Best Frigging Poems
I'm so late for work; this line is just crawling along
With only two windows now open here out of ten.
Though silent, inside me, I'm wailing a misery song
and wishing I lived in a century way back when. . .
Far back to a time when a person might buy untaxed land,
When air still was clean and the number of people was small.
Neighbors were friendly and offered to give you a hand
and probably people did not need a license at all.
But now we have all become numbers that wait in a line;
And yearly you pay for the right to keep driving your car.
Yes, honor Big Brother, or you will be faced with a fine,
and nor does it matter in which of the states that you are.
I think I would rather be driving an old Model-T
than be standing in this frigging line at the dang DMV.
< Once there were two monkeys in a tree
Abandoned by their own family
A hunting they did go
Bananas they did tow
For munching while watching the show glee
Singing and dancing to happy tune
Along came an hugh frigging monsoon
Wiping out daily stock
Grapes bananas what crock
What's next grooming by pack of baboons
Entry For
John Freemans
Limericks Hilarious Contest
G.L. All
I am Bulgarian,
but wait, I am not proud at all.
Your voice is never heard in here
because ignoring is our law.
Gypsies, addicts and psychopats
walk aroung each day.
Eternal Halloween hangs over us,
how would I want to stay?
You could be stabbed for 50 bucks
while walking down the street.
The villain will be briefly detained
then free again to terrorize and cheat.
If you happen to be dying
I'm sorry, you're screwed, my mate -
The ambulance will come for sure,
but often a little too late.
Our rulers are filthy coward rats
who live at our expense.
We suffer and wonder every day
how their acts make no frigging sense.
Am I making a bad reclame?
Well, I don't really care.
If a miracle happens and things get better,
I'll be more than happy to share.
Our people leave one by one
and nothing changes as days go by.
I am Bulgarian and I am puzzled -
should I laugh or cry?
PS: I may be rebelling, but this doesn't mean I hate my country. It is a beautiful land and everyone is welcome here. Peace, ***
I am so fed up with the school of rhyme
and those that do it ALL THE flipping TIME
It how we are taught as little pups
it's not a genre befitting grow ups
It's okay to throw a rhyme in here and there
but Jesus Christ, really, EVERYWHERE?
If I start to read a pieces that rhymes
every other frigging line
it makes me want to yank out all my hair
so I close the page and go else where
if you think that rhyming is where it's at
then your sentiments are falling flat
Let the children have their style
Use it sparingly; once in a while
I wrote this poem to prove I can...
write just like neanderthal man
If variety is the spice of life
then tell me: why is rhyming so rife?
If I had a secret that I wanted to share with you
Dare you open your mind and let my creativity ensue?
I don’t build bridges with bricks, I hang them with rope
I can generate your fantasies and incubate your hope
Open the pages of my mind, reading the fiery words of my heart
Enter Pandora’s Box, and the epic journey will start!
Follow me down south, through the mirror of liquid glass
You’ll feel the calmness take over and watch the fear pass
What a wonderful feeling, letting your inhibitions go into the night
Now step forward onto the phoenix, as you drift into the light
This journey isn’t everlasting, you know that it comes with a price?
What? Did you think it was free? wouldn't that have been nice
Open your eyes from delusion, and friend you will piece things together
My name is Sam, Satan or The devil, that’s how I'll been known as forever!
OK, so I tricked you, with my words and devilish charm
What were you expecting? I’m frigging Satan dude, my job is sadistic harm!
You look at me with those puppy dog eyes, you realise you've lost all of your family ties
My head tells me to give you a second chance, double or quits is where my desire lies
Do you accept the new twist, on my board game that is your life?
I’ll take that hesitant nod as a yes, and commence this game of strife
Give me the name of a family member and they can take your place
However I will warn you, if you can’t then I win this twisted race
No! You scream, and that’s your final answer which I’ll have to take
Now I own not only your soul, but your families when they next shall wake
He took my hand and promised peace for my sisters and brothers
Now I’ve gambled with the devil and he owns my beloved others
The deal is now done and a fiery rain begins to fall
Burning me down to ash, disintegrating my world and all
[ edit poem ]
Life Is What Happens
What a long, strange life it’s been.
Childhood and adolescence were close to normal,
I never felt quite right,
Never fit my image of a normal kid.
Dealing with internal demons for so many years.
Adolescence was hell,
The frigging dybbuks took control
Internally screaming, “your not good enough”, “your dirt”,
Externally, manifesting as cystic acne, ugly, festering sores.
Then long hair, drugs and rock n roll.
