Best Glutton For Punishment Poems
bits? crumbs? dregs?
smoothed-over leftovers?
No, thank you
I've had enough.
5/14/2019
I look inside you
I step inside then
Well, well, look what I find here
Is this place Hell
Where my steps have led me
She calls me the Devil
Well that sounds just like him
Comteplations of direct hits
Night Marches regardless
If I’m the Archer or the target
Your still a part of
The weapons aimed in my direction
Shells, Shields, Force fields
Special Forces
Black opts, Black Hawks
Solid truths in soft words
Infrared, GPS, global positional satellites
Inferred here, I’m speaking from the third person
a glutton for punishment, a fly in the ointment
there are no flies on somebody
I’m Dynamic, I’m a driving force
I’m vigorous, full of energy, poetically spoken I got a purpose
Poetic Justice
Poet Destroyer
I tell you in Latin, I’m Acinonyx jubatus
Imma Cheetah
My words travel faster than a Leopard
I ain't no follower, I ain't no lemming
A Legend lends itself to something
Legitimately speaking
“To the system, I speak into the Universe
In the light years I splash and play in”
Worse Than Christine
I am a glutton for punishment, as you shall soon see,
I had an Austin Healey Sprite, or more rightly, it had Me!
Had I looked up the name in Webster’s, I would have known, oh, so well,
That to own and to drive one, was a short trip to Hell!
The word “Sprite” means disembodied spirit, or ghost,
I must say, spirit is what it had the most,
When I say “spirit,” you think that is good,
But I can tell you, only Evil lies under that hood!
Made in England, the wettest civilized country on Earth,
To not waterproof the ignition must have caused them great mirth!
To clean the windshield, I threw a cup of water on it, gave the wipers a tweak,
That miserable creation would not start for a week!
It was one of the smallest, by far,
Some folks did not believe that it was even a car!
There was an advantage to its size,
When the starter was broken(quite often), I could develop my thighs!
There were other parts, that when new, should have been in a dump,
It had the World’s worst, most cantankerous, electric fuel pump!
It would click a few times, then shudder, and stammer,
The only way to fix it, a blow from a hammer!
All the owners had one, tied under the hood,
The rock hard suspension hit the fuel pump real good!
Luckily, in Southern California, there is not too much rain,
Trying to put up the top, an adventure in pain!
I used to donate blood, but when I got the Sprite, I could not go,
Because of cuts and scratches from the top, I was always a quart low!
It was Pure Evil, with no endearing features,
But the final straw, for me, involved the most beautiful creatures,
Fathers would have been happy if they knew what I discovered one night,
It is ABSOLUTELY impossible to get a girl pregnant in an Austin Healey Sprite!
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.
My weaknesses kill me as they are amplified
With painful memories I want to hide
I endured your wrong doing that never did rightl
By me while I stayed faithful by your side
Accused of things you did and lied
About everything and selfishly tried
Taking what you could of anything mine
Losing to you while the old me died
I was a glutton for punishment needing suicide
Sickeningly full from swallowing pride
Despite how many times you made me cry
Giving into what I thought I wanted mine
A fantasy that trapped me with my hands tied
With willingness to work through the fight
Being together, when all we did was collide
I allowed you too much space in my mind
I will never go back or press rewind
Back to us with me trying to hide
From what seemed like endless slowing of time
Anguished with heartache I took in stride
Closer to my limit with every crossed line
You tried to break me into your design
Convinced I was not already a dime
In reality you wanted me obliviously blind
Like you were to everything keeping you alive
Now only flesh of all things unforgettably unkind
To everything in me that brings to light
Unconditional love you had by your side
Now a hate that wishes you would have just died
Belts, paddles, switches, and rulers were once instruments of punishment.
Although very rarely, in my early years, a belt was Daddy's favorite.
I was always a quick learner and never a glutton for punishment.
Some believe that both the home and the schools presently bear the
results of unwisely changing the rules with regard to curtailing
bad behavior. Others think, 'Good riddance'. Others call for balance.
When corporal punishment of kids was applied and acceptable,
whether handed down at home or in school, there were always
those who never seemed to be persuaded to alter their behavior.
As a result, punishment was repeated whether proper or not.
Neither the applier nor the recipient ever learned any lesson.
However, there would be tears, sometimes by the applier also.
I suspect both learned "To WEEP THE TEARS THAT NEVER LEARN".
Perhaps the misapplied method was bad medicine for Donnie.
Perhaps tenured teacher Miss Peterson wept tears of failure.
It should be noted that life is complicated and gives rise to many
mysteries. Such convoluted mysteries often force us "TO WEEP
THE TEARS THAT NEVER LEARN". As for corporal punishment, I wish.
I wish that it had been abolished when I was a kid. Many troubled kids
turn out to be the best of citizens. And I've observed that many parents
and teachers despise the pain medicine they administer. Need I say More?
"THE TRACK ON MY TIMELINE"
I'm up, I'm up.
I yawn, I stretch,
I rub the hangover from my eyes.
a day of leisure is ahead of me.
no, it really isn't.
I've got an errand to run and it
involves my laundry.
I've dumped procrastination,
she was an unhealthy *****.
the laundromat is down on Baldwin street.
it's a dreadful place for the lower class.
hey, wait a minute!
the race track!
****!
first race is at ten.
I can still make it,
it's nine-thirty.
no, priorities, priorities.
how long can these clothes really last?
forever, until I'm stripped of them.
nine forty-five.
I'm at the betting window.
twenty win on the three horse!
I grab a beer,
I light up my cigarette,
and the gates open.
