Best Malodorous Poems
I have no spirit.
I have no soul.
I am nothing more than a terrible troll.
I’ll never see Heaven,
And this is my Hell,
To be shunned by all men and the fair mademoiselle.
I was made by a madman,
Assembled from parts
Of decaying cadavers, and life from a spark.
My twisted existence
Of needles and thread,
Malodorous materials from realms of the dead.
I entered this world
One dark stormy night,
My creator’s repugnance foretelling my plight.
I opened my eyelids
As lightning bolts zapped,
With howling of winds and thunderous claps.
I was thrust into light.
I knew darkness and cold.
I was thirsty and hungry, a sight to behold.
A blind man took pity.
I did not offend.
He was my one unconditional friend.
And then he was gone,
But I needed someone,
A partner to witness what I had become.
I wanted affection,
But all that I fetched
Was fear and revulsion for this awful wretch.
All I desired
Was someone to share
Ups and downs of a life filled with sorrow and care.
Alas! My creator
Reneged on our deal.
In spite of my honest and urgent appeal,
He butchered my bride.
I butchered his, too.
But first I killed Henry. That day he will rue.
The way I’d been treated
Only heightened my rage.
Yet my maker perished before the last page.
Soon I discovered
That I could not die.
I’ve lasted for decades. Death I defy.
And my punishment still,
As a tragic outcast,
Is to walk among gravestones of people who’ve passed.
Tim had all the necessary ingredients right next to his ancient burner
Shark teeth dangling from a sunken necklace at the cutting edge but
The amulet had turned into chains and shackles grinding the chef’s mind
A lost recipe for happiness but and he had no appetite for nourishment
Attrition boiled over when nutrition resembled a poisonous chalice
Too tired to take stock he dwelled on his primordial soup turning back
Primitive and involuntary he turned on the gas and smelled his demise
Rotten onions had depleted his tears thinly sliced and disguised
Fetid leeks leaked misery a trickle or two at full stagnant pace
Spoilt thyme oozed malodorous rosaries into beads of corrosion
Squashed tomatoes splashed foul decomposition into his eyes
Fennel funneled his vision into a bubbling hell of indigestion
Olive oil splashed straight into his heart with no glimmer of peace
Cantankerous garlic would not fend off his festering demons
While a bay leaf could not keep mortally morose sadness at bay
Great white oblivion but slowly Tim made friends with predation
Resolved he was allergic to fishy feelings and toxic distaste
He did not remember at first how to simmer emotions and passion
But onions started to sprinkle tears of joy and the shark pointed the way
Soon leeks from a Welsh legend delineated friend from mal-aligned foes
Thyme soothed his splattering cough and he found his true inner voice
Tomatoes seeded bright red orange chakras from base to the top while
Fennel fought of bloating depression and conquered agony’s cramps
Previously oblivious oils from virginal growth re-birthed him into life
He licked his wounds and wild garlic from an ocean of wonderment
And chose the berries from a long forgotten and noble laurel tree
Tim had barked up the wrong perspective and had muted the roar
Eventually he conjoined ingredients recipe and fortunate blessings
Left the sharks out of the chowder and slurped smooth soup into his shell
Monomaniacal Mist
I am the finite of the infinite for the shadows bleed my presence
My habitual hunger is imminent and toxicant time is of the essence
Like the serpent swallowing sorrows slithering to sanitize your soul
In view of marauding morrows whispering winds wavering console
As a malodorous mist, I appear a demi-god of recyclable tangled time
A fallen angel fostering fear bringing forth a new pernicious paradigm
I come within denigrative dreams a diabolical debacle demanding end
A Svengali of silent screams an oblivious organism that will transcend
A jaded jackal conjured by the broken hearts withering to their demise
The grotesque genie that departs only to enslave before it’s downsize
I am the confiscating conqueror of night banishing your barren breath
Like a fallacious futile frostbite a feculent frozen fire ... for I am death.
April.03.2018
The Life of Death
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
No Time Like The Present (Cliches Contest)
I need to get out of this place!
So very tired of everyone's bromidic rhetoric.
It's sickening...
The continuous chatter of a dramatic existence.
It's sickening...
Who are these people anyways?
Shhhh! I hear my mother whispering some old cliché, so far away,
"There is no time like the present", she says, and she's right again!
I am tired of this malodorous smelling room.
