country of America
Where a better life awaits
Filled with hope
In the land of opportunity
I smile a happy smile
I am almost there
Categories:
foul smelling, immigration,
Form:
It took some heavy digging and a lot of clever research.
But scientists have now explained in full detail how evolution works.
Finally it all comes together after much debate and so much time.
(To appeal to the little 'uns they even told it in rhyme).
"And from the mud-baths of primordial soup we came to be.
Rising from the currents of a ginormous boiling sea.
Once things cooled down a bit, leaving cells with room to breath,
things developed quite gradually,
as each individual body part became part of the team."
The Mouth said to the Ear:
You there! Get your Butt over here!
What the Mouth didn't yet know, however,
was that that the Butt was still processing
in some foul smelling black ether.
(Just ask Nose and he'll tell you clear as day,
that smell was nothing short of risque.)
Mouth's voice was very muffled you see,
lacking the Ear's wondrous ability
to take in sound.
You could see it for yourself if you wanted too
(still Eyeball was no where to be found).
Somewhere along the road the Head came rolling down.
He had great determination in his jaunt,
though those big gaping eye-holes were sure to haunt.
And after a two million year nap,
at long last, the Elbow and Knee Cap
came oozing their way from the horrid soup.
Once attached to Mouth and Vocal Chord, they beamed,
"Pee-YOU that reeks, if Stomach were here I'd surely turn green.
One sure develops an appetite after a billion year fast.
If someone doesn't throw me some grub I don't think I'll last!"
After such great struggle there was still so much to be done
Feet and Legs were still in a hot sweaty run
trying for a thousand years at least to find Crotch and Torso
(To make matters worse they needed Esophagus to get re-hydrated also!).
But after all that I think you will find the struggle worth it.
What great things can happen when we're all so close knit.
We're not perfect yet, as you can see, evolution is a work in progress.
Things could always improve, it just takes time to process.
One fellow man of science inquired a rough estimation
of just how long it would take to grow wings
(some bickering was involved, due to his ridiculous proposition).
The real concern is however being totally ignored,
of which I think you will be completely appalled.
It will probably take another 17 billion years,
at least, to get the Brain installed.
Categories:
foul smelling, humorous, philosophy,
Form:
Light Verse
Art rejoices through my special handy exhibition
but a parent’s call for a prestigious profession makes me freeze.
I’m simple with a mind so soft and a hand so helpful
siblings dive into the pool with liberty to put my charity to a tease.
My happiness, my pride, my life and my child,
out of wed luck, she exists but religion demands I call her niece.
The path to greatness and narrow road to this high placement has been solo
but now a baptized celebrity to manage so many friends like bees.
Enjoying what I had sweat for with the liberty to be cheerful or not,
refusing the society’s wish to give half of that, tags me with a moral disease.
Not conforming to the luxurious flaunting of the class of my colleagues
condemns me to a foul-smelling stain in the brotherhood like feces.
A constantly smiling boss, so gentle and understanding
uncharacteristic freedom, my subordinates disrespectfully request a lease.
Living up to the standard of the public, I always try to please,
it’s so tiring and fatal with the media in possession of my keys.
Negotiating a diversion to the demands of the environment
subjects me into a suitable slave for the satisfaction of others.
I extract my mind, limbs and heart in philanthropic donation
what then would be left is worn out remnants of slaughtered geese.
Selfishness is a good control mechanism in a crude world of opportunists
I’ll use that to protect my happiness, loyalties and peace.
Categories:
foul smelling, anxiety, character, community, education,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Is it the songs of the chirping bird in the morning?
Or is it the sound of the crickets at night?
It could be the timely crow of the village cockerels in the morning
That has awakened the residents for yet another beautiful morning?
Could it be because of the village mongrels that are barking furiously as they chase the
wild rabbit to the nearby wood?
Or it the mooing and the bleating of the sheep as they demand to have their middle belts
filled?
It could probably be the noise of the school children as they rush to school
Probably it is because of the hooting of the milk collector as he comes for the morning
milk to take to the dairy?
Is it because of the fresh produce of the greens?
