Best Pimply Poems
Lollipop, Lollipop, Lollipop
Remember way back when?
Gummy bears and peppermint sticks
Such treats when we were ten
Teenage years weren't far behind
Raging hormones and pimply skin
And puppy love so intense
It sent our heads in a spin
Soon we made it to almost twenty
Really couldn't imagine how
Our first job is a cashier at Walmart
Making real money, holy cow
We meet that sweet special someone
Our world is twirling around
Before we can say Jackie Robinson
We two are parenthood bound
We're blessed with a couple of kiddies
Relieved when they finally mature
They grow up to be a doctor and lawyer
We're peacock proud for sure
Never thought I'd see the day
When someone would call me Gramps
It all started with ice cream and lollipops
When we were a couple of scamps
© Jack Ellison 2012
Andy was a pretty young girl,
Flirty, fun, always busy, in a whirl,
She was popular at school,
Was intelligent, nobody’s fool
She never was short of a date,
But this would become her fate!
There was at college with Andy,
A nerdy guy called Randy,
Always unpopular heartily disliked,
He spent time alone, always hiked,
And occasionally, biked.
He asked Andy to join him one day,
She felt sorry for Randy, decided to say
Yes, so off they went on a trip
On his bike,
She had no idea Randy was
A complete psyche,
Rode far away from people in sight,
He bludgeoned Andy to death
With might
Used his bicycle pump, threw her down,
Off a mountain, into a shallow
Lake to drown!
Rode back to college, and was in tears,
His face had scratches, her friends
Worst fears,
Were foremost in their mind,
Randy was a freak, one of a kind!
She fell of the ledge Randy lied,
As he continued his story, and cried.
A helicopter flew to the scene,
The police were at this stage keen
To discover the absolute truth,
About this nerdy looking,
Pimply, youth.
Police feared that Andy was dead
The Chief of police at a
Press conference said,
Randy killed Andy, her hair stuck to his
Bicycle pump,
Pushed her and she had landed
Below in a slump.
Randy was found guilty, sentenced to die
By lethal injection,
Which didn’t bring back beautiful Andy,
With her fair complexion!
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Cleo and Liz Taylor were known as beauteous queens...
bathed bodies in milk to entice men on-and- off screens
Caesar, Mark and Richard B. fought for these rare roses
… truth is, them dames had pimply chins and pointed noses
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
(( for Catie Lindsey's "You Who...Yo" Contest ))
Dark denizens of the night
gathering in ill-lit backrooms
haunts of the night
They tease each other with
rouged cheeks, their mascara
their pimply breasts, shaved legs
Some are known for tantalizing
tempting striptease, revealing
hairy chests and knobby knees
Their hardened faces greeting poor
unsuspecting 'straights,' who, horrified
run screaming off into the night
And now the Left has lumped these
misbegotten sickos of the night
in with today's 'civil rights movement'
of transgenders, kweers, and worse
too debauched to describe, to be
celebrated in 'Drag Queen Shows'
in our public libraries, where America introduces
her precious youngsters into the fraudulent
creepy cabals of Satanism, endorsed by 'leaders' gone mad
Enter Your Plea
All rise for the honorable judge,
some pimply-faced wiener-teen
with a computer mouse for a gavel,
a keyboard for a bench
and the whole world is on trial.
Welcome to the millennial's millennium
1000 years of cyber-bullying
sworn over oath of the holy Facebook
to rain down judgment from above
like precision guided twitter turds.
Any minor misstep makes you a target,
bully-proof vests will spare no one
for Punk-tilious is his name
and ruthless forum flaming is his game
(well, it’s that or Flappy Bird.)
Let all give ear, as he doles
expert opinion on politics, science,
sociology, psychology, and every other –ology
from his sweat-stained easy chair
in his parent’s basement. OMG WUT!??
ORDER! Order in the court,
20 million likes and three times the shares,
a jury of my peers has found
me guilty of contempt…
perhaps rightly so!
07/19/15
First Day of the Year, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Premier de l’an by T. Wignesan
Each moment of waking up is an act of giving birth
I use the iron tools myself on the mother
To death
Myself : Who is this myself ?
Am I somebody else other than the weight I bear
Who resists who clings refuses
To be born ?