I'm a glutton for punishment,
procrastination is my lover
yet again.
By: Chicano Eddie
8-9-2016
If you call on me
I will fall at your feet
Today I'm only thinking
of you, of us
Nothing helps me forget
Nothing takes away
the pain, it just
doesn't seem to get easier
so many questions in my mind
so many sleepless night
does he love me
does he miss me
does he think of me
does he still dream of me
is it hard for him to be friends with me
who is in his arms that isn't me
I love him
I miss him
I am always thinking of him
and I always dream of
what could have been,
what should have been
I am a glutton for punishment
by being his friend
no one has replaced him
Questions I want to ask
but I don't know if
I have the strength to know
If you were long-winded
but no pun in ten did,
do you lack humor’s art,
or was that a long fart?
Once a pun, a thyme, a sage
got tossed for smoking in a bar;
It seems bad jokes are not in season;
close, but no cigar.
A glutton for punishment -
Never sausage a thirst!
He grinned at the butcher,
Now, give me your wurst!
—————
for the Pun Fun Poetry Contest
sponsored by Margarita Lillico
written 3/11/23
We want bigger homes
And a smaller family.
We want mountain tops and
Flowers in the valley.
We want more convenience,
We have less time.
We all have our hills and
Mountains to climb.
We want more degrees,
But no common sense.
We want things to change,
Yet, we are on the fence.
We want more knowledge,
We have less judgement.
We have more crime,
A glutton for punishment.
We want more experts, yet we
Create bigger problems.
We expect what we plant
To blossom.
We want more medicine,
But we're less healthy.
Everyone is getting fat,
But the wealthy.
We have been to the moon
And back.
We have lost our way,
On the wrong track.
We built more computers to
Hold more information.
To make conversation, we open
More lines of communication.
We want more quantity,
We get less quality.
We want equal rights, yet
Deal with equality.
We want a variety of fast foods,
We have slow digestion.
We want the first date
To pop the question.
We want to be taller,
We are short on character.
We want to meet new people,
Yet there is a barrier.
We want more profits, yet we
Have shallow relationships.
We want more friends,
But we have fewer partnerships.
Our garages are full,
Our homes are empty.
We want it to be colder,
We become more sweaty.
Turbo1904 ?
They say time flies when you're having fun,
but time goes by slowly,
when the quiet fills the emptiness,
flashes of the past,
flashes of the future,
we take time for granted,
we waste time complaining,
we use our time for trivial things,
capturing moments are harder and harder as we grow older,
we all have our paths to create,
while still trying to intersect with others,
sometimes it's as if we can live forever,
by holding on to time in a bottle,
but we are just fooling ourselves,
trying to trick father time to give us more,
cause we are a glutton for punishment,
but truth is,
we are all afraid of our own mortality...
Jokes on me, guess you're the roaster and i'm to chicken to say goodbye cause I waste my time wishing you would hold me closer ,the shows been over but im still seated, my vision blurred , Is the curtain really closed? ,In the mist I search through my mind to try to find the truths separated from the lie,what's real and whats hidden, intermixed and woven, a stir of confusion, a mind warped ,a puppet to the puppeteer her brains been stirred, she cant see clear,a place in his heart? please! there's no room for you there, little crumbs get dropped and I follow the trail going through the maze getting dizzy in the haze hoping to reach the big cheese,what am I trying to achieve?The unattainable heart, the broken Soul,a sick need like desire why is it he that fuels my fire when it is also he who leave my heart and soul, empty ,yearning and tired,the lust ,his touch ,his smell, his presence in your mind he always dwells, he disregards you and still you feel like hes your armor?!? it's debatable that hes not quite malicious but yet he still harms you,disarmed you are against his charms,his smile ,his voice defeats you every time,in your mind a shadow of him cackles you are mine,a prisoner to passion all while forgetting this kinda pain is not in fashion ,a glutton for punishment I ingest all the excrement, a slave to the pain don't even try to break out of my chains,sounding erratic the feeling is tragic ,his flesh pressed against mine ,the skin craving sin, ringmaster of this disaster he controls the elements like a wizard, under his spell heaven an hell ,if u looked in my eyes could you tell? I'm under your spell can you not tell, I wish I was held in your mind like you are in mine ,I wish in your heart I had a place to reside, but I'm just a jester going on a ride ,riding my unicycle around in a circle ,a sideshow for you ,the one u lie with but will never hold dear, like a master I'm your cat ,you wave the feather taunting me but I can never grasp it ,like a baby bird inside of the shell there's a slight crack but I cant break free, born deformed unable to fly,you caught me a few times as I started to cry, shrieking inside my mind the words blast between my skull and vibrate my brain as my blood vessels pulsate in a excruciating manner , my mind screams he'll never be mine!
Lust for life
Glutton for punishment
Greed for good
Sloth for time
Wrath for bullies
Envy for passion
Pride for joy
Mobilise the angels
We’ve a job to do.
I can't help myself
I watch them constantly
With their perfect lives
They prance around everyone
Showing off, grasping for attention
Their new noses make me laugh
The friends are a disgusting brood
I'm sick of the bags, clothes, houses
And all of their "rightful" success
Even their picture perfect family
Makes me want to vomit
Why not me?
Am I not worth ten times more
Then ten of these fake, back stabbing
Shallow, corporate climbing whores?
I can't take my eyes off them.
I am obsessed,
Glutton for punishment.
I sit watching and wallering
In a self made pity pot.
Envy has completely clouded
Everything that was once me.
I just simply want to know.
Why can I not be perfect too?
M. Lyn Church
June 31, 2013
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring morin 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.