Best Punk Poems
Mr. Wiggles the stuffed “punk pig” , he wasn’t always this way. Before the safety pins in his little nose and “Dead Kennedy’s” patch on his soft, fuzzy, pink back, he was a loving, clean, attractive piggy who was afraid of the dark. He sewed black and red string into his adorable little ear because he thought it would make him look like a rebel pig, then he got experimental with sharpie, permanently drawing stitches on his non-existing lips all because of the music he flooded into his head. Then after the piercings, he got into tattoos. He has a black and red “C” on his chest and a black dotted “C” with a little black heart on his hip. It’s pretty sexy huh? He got it for someone but that someone loved another. He has big, child like eyes that can mesmerize you. They aren’t blue or green or even brown, They are black eyes that just stare deeply into you. He is also very small, not like the other kids. He used to get beat up when he was a little piglet, Maybe that’s why he tries to be all tough now. He’s a bubble gum pink, maybe that was a factor in him getting beat up by all the other farm animals so much. He had low self esteem and a eating disorder, that's why he is so skinny for a grown man piggy. He hated the way he looked, he was ashamed for being born a pig because they have such bad reputations of being dirty, sloppy, and lazy. He didn't like his feet most of all because they were ugly and gross, pig feet are the definition of this but his are abnormal they were disfigured and very, very pink, not like the other animals with smooth hooves or webbed feets. His are piggies feet that no one will end up ever eating. They look like something Ariel would collect under the sea. Mr. Wiggles wasn’t always a bad piggy, under his thick, fuzzy skin he is soft and plushy pig. One thing that never changed is that he loves affection such as hugs, they are comforting and secure. He smells like a warm breeze and something sugary. He may act tough but there is much, much more then meets the eye.
slam it to me punk you think you’re so cool
this bald headed old fart will take you to school
you think you’re the first generation to revolt
if you read a history book you’d know that’s a joke
yes that’s a joke
go ahead punk – take a poke
hell i was sitting down in a war protest strike
while guardsmen flexed their muscles and sticks of the night
don’t talk to me about your troubled young fate
until you’ve been through a night like at Kent State
people died there
shot by the man
four college kids killed right where they stand
go ahead shout, curse and be rude
show me your underwear and your attitude
pretend you’re real mean and ain’t scared a nuthin
brag like you think you can beat out my stuffin
i’m an old fart of fifty plus years
i’ve already shed an ocean of tears
i aint got nothing much left to loose
which is what makes me much more dangerous than yous
pain ain’t nothin when you’ve had a rectal exam
you think you can scare me more than the doctor can?
think again
young man
i’ll slam your slam
this ain’t writing
it ain’t exciting
its simply yelling and telling lies of being tough
it ain’t enough
now go write some good stuff
you think this stuff makes you a hero
you think it ain’t conforming to norms?
you’re a real zero
you aint the first
heck you might be the worst
you are just replicating
duplicating
other punks beat you to it
now write a sonnet – if you can do it
you’d be the only punk out on that island
that would make you brave
make you stand out
give you some clout
if you could do it
but you can’t can you
instead you say you’re one of a kind
don’t waste my mind
you think I’m blind
i’ve seen it before
you’re just a slam whore
easy to ignore
i’ll slam your slam
now go jam my jam
Punk is not dead. It was never alive.
We stitched it together from mangled parts
with contents we poured from inconstant hearts
in our basements during bleak nights.
Finding in art the best ways to survive
a world beyond our vague comprehension.
Some wounds will never taste restoration,
some demons may never be exorcised.
We crafted this monster with filthy surmise,
with minds obsessing on rebellion.
Eyes that deny beauty in convention,
and hands craving vengeance and patricide.
With all of our collective contentions,
this lifeless cadaver is galvanized.
The gourds were really jealous of
the pumpkin's orange hide.
The golden corn was long, long, gone
the scarecrow did confide.
The old oak tree was worrying
for he'd TP on his crown,
and the barn's backside was plastered
with a witch who's falling down.
The plastic skeleton rattled
in the evening breeze
laughing at the harvest moon
he was trying not to sneeze!
Soon the kids would bob for apples
and eat candy till they hurled
Oh yes Halloween's a grand old time
for all the boys and girls!
10/2/13
PUNK FLOYD
So here you come, our back's against THE WALL,
and UMMAGUMMA, you're the worst we've seen,
you'll MEDDLE in our lives, that says it all,
but please BE CAREFUL WITH THAT AX EUGENE.
I'd ride my BIKE, but there is too much rain,
if you SEE EMILY (she'll) PLAY for you,
and RELICS that you leave will be a pain,
if Roger Waters more what will we do???
Your ATOM HEART, MOTHER is stone and cold,
and US AND THEM you might be blowing soon,
like ECHOS of Camille, now dead or old,
you'll blow us to the DARK SIDE OF THE MOON.
Before you're done, we'll see PIGS ON THE WING,
SMALL FURRY ANIMALS, I'll rhyme this thing.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
----WOOPS, sorry, there is no song title
of DARK SIDE OF THE MOON by Pink Floyd,
it's title is BRAIN DAMAGE, the 9th track on
the DARK SIDE OF THE MOON ALBUM.