Tired of all the inferior, chintzy plastic furniture in it.
It's sickening...
And all of the neighbors tumultuous affairs.
It's sickening..
To the birds with it all, I'm better than this!
Have confidence in your own ability to overcome adversity.
Be a doer not a hypocrite of your own dreams.
GET UP! GO! LEAVE, YOU NEED TO LEAVE!
It's sickening...
Grease me up for I am wedged in this room.
It's sickening...
Well I am done being a mouse amongst all of these rats!
I'm looking forward and never turning back!
At Last! The motivation that I need!
The door is opening as I walk right through it,
and never look back...
Ecstatic...
Smiling...
Happy...
Goodbye Harvard University!
03/25/16
Torture’s Toxic Contagion
by Odin Roark
From where comes these perpetrators,
These conscienceless mortals
Whose senses are quashed by orders,
By fear of demotion,
By allegiance to evil?
Who demands the allegiance
To insulated Washington duplicity
Puppets adorned in suits and ties of importance
Astride fine leather chairs of authority?
What right does evil have over good?
Does assumed expediency have to trump integrity,
Stealthily burying principals beneath the quagmire of incompetence,
Adopting rules from coerced legal offices,
Where procedural override of accepted war conduct,
Creates U.S. atrocities into persecution’s bubbling vat waiting?
How acidic this brew of orifice aggression must be.
How explosive the brain’s chemistry must become.
How malodorous the waft of this barbaric wretchedness must seem.
Still…
How easy it is to ignore that such bad behavior
Is counter-international law,
Subject to accountability
To legal prosecution and punishment.
Are we so glib with our conscience
That we think “out of sight, out of mind” is an escape?
For…
Lest one forgets the pent up pay-back
Festering in the shadows of the victims’ “to do” lists,
One’s Machiavellian innocence may not even see it coming…
What ever their choice might be.
Torture’s toxic caldron continues to be stirred,
Too few daring to taste the fiery recipe before being served
What might be truly the last supper.
From the very moment my Mom taught me how to use a spoon,
From her mouth was uttered that old familiar tune:
"The kids in Asia are starving, now Bobby, clean your plate!"
Her admonition was final and left no tolerance for debate!
I tried to foist upon the hapless dog a helping of bony fish.
Even he would gag trying to swallow that vapid dish!
I'd toy with them and try to hide the tasteless peas.
I could barely abide them, even in bites of twos and threes!
Even tho' Mom concealed them with cheese, I had my doubts,
About a malodorous little veggie called Brussels sprouts!
I'd surreptitiously sneak them on to the plate of little brother,
Thereby, avoiding the reproof to clean my plate by my Mother!
There was the delicate matter of dealing with broccoli and beets,
Okra, spinach, turnips, hominy and other such disgusting eats.
In my feckless youth I thought such fare rather untoward,
But soon learned that to survive, you ate what was on the board!
When side-stepping along the chow line in the military service,
They often slopped mysterious stuff on my tray, making me nervous.
When I joined the service, I hoped never again to hear Mom's old cliche,
But, even those mean old sergeants screamed, "Private! Clean your tray!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for No. 1 in PD's "Any Random Poem" Contest - July 2011
The stench crawls up the mossy drapery in a
house reeking with death. The sad part is
no one died here, just my soul. A mirror on
the wall is a remnant of the God forsaken war
among me and… myself.
A look in the mirror brings back lost and
confusing memories. Days of hard labor
and nights of manly pleasure. I try to
forget about the vile smell, but it’s just
too hard to let go. I cover my mouth and
hold my breath-
Madness masquerading in my mind's sheath-
Decayed dust drifts into the devil’s relief.
Trapped in a room with only three walls
I sit and wait for a breath I can muster.
The longing for comfort in my bones is
deeper than the fragrance of loss. I
live for loss, and I’d die for it too.
This I know.
I’m just a dirty soul who clings to death
like a suicidal maniac. I’ve been here
before though, many times. I’ve felt the
pain of delight as glass has ripped up
my feet, leaving nothing but the scent
of foul blood-
Shouts of sinister sins save my spirit-
Frustration foretells fever, I can feel it.
Strangers visit and violate my soul. They
stay for days and after some time the aroma
of my secrets lingers on…on…and…on.
I’ve hidden laughter in the depths of
my stomach and when I am hungry I
sit and weep.