Is it because of the numerous expanse of the land that the eyes can not have to its full?
Could it be because of the naughty neighbors that will listen to your silent conversations?
Or is it because of the early neighborly visits just when the "morning devotion" is at its
peak?
Could it be because of the neighborliness of the neighbors?
Probably it is because of the 'friendships' behind the banana plants near the house.
Or it could be the whispered sweet nothings under the tree just outside the gate with the
moon smiling over the young lovers
It could be because of the 'accidental' pouring of hot dirty and foul smelling water to
the shadowed forms near the banana plant?
Or am i just blindly in love with country life?!
Categories:
foul smelling, nostalgia
Form:
I am a high school graduate and a former college student
I have no children
No drug or alcohol addiction
nor do I have a home
I am one of Brick City's homeless
Many of the faces I've seen downtown are the same faces I see at the soup kitchen or the shelter
The same quirky, ragged, foul-smelling, quiet homeless people
But these aren't the only homeless people
Many of the faces I've seen at the soup kitchen or at the shelter,
I've also seen downtown
The same outgoing, inconspicuous and "average" yet homeless people
I used to assume I'd pass up to 10 of the same homeless people downtown
Now that I'm one of them
and pretty much every homeless person knows every homeless person
You'd probably feel blessed and highly favored when I tell you that the majority of adult pedestrian traffic downtown are homeless United State citizens
The majority are homeless
We're at the library, McDonald's, Penn Station, 18 Rector, 50 South Clinton, all Essex County Parks, 990, Red Doors, St. Johns
or the sidewalk with our book bags, purses, suitcases and our will, however weak or strong, to live for right now
We get in where we fit in
The most thrilling part of my day is knowing what time the next soup kitchen serves and when I'm unconscious and dreaming
Most are not bums
Most are caught in a cyclical cycle of destitution because they have a record and can't qualify for anything other than a 9-5
Or don't have a job because there are no jobs and don't have anyone to take care of them without taking advantage of their situation, be it sexually or by an unfair criminal or immoral request
Most of us just can WAIT until!
. . . and there's no one here to help me right now
I understand though:
It's likewise
This homeless lifestyle encourages me to keep dreaming, faintly hope and never expect anything
My high hopes and expectations left me ____ out in the streets of Newark
It's 4 o'clock
. . . On to the next soup kitchen
Categories:
foul smelling, introspection, journey, me, me,
Form:
Free verse
My cousin Suzy
was feeling quite woozy
as we drove along in the car
Her sister Lizzy
said “why are you dizzy
we really aren’t going that far”
Their brother Vic
said, “She’s gonna be sick”
as he rolled down the window real fast
Mom seemed to worry,
slowed down in a hurry
till all of the other cars passed
Suzy was green
if you know what I mean
as she hung her head outside the door
Lizzy cried ooh
at the foul smelling goo
for she couldn’t quite take anymore
Vic after while
wore a devilish smile
while proclaiming, “Man that was so cool”
Mom shook her head
as she quietly said
“I can’t wait till they’re all back in school”
Categories:
foul smelling, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
The average person laughs 13 times a day
I laugh a lot more often than that
In fact I probably hold the world record
Maybe three or four times that in fact
A katydid hears through holes in its hind legs
You really must be trying to jazz me
What kind of dribble is that, you silly billy
A few bricks short of a load, I see
In Tokyo, apparently they sell toupees for dogs
Wonder if lady dogs wear padded bras
Didn't know doggies had an image problem
If you've seen one you've seen 'em all
There are more plastic flamingos in the United States
Than real ones, surely you jest
If you'd said more plastic people existed than real
Without doubt, I surely would've guessed
We North Americans average 600 sodas a year
With an average of 4 burps per can
That sure seems like a lot of foul smelling air
About 2,400 burps in a one year span
Collectively we eat 100 pounds of chocolate a second
That is surely like paradise divine
In 32 years, there are about one billion seconds
No wonder I'm so damn tired all the time
A company in Taiwan makes dinnerware out of wheat
So we can eat our plates when we're done
Charles Osborne had hiccups for more than 69 years
I'd go loopy, I'd just about come undone
A cockroach can live weeks with its head cut off