Feelings of compassion, and forgiveness.
For awhile the voices got quieter,
Infrequent periods of contentment,
First love, and then the Voices were back.
Alcohol, anger, self-hatred,
Move away! Leave L.A.!
Transplant to Sonoma County
Twenty-three years old, alone, frightened.
A period of relief, enjoyment, discovery.
The search had begun!
A time of growth, feelings of great love,
for life, for spirit, for myself.
Politics grabs hold,
Open to new friends,
Seeing myself as worthy to be loved.
Christine, daughter of the Motor City,
Nancy Marie, the wild one,
And then she picked me up hitchhiking.
How do you measure a life?
Marriage, children, many good years.
But the demons reappear,
This time as a progressive, degenerative disease
I watch the life I thought I knew, disintegrate little by little,
until I’m stripped close to the bone,
And I watch!
Three decades spent creating a structure,
A way of being, a persona, a box,
In which to place all our preconceptions
About love, family, commitment, hopes and dreams.
Like Schopenhauer’s “Will to Live”, life moves on,
Refusing to address the petty personal dreams, wishes, and prayers
Focusing instead on the perpetuation of a far less then perfect species
--Updated 1/25/2013
An attempt to play with words; pun intended.
The first stanza is dedicated to persons who feel aloft themselves i.e. place of work, among peers, anywhere
Second is meant to encourage people who feel like a failure
Third is dedicated to those who are still discovering themselves!
And the last one is for those who have lost their way I.e. their morales and good upbringing; who are willing to make a change and make it all better again!
You think you’re the boss!
But you don’t know pride will only make you burst
Don’t you know you’re just a moss?
Lacking sufficient sunlight and soon to be at loss;
Because by the winds you would be toss
And you would be nothing but a doss
Hey! You! Yes you! Why do you fuss?
Is it because you feel like a wuss?
Now I really think it has become a must;
That all your bothers you should dust
For when you do, faith will make you the first!
Most times I feel like a bust
And I know it doesn’t feel fair or just
For sometimes I might be nothing to you but a frigging rust
But I’m certain I represent trust!
On some rainy days I truly feel lost
And drenched in the delight of lust
My convictions and beliefs seems to fust;
Then all I long for is a moment filled with gust
Now all I am is a message on a post;
Spiraling and living my life the most!
Bombing Indonesia
So they broke the law and smuggled drugs etc. How about we drop some 1000lb bombs on Jakarta and nuke each individual Indonesian air force, navy and army base? FOR A BIT OF FRIGGING FUN? FRIG YEA. What comes around goes around.
The Aussies lied on scrapping their F-111s. A recon bird flew high over Indo land. She drew up the motley bunch of Flankers and got splashed. As intended. She was unmanned. Manned F-111s went in and cluster bombed the Indo bases. F-18s gave top cover.
When the flankers showed up, the F-18 pilots confirmed what we all knew: the Indo Flankers had no missiles. Just a gun. Every Flanker was brought down. Their F-16s did better and splashed two old Hornets. But the Indo F-5s got three Super Hornets, in turn being wiped out by the Super Hornets who were actually bombers. A pilot smelling blood is a rabid dog. Reports of gunning civilians are that, reports.
There were some who said that Indonesia under the Soviet dogs was better armed. Equipped with Badger bombers and Fishbed fighters. Could they resist Australia? And bomb the F-18 bases? Or be like Saddam Hussein and wiped out? Indo Flankers did no better. War, all for a few executions...
Wretched working weekend
Friday, Saturday, Sunday,
twelve hour shifts,
praying for Monday.
Noisy nurse's station,
patients pressing call-lights,
you'd think they'd all be resting,
but instead they're up all night.
With their East Texas accents:
"I need hay-elp" patient cries,
always adding syllables,
"I wet my bay-ed," from 545.
One patient's heart rate's 170,
another's is just 40,
and there's a patient screaming:
"Lordy, Lordy, Lordy."
Constant call-lights beeping,
monitors alarming,
patients demanding Demerol,
isn't my job charming?
600 pound man who
just poops in his own bed,
takes three aides to clean him,
(I'll keep my job instead!)
In 20 there's a drug-seeker,
whose privates are all swollen,
in 30 there's an old man,
with cancer of the colon.
I answer all the call lights,
then page the patient's nurses,
I give them their messages
and listen to their curses.
I'm stuck in the middle,
angry patients on one side,
calling busy nurses
whose frustration they don't hide.
Meanwhile the phones are ringing,
and I have to keep an eye
on 27 EKGS,
so someone doesn't die.