Silhouettes in fume thump to a doom,
They stomp with the rhythm of drums,
They point to the sky and spread open wide,
Their wrists and fingers and thumbs,
These thousands of people joined at the hip,
Joined by a common desire,
To lose themselves in the roar from within,
As the music soars higher and higher,
To a place where they’re safe away from their thoughts,
All worries are left on the floor,
And they can exist in the happy free now,
Their mind’s been released to explore,
Life without fake, no pretend, no polite,
Life without wearing some wig,
And they can all be utterly free,
At the rock band, the concert, the gig.
[the spirit of this was written after hearing KISS', "I was made for loving you"]
I keep hearing that aliens
Have thought-interfacing technology
And if I put forth the intention
This beacon will bring them to me
I'll also make the assumption
Societies universally have the same roots
As hyper-sexualized as James Bond
Females in shinny, skin-tight suits
Dispatching to my location
Nine planets, starting with Mercury
Coming in at hyper warp
Straight to planet number three
To the North-American continent
Just north of the Pan Handle
Then left of the Appalachians
An Earth stud waiting to dazzle
Wearing the Clint Eastwood getup
That I wore last Halloween
The Good, the Bad, the Ugly
Making my female coworkers crazy
I'm now projecting this image
My head cocked, cigar blazing
Eyes locked on this seduction
Not even a hint that I'm playing
Perhaps a hotty with green skin
Or maybe as blue as Avatar
What female could resist
Clint Eastwood and his cigar?
I was made for loving you
You were made for loving me
I can't get enough of you
Can you get enough of me?
My eyes are penetrating her
As I'm moving into her space
She's about to get an Earth education
From a very primitive race
Now both of us are poised
Like animals preparing to avail
But there is one thought in my head
God, I hope she's female
[I'm in a record state of sillyness tonight. oh boy yoi yoiiiiiii]
Why do people laugh at jokes
About getting rolling drunk,
Why does a smile come on a face
Thinking of a sea-sick punk ?
There's something wrong with our values
That esteems the money spent,
On fermented rocket fuel
That blasts a soul to hell.
Think of accidents on the road
And innocent loss of life,
Let alone descending relationships
And the bruised and tearful wife.
Hospitals full of patients
With bodies that survive unwell,
Brains that are cooked forever
Locked in emotional cells.
There is no positive argument
That esteems a person drinking,
Lets value what gives life
It's time for a different thinking.
Eye’m know good at punk chew asian and my speeeling is pretty pour
A period is a woman’s monthlies and I don’t no what to ewes comma,s four
Ellipsis I ewesed in Arthur’s infinite dot thirteen poetry form. I hope I ewesed them to good affect
May bee I knead a dick shun airy and some punk chew asian lessens!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Buy the whey, my friend has edited this fore me and she thinks my speeling is prefect sew eye have got rid of my smell chequer and thawsorearse.
Inspired by punctuation blog
(If you need a translation of the poem soup mail me lol)
07-03-17
I'm a speech punk; kind of a menace
Not sure if the word is permissible in these parts
But that's the word I need, life's a furnace
So flush that. Gosh, you leave me no choice
I'm trying to speak, hear my voice in the whisper
Through the walls of disparaging noise
This is the true genesis of your lyrical nemesis
Within the lofty walls of these subliminal premises
So join me in these choruses
If you are tired of all those empty promises
I know some will hold on to being cynical
And insist that so and so is not tyrannical
On the offensive, trying to sound authentic
I’m getting tired of these old nonverbal diatribes
Untried ideological theories from war times
Self-proclaimed superheroes asking for more time
Descending heavily on dissenters
I find it interesting. You insist on destruction
But cry foul over the consequential sanctions
Questions leading to more questions
Your overarching approach is nonsensical
You're overreaching, overreacting
Flashing knives and talking peace treaties
I choose reason, so I'll be philosophical
Through and through until people know the truth
I'll show you who is master in this class
Through the looking glass, looking straight ahead
Hard forehead set against their hardcore hearts
Delicate apples of eyes rolling upon these surfaces
Don't forget light shines in the darkness
These are obviously obnoxious princes of madness
Gospel hardened bumpkins, hard of hearing
Pluck off their ear muffs and remove the earplugs
I don't know, it's the starkness
Of their skewed vision and aversion to reality
Posing, for whatever reason, as minimalists
And all of us losers attempting to look strong
Strolling roughshod on dog dump filled terrain
They say without travail there are no babies
So, I'm caught barefoot in this hell of a place
No name, upstart among folks with no faces
Clasping hands holding back nervous chuckles
Upon the sight of my adversaries' bleeding knuckles
Section such and such paragraph this and that
Yeah, voiceless man quoting verses
Telling the man with the pitchfork to get lost
Outnumbered
1756 to one
I stood alone
I stood
Alone
In a culture of music
Unlike anyone else's
Flogging Molly
Scathed my back
With mad plaid in my mind
And Was Beder Das
Youth of rebellion
I stand true.
Eat My Dust, Punk
By Elton Camp
Gran had her kids raised and mortgage paid
And so figured it was time that she played
From the car dealer, she a bought a big V8
It had 400 horsepower and surely ran great
If anybody happened to get in Gran’s way,
Then there was gonna be the devil to pay
If, on the Interstate, anyone attempted to pass,
Gran stomped her foot firmly on the gas
And when she was stopped at a traffic light
Try to outrun her and you’d be in for a fight
She jammed the accelerator to the floor
And her big motor gave off