I cling to malodorous moments. You
know, the ones that boil you so blazed
you have to peel off your skin for relief-
To me, relief is in my poor manuscripts.
I write plays of sadness and in the end
the Queen always dies from disease
or depression. I read verses and sense
nothingness. I try to forget the vile
smell of pain, but it's just too hard to let go.
I cover my mouth and hold my breath-
Fetid fragrances free me just to forget-
Sanctity savors my sadness as I stink of regret.
Fictional write for contest
Stink Contest
October 2, 2016
I'm the only one at our house who relishes onions and liver.
Ah, the thought of that delicacy sends up my spine a shiver!
Never mind that my spouse almost gags and must pinch her nose,
Keeping the frying pan at bay as that malodorous aroma flows!
When a pan of onions and liver is sizzling in the kitchen,
To attack that delectable repast, my delicate palate is itchin'!
I take no heed concerning liver and all of its cholesterol.
Alas, it is seldom on the menu at our table after all!
A supper of onions and liver is just not at all complete,
Without a slab of cherry pie and ice cream for a treat.
The entree' must include peas, gravy and smashed pertaters,
And on the side a salad liberally laced with fresh termaters!
I grew up chomping on onions and liver as a Hoosier lad,
'Specially at butchering as hogs' fates were sealed by Dad!
We'd never heard of lobster thermidor or cordon bleu.
Shucks, at our humble abode we were pleased with a zesty stew!
I've heard that too much cholesterol can bring about an early doom.
Should that occur, this epitaph would be most appropriate for my tomb:
"Docs warned him about onions, liver and bad cholesterol;
Alas, he took no heed - his demise they could not forestall!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
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…
I.
Ode the thrill of a tango
curled in clutches sleek
Elegance, a prerequisite
Add on a spun euphoria
Nimble is a turgid swoon!
Arms conduct to the aria
New skin, feels no tocsin
It's deeply in a you and i
Glazed, to the tightening
and a strangling organza
Necked into a suffocation
So go the tunnel deaths…
(1/27/2021: '02 Silverton MY; Alameda ...contest theme was murder in the tunnel)
II.
Ornately, I gild over my days a’ la fresco
Carefully, I wield molten gold, enigmatic
Elaborate must these life undulations be
as metallic sheen screens all insipid aura
New cantankerous crack? Just weld upon
and smooth the jagged with flowing flora
Now the feckless plaster sparkles golden
I spurn mawkish, like the silvered literati
glossing my craven, to caverns gleaming
Aurum weaves, in its narcissistic miasma
Nothing malodorous in self-love / loathin’
So imperious my bombastic art, it glazes!
(8.17.21 Redone at Willow Berm and DBW; theme was Craig’s Broken contest relating to Kintsugi)
Upon the first date (decades ago) with the gal,
whose troth aye did pledge allegiance to wed
we agreed to dine at an ex-mex eatery
in north Wales, Pennsylvania, where angels feared to tread
carefully scrutinizing bon appétit the menu selection,
a touch of Latin lick QED
all American version sans south of the border cuisine –
Quod Erat Demonstrand – translations spit out in rapid fire Hispanic
by a beady eyed inked kid named Ned
whose couture favored a punkish style
with spiked gelled green hair, piercings galore and
necklace with a genetically modified sizable
entombed glass encased amber ked
which beastly fully intact organism with a miniature grisly bear like head
momentarily hypnotizing me tell nudged out of trance sans this egghead
who make a selection by randomly
landing finger on an item feigning to be well bred
unbeknownst to the arbitrary choice this senior made
within an ample number of mouthfuls
of beans and rice that quelled hunger pangs
mine lower gastrointestinal tract,
felt a bubbling sensation played
though impropriety struggled with gaseous mounting perturbations,
what promised to be hot malodorous, would induce an air raid
from this “wind bag”, whose saving grace divine, when wallet of suede
discover herd visa vis tubby devoid of cash, thus and excuse to beat the tirade
of volcanic eruption found me bolting
out the restaurant door fortunately not waylaid
and madly dashing (like some comet fiery dancer)
performing a cheeky number hopping on one foot than the other –
since forceful blast triggered kidneys to be tapped, thus prancer
two step extemporaneously incorporated while await the ATM to disburse cash
legal tender coveted akin to Cupid sprinkling spell of romancer
while expulsion of noxious fumes from thine sphincter from this hob er dasher
brought relief as aye nonchalantly strolled inside
the cozy diner and slipped into me seat
disinclined to relate vents to future spouse,
the bodily aeration and stream of urine from me magic flute
which amazingly synchronized with the Maximus glute
from consuming food triggering tushy to toot.