Then the ER calls and
they need three more beds,
the thought of telling everyone
fills my heart with dread.
Well, that's the job I'm doing,
and I guess it could be worse,
every day I'm grateful for the fact
that I'm not a frigging nurse!
If you need to be reminded... Please take note:
YOU MATTER...
So don't worry about tomorrow or yesterday. Focus on each moment and know that you are awesome and are important. You are a universe unto yourself... How frigging cool is that...
You Matter
By Michelle Morris
23/04/2020
You matter.
Now.
Today.
Tomorrow and
Yesterday.
Just by
Being YOU -
YES.. YOU..
Just by
Breathing,
Heart beating,
Thinking,
Feeling,
Soul freeing...
You matter.
Soul aching,
Soul on fire,
Filled with
Desire to
Exist and
LIVE.
Striving,
To be
Thriving,
Alive
Being...
Again breathing...
Breaking,
Hurting,
Bleeding,
Succeeding,
Pleading,
Believing,
Thieving,
Craving,
Saving...
It all means
You matter.
In all directions
Of time.
Eternally
Existing.
Being,
Glowing,
Expanding,
Rainbow unicorn,
Universe creating,
Angel making,
God talking,
Now and always...
YOU MATTER.
© Michelle Morris, 2020
Chemical Fire
Burn baby and give me some sulphuric hydrochloric acid smoke,
your fire gives me toasted tiktox and crisps me up nicely.
Boom goes the roof when 55 gallon drums go flying and it’s all ballistic.
The money shot is when the boss’s office goes up like a frigging rocket.
He was sat at his desk and went to the moon.
Chemical Ali won’t be coming back anytime soon.
Question is where is his ten million dollar profit?
Was it hidden in an empty oil drum on a pallet of dangerous chemicals?
All the factory is ablaze, three workers died and two were injured.
They should have got blood money for working there,
no risk to life was greater and no boss more meaner.
As flames reach a hundred feet and smoke a mile in the sky,
hindsight is way too late.
They kept acting like a bunch of ancient idiots...
Screaming unto their, daemons see we told you so ?
Juicy Lucy, slithering past some fallon marker: checking
Their numbers basically they haven't got a frigging clue just
Spiraling through time a continuum in his or her disarray bleeding.
Form:
The black circle that surrounds my eye
Is the reason why at night I cry
My partner hits me ever so hard
While calling me a “stupid” and a “frigging retard”
What on Earth have I done to deserve this?
Every punch, he doesn’t ever miss
I thought it was love when we first met
But now I realise he’s a potential life threat
The smile I’ve pasted upon my face
Trying to bury my feelings deep down some place
But I’m getting so tired of pretending
I just want a Happy Ending
His fists are the size of my head
And his dark eyes fill me with dread
His veins that bulge on his neck
He has made me a nervous wreck
I’ve never felt so much hate before
It’s eating me inside, right to my core
I wish him dead, I honestly do
For all the torment he’s put me through
He reeks of alcohol and stale cigarettes
A crutch he uses so he forgets
His latest outburst of violence
That left me on the floor praying in silence
Can anyone out there hear me?
Help me, this is my final plea
God where are you why don’t you listen?
I scream this as the tears that roll down my face glisten.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
©copyright Juanita Torr
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My boss asked me how old I was today.
When I told him I was 60 he said, "No Way!"
"Tomorrow I'm putting you on a lighter work detail," to me he told.
"I had no idea that you were so frigging old."
I was born in nineteen sixty nine
just off the block and in my prime
now let me introduce you to
some pertty good friends of mine
Let's start with my uncle Jesse
to me he looks like he's ninety nine
but I love to watch him when he
takes nips from his moonshine
Here's my owners Bo and Luke
cousins of a kind just hanging out
with Daisy who looks
so sweet and so darn fine
But There's some other folks
that just don't like our kind
its those sheriff folks thats
watching the hazzard county line
Starting with their fearless leader Boss Hogg
Who's radioing all the frigging time to
Cooter and Davenport And to that rascal
Rosco P Coltrane who he cannot find
Now my life is such sweet devine
when your jumping in and out of my windows
while running from those sheriffs from Georgia County line
in my general lee waving a confederate flag thats in it's prime
Honking my horn to a dixie tune of same kind
Tribute To The Dukes Of Hazzard LOL
Also Entry For
Christopher Higgin's
Get Your Rebel On!
Tho This Poem Is Not About A Person
Changing My Life But The Time Era Did
And Something About That Show Changed Me
About Opening Your Heart And Home To All