It dies from starvation, big surprise
10,000 birds die each year smashing into windows
Seems they have pretty poor eyes
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
foul smelling, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
We're furry and coloured grey, brown, or black
Be-whiskered and sleek and reeking of fat
We'll squeeze through a hole, a gap, or a crack
For rotting flesh or dry bones to gnaw at
Four-legged dealers of lingering death
Malodorous creatures crawling with fleas
Exhaling our pungent foul-smelling breath
Urine and droppings on foodstuffs we squeeze
Our bellies swollen feasting in famine
Scrape on the ground as we scurry in swarms
Our carte du jour is often Scotch salmon
But our tastes transcend conventional norms
Some hang up meat to improve the flavour
We like ours scabrous and oozing with pus
Seasoned with still soft faeces to savour
But with or without we don't make a fuss
Our long yellow teeth are honed to the point
Where nothing's too hard for us to devour
Bone marrow, muscle, fat, gristle, or joint
We’ll crunch them with relish in half an hour
You clearly love us – we’re treated like kings
The streets are knee-deep in tit-bits half-chewed
Hot dogs, hamburgers and delicious things
Like deep fried chicken or vomit you've spewed
We're stealthy and brave there’s naught we don’t dare
To avoid rat-catchers putting us down
But once in Hamelin pipes played a strange air
That drew us deep in the river to drown
Next time you hear a scuffle or squeaking
In a cavity wall or from the floor
It might be us foraging and seeking
To build a little nest and breed some more…
Categories:
foul smelling, animal, dark, horror,
Form:
Rhyme
although a group of people sustain their lives beautifying
everything surrounding them
insisting that everything is good
because they are God’s creation
while another group of people
though they also are humans
swallow and spit out loathsome language
go tottering intoxicated from a foul-smelling-contaminated-air
fuming from the languages they spat out
after there came an erect postured bipedal primate
which was a trifle creature fed by dust wiggling on the earth
for thousands of thousands of long years
eventually they started to share their thoughts
looking in each others’ eyes
cultivating, refining words and phrases for better communication
among those words
were beautifully polished and preserved phrases
thru generation after generations of studies and development
they were exclusively used by a specific class of people who enjoy showing off
and thereby wanted to separate themselves from ordinary people, however, now, the beautiful words and phrases became coarse;
is it because the words were abused by them or
their sleazy tongues stiffened the phrases?
they lost interest in finding the reasonable reasons
because there was no yard-stick to establish a standard;
zombies stalk on the street in bright daylight
the fake brand-name luxurious articles overrun the street
DNA twisted weirdly
all children are born mutated and therefore have evolved
to an overly obdurate species, strange world
there are no family features of daughters like their mother
or sons who resemble their fathers anymore
but only a line of families
like a poorly shaped mosaic landscape made with puzzle pieces
picked-up from alleys and forcefully placed to make a picture
they are never satisfied with what they have
and that’s why if you applaud them they demand more,
if their request is rejected they yell and scream at you
with newly invented swear words
rather, like a dead person
no matter how much you extolled him, doesn’t ask more;
even stamped on to humiliate him, won’t cry or say a word
that’s why God may have kept
everything beautiful beyond men’s reach
that’s why men who live on this side of the world
shout and scream
making everything uglier than it should-be
hanging on to the things they can easily put their hands on
Categories:
foul smelling, language, life, men, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
I walk along a shore
far inland from the roar
of two great oceans,
the Pacific to my west,
and much farther away,
the Atlantic to my east.
Here is desert land and a foul-smelling, shrinking lake.
Salt retention - the lake's peculiar claim to fame -
attracts the curious few
who test the brackish waters to see if,
floating on their backs, they really won't sink.
Some tread far out toward the horizon,
salt stinging and painting their legs white.
Here now, alone with the sun and resident gulls,
I own this stretch of sand.
Arid heat creates a desire in me
to wade into the coolness of the water,
but nearing pea-green scum, I opt for staying dry.
Suddenly,
a small wave appears,
and with it, a splash of water on my legs.