Sprawling was he in the roasting sun outside an Indian store.
Shaking and jingling coins in his begging bowl hoping to receive more;
Just as his hunger grew terrible in his begging tummy,
Some rich man gave him a titbit of pizza, it tasted richly yummy.
Though the reek of his shoes was yay stuffy, his raiment soberly tattered –
And his body smelt malodorous but none of that to him ever mattered.
He’d grin wide his pitch yellow teeth and germ-favoured gums, opening his creased hands seeking alms;
And he’d do it over and over and over again, with sweat tumbling from ‘twixt his crying palms.
He’d sing painful songs of elegy, with grime of perspiration and muck on his face;
Weeping solemnly to everyone that passed by the town’s market place –
Alas! His tears recalled where the coins had fled, the coins of pledge of the piteous beggar;
The begging bowl of his coins was grabbed away by a snatcher, a very heartless drabber.
Oh poor crippled Zimbabwean Beggar, his weeping was all in vain,
Cos that rich man was never gonna feed him, again.
Itinerant mercenary shrouded with penitent robe
Shining beacon for terrorists around the globe
Hermetic curmudgeon; gun-toting xenophobe
Zealous provacateur who for ardent jihadists did probe
Material wealth a means; establishing a caliphate the end
Seeking Arab-royalty's, sovereign-sheikdoms to rend
Scourge of terror to blight all that western values defend
Sharia law to govern Middle East; Allah's dividend
Great Satan's engine to throttle
Region's fealty to bottle
Suicide pilots struck the monuments we coddle
Gratuitious shards and blood stains did the landscape mottle
President Bush promised swift revenge
Ordered Taliban to stop Osama's bloody binge
Mullah Omar reneged; Bushes' saber rattling had a malodorous tinge
U.S forces did the Taliban's quarters singe
Alquaida's overseas operations are diminished
But Alquaida's mission not finished
Alquaida cells in Iraq, Afghanistan bravely battle, mettle distinguished
Nevertheless, the infidel forces not extinguished
Gitmo detainees probed for information
Trite torture brought about stunning reformation
Stressed warrior's fealty to leader declined in isolated station
Under duration, divulged details about Bin Laden's method of operation
Osama's couriers cover blown
Seeds for fruitful harvest are sown
Courier's redoubt canvassed with satellite, drone
Intelligence on compound, residents CIA did hone
Calculated risk; Navy Seals in choppers did alight
Flying quietly with fiery portents into the calm night
Hoping the briny tentacles of terror to blight
Cresting over the shadowy compound; objective in sight
Down the dangling ladders vigilant Seals did repel
Into the throes of darkness descending into the mouth of hell
Perimeter defense, early warning signals were of no avail
Osama's stunned tenants could only stand fast or bail
Each obstacle, human shield the Seals did meticulously fell
Carefully following the trail to the Holy Grail
Entering Osama's room, rending the sacral veil
The caged warrior with precision did shell
Osama's dead body packed in a unmarked crate
Transported vicariously to lab, identity to equate
Identity confirmed; vigilant menace had met his fate
Un-consecrated remains tossed into sea; watery tomb his final estate
MALEDICTION
Evil in nature
Evil in influence
And evil in effect.
Becoming necessary
Baleful beast – filled full of ill-will
Greed seeps through the pours and infects
I – incarnated nemesis
Your Created adversary
Invented rivalry
An enmity prognosis
A new language my malaise reflects
Malign plots
Predetermined death
Predictive obituary
A murderous grift.
My corrupted destiny
Rank!
Like a malodorous crotch
Your sadistic future
Now a painful present
Hatefully happening.
Concurrently.
Rot,
The end,
April 19th 2015
By Joel R Thornton
methodical thinking...
without blinking...
foraging ahead....
to keep from sinking...
assailing the senses...
malodorous quenching...
tumultuous thoughts...
that are heart-wrenching
lackadaisical reasoning...
nonchalant greetings...
that carry through...
with perceptive reasoning...