This weight deliberately reinforces itself
Through its heaviness
It wouldn’t want ever to be anything but matter
Half-conscious half in a state of stupor
Root before being stem
Seed which pushes upwards through the ground
Without being pulled out
Meanwhile it fathoms its false state of sleepiness its
burrow
(And) in delving into it it expels proportionately
All its skin goose-pimply to the touch
Hairiness of anguish enormous world
She kneads it more and more into the narrow passage
Her own abdomen compresses in vain his anguish
Towards the interior and the exterior at the same time
An every day happening that’s always impossible
The act of giving birth
This first day of the year nineteen seventy-three
Aged fifty-six years and eight months
Once again after twenty-thousand times more
I knew I have to be born
I do not want to.
I cry out to Someone who is stronger than me
That he might pull me out of my old fears originating from
my mother*
That they put me on this earth
So that I might walk towards my end once and for all in
my stride
With my dead elder-sister for company
On this earth of living beings
Someone who is I right at the end of the route
Up above
Puts aside with might the thin-lined horizon
So that I might be born
One day the more.
• See his poem : « Now to be flesh of a man and a woman »
(Sophia, O.C., t. II, p. 416)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Lips that are provocative, irresistible to the kiss
Lips of an ex wife that nag, cuss and hiss
Lips that quiver at the hot tea before they slurp
Lips of the drunk that proudly burp
Lips, when a girl in a mini bends over, go Ooooh!
Lips that betray you at your wedding by saying “I do”
Lips that aid that tongue that slips
Lips that express your sadness when they pout
Lips that are bitten eventually shout out
Lips that smile
Or grimice from the pain of a pile
Red pimply lips from an ex-girlfriend you just seen
As you shout to her boyfriend “Put her down, believe me you don’t want to know where she’s been.”
Thse Mad Poety
Date: New
A brand new car gleams with silver and unblemished paint
Never belonging to anyone else brings its own desirability
Virginal, it might be called…longed for but never driven
Lovely girl with her makeup just right
Yearned for and desired by men
She chooses you, requirement virginal
Everything about a new vehicle cries out for purchase
Little down, guaranteed and under warranty
It’s tuned to perfection
Beautiful hair, glowing skin
Smiling with perfect teeth, matching figure
Her life geared toward marriage and family
Oiled with expertise
Mirrors adjusted and radio playing
Seats smooth as leather with that new car smell
Her guaranteed…must please her man
Keep the shape, cook the meals
The feelings…mutual, emotional, and sexual
Once the car gets on the road, things may change
That first ding in the car door
The rear ender that wasn’t your fault.
Three years in…two children later
Hair shaggy and skin pimply
Smiling but with cavities shining
Leaking oil after the too close curb
Radio lost its antenna only static
Smell is now of smoke and bodies
Five years in…three children now
Lost her guaranteed warranty…new car purchased
Newer, younger, and more desirable
Trade her in…get the best deal for the money
Wives and cars…hmm
How does this equate
God is the only man in her life
Work, children, and baby sitters
How will she pay the bills?
Parked in the garage waiting, this woman
Worried, alone, and struggling, this woman
Someone else will want to sit beside this beautiful woman.
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
“Mr. Edwards please make your way to the managers office,”
James could picture her pimply face as she expressed each syllable from her orifice.
The twenty that walked down the isle to his office were laid off,
A young blooded manager was reducing the work force, his name, “Mr Scoff.”
How Ironic,
Sitting in his flashy office drinking Gin and Tonic.
James walked the death row isle,
His colleagues faces staring helplessly, none with a smile.
Architecture was his life and this was the end it seemed,
His pencil would not draw another success for Designer Beam.
The old carpet’s familiar crunchy sound,
Under his shoes many happy memories of the now ghosts that paced up and down.
The walk seemed longer this time, then he paused at the door for a while,
He briefly turned to see the head peaking over the partitions, none offering an
encouraging smile.
James faced the door, cleared his throat before knocking and with a bowed head he
went in,
Faint murmurs were heard outside as if debating a his fate for a cardinal sin.
Mr. Scoff’s scornful laugh was heard through the door,
Then absolute quietness, nothing was heard any more.
An hour later Scoff walked down the isle,
With his briefcase in hand daring someone to smile.
Fifteen minutes later, James quietly came out
Everyone looked at him questioningly, none knew took place or what it was all about
He turned and removed Scoff’s name from the door
And replaced it with Mr. J.C. Edwards Lotto winner, say no more...
Been searching high, been searching low
For a gal I could spend my life with
Found one but she's got a pimply bum
And real bad breath, take a whiff!
She's no dreamboat, sunken ship perhaps
She walks with a limp and she stutters
I've just got no luck, in a quandary I'm stuck
Soon be old and decrepit, and I mutter
Maybe it's me that might be the problem
No Adonis though at one time I thought so
Just coz I dribble and spit in the street
Down inside I'm really quite sweet though!