I close my eyes.
For a moment, I'm the wisp of a cloud
drifting above a cool lake big as a sea,
mirroring the azure of sky long ago-
so long ago, in fact-
that I imagine this land right now
-with its few creature inhabitants-
has little resemblance to what was here before.
I ponder what it could have been like
those many centuries before, but I cannot.
Alas, I know very little of science or
of how exactly this area looked or felt or smelled
once upon a time
when it was more water than land.
I know only this:
today it is we that remain. . .
I open my eyes,
conscious again of the remnant water's stench,
and walk to my car,
anticipating my drive back to the city,
with the top down
and hot wind in my face.
Categories:
foul smelling, change, ocean, world,
Form:
Free verse
Do you like what you see in the mirror?
Do you cringe at your sordid reflection
Take heart my dear friend, could be a lot worse
We all have minor imperfections
There are some of us with big oversized honkers
And a some have these sticky out ears
Eyes that are crossed and foul smelling breath
Who haven't had friends in years
People often say “we'll call you next week”
But next week never seems to get here
Could it be they're just trying hard to avoid me
With my belly that's seen too much beer
But the bottom line is we are all quite unique
No one has a claim on perfection
We don't have a choice with how we turn out
It's totally about natural selection
So now I feel better bout my funny appearance
No more need to cover it with a beard
Had this face fuzz since nineteen sixty-two
Without it gonna feel a bit weird
© Jack Ellison 2013
Categories:
foul smelling, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain
Is she the one who bridled my handsome twilight dream?
Whilst I was inside my woolen blanket of brown and cream
Ah! Like an awesome golden eaglet’s leisure time fly
She began to travel from the serene and bright blue sky
She drove the cloud without engine or steering or wheel
And reached my vestibule with blossoms of an eternal feel
Is she the one who tickled my disposition with great fun?
And filled my chamber with the luster of hidden midnight sun
Aha! I felt the alluring musk fragrance of an anonymous deer
I removed my curtains and saw the strewn stars smiling in cheer
She narrated about her wondrous world and the weird myth
Although I made much endeavor to cease my overwhelming mirth
Is she the one who grasped my sturdy and brawny wrist?
And compelled me to saunter through the way of milky mist
Behold! The gleam and bliss of wingless lonely glowworm
And listen to the laughter and lament of foolish thunderstorm
She gathered a handful drop of new bashful monsoon rain
I watched the sizzling salsa of bathing dusts in utter vain
Is she the one who submerged me in this pool of sweet honey?
And I struggled a lot with these white ants in deep agony
Oops! Like an earsplitting and terrifying trumpet’s roar
I heard my own irksome and foul smelling very last snore
It befell the truth that I fell from my wooden framed bed
Into the valley of wild trees with leaves in enchanting red
Categories:
foul smelling, loveme,
Form:
Light Verse
We were making a tour across Europe
Stopped late down in Chalon-sur-Saône
Checked into the youth hostel after lights out
So I walked up the halls on my own.
My father spoke with the attendant
He was the one who spoke French,
I opened each door down the long corridor,
And closed one quick from which came a stench.
The smell from that room was appalling,
Like urine, tobacco and sin.
It was hard to conceive or even believe
That someone was sleeping within.
Two or three doors further onward
I found a dorm with empty beds,
So I put down our gear and began to prepare
For somewhere to lay down our heads.
My father then came down the hallway,
I heard him slam that door fast.
He came in with a grin, as I looked at him,
Content just to lie down at last.
But more doors were opening and closing
In came a bush-hat-sporting man,
My father and I and that tall Aussie guy
Had all closed that door with a slam.
Before we could turn in for kipping
We heard the banging once more,
Then at our glance with a gangly stance
Another one stood at our door.
He turned to his mate and exhorted
Eyes screwed with a squint of despair,
And guffaws followed through when he said “Cripes Blue,
Smelled like a dead Kanga in there.
My father and I encountered a foul smelling room at a youth hostel in France. An Australian tourist who had a way with words nailed the reaction
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Thank you
Categories:
foul smelling, character, culture, funny, hilarious,
Form:
Ballad