Surely there's a chance that I'll find her soon
They say there's a mate for all lovers
I'm sure she's out there, a gal I'd be proud of
Not one that has wings and can hover!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Baby Rick Gets Into Honey
Sticky
Ricky
Happy Home Boy
Gladdie
Laddie
Pizza Face
Simply
Pimply
Seasonal Track Star
Winter
Sprinter
What Jiminy Got For Speeding
Cricket
Ticket
April 15, 2022
Wee, wee rid rid coated thing
tae ma hert sic joy yea bring.
Wae elegance an' tender charm,
ma racin' hert yea sae disarm.
Yea hang there among yer kind,
Bright an' braw but sae refined.
Ma wee rid rid coated friend,
sae Bonny, I'll nae pretend.
Each year fur us yea come along,
espousing nature's sweetest song.
A song not o' sound but o' exotic taste.
a taste fur oor lucky paletes tae be graced.
Here fur oanly a wee wee time,
yea mak ma taste buds gently chime.
Tastin' like nuthin' else oan this earthy place.
wae yer wee rid rid bonny smilin' face.
Frae yer parent tree yea duly burst ,
as a wee fluer yer gently nursed.
Caressed by bees yer scent doth bring,
eventually tae be a wee green pimply thing,
Bathed wae the Sun's life giving rays,
growing, maturing in such a wondrous way.
Changin', yellow, pink, noo tae yer rid rid style,
tae a Bonny Cherry tae please us fur a wee wee while.
Av jist picked yea up frae among yer like,
frae the box foo o' Cherries whay are jist alike.
But you ma wee wan are jist fur me,
hope yer taste is in the proper key.
Oh my, sic a burst o' pleasure,
ma wee wee rid rid bloomin' treasure.
Say juicy say sparklin' ma mooth foo o' joy,
wunnerful, exotic, aw ma senses yea do employ.
hank yea, thank yea ma wee rid rid friend,
yer the greatest, aye I'll nae pretend.
Tull next year, tull wee meet again,
whin I'll listen tae yer song o' sweet refrain.
A song o' taste an' no o' sound,
o' tasting magic from aw Cherries abound.
Rest now yer gentle parent tree,
an' please bloom anither day fur me tae see.
The Auld Yin.
Ladies sitting on a bus with nothing much to discuss
Just the daughter’s wedding and the fuss
As another passenger gets on the bus
The sales are on “jeans and tops” she declares
Now she really got a bargain there
Idle chatter without any meaning
While I sit on the bus idly dreaming
The faces telling so many tales
For the working man there are no cocktails
There isn’t a stretch limo for the poor
Or even a taxi that’s for sure
People like the bus on a roundabout
Accepting not protesting with a shout
Being jostled and pushed by the crowd
Like automatons nothing proud
Accepting mediocrity like a shroud
A pimply young youth out for a lark
A man who for forty years has been a clerk
Both chatting together looking at an advert
Exciting young escorts for the convert
A child tries to sneak on for free
The driver on the lookout uniformed tyranny
A cashier from Woolies, who’s name is Shirl
Her companion trying to give her a whirl
Two excited students chatting in Chinese
As the driver says ‘Lady pay your fare please”
The woman embarrassed shows her pension card
That’s all she gets for working so hard
On the production line in the factory at Pritchard
The old drunk with sacred flask in pocket
When emptied, his courage soars like a rocket
The Greek on his way to his second job
The giggling girl and her latest heart throb
A constant blur of humanity filing in and out
Never the rich or the ones with clout
Just the deprived the old and the thrifty
Over the years a sea of ever changing faces
Heading for work, shopping, footie or the races
Humanity squeezed into a fourteen ton carriage
Jostled and bumped in a never ending marriage.
At the bus stop the other say brazen remarks
terrible things,from outside their hearts
The boy hangs his head,day's a bad start
As the little boy walks into the classroom
they call him dumb, stupid and a goon
the other kids point and laugh at him
they’ll never know how his life is so dim
In holy shoes he treads on the wet sidewalks
coat undersized and soaked are his socks
Greasy and pimply peers eye him like hawks
saying the next insult in their little talks
Father returns home and now things are worse
This boy -these children they live with a curse Dad punches, kicks and beats them bare
and from behind mother’s eyes do stare
His brothers tease him he is a dud
This boy is hated by his family, his blood
So he decides he can’t handle anymore
He grasps his Fathers shotgun lying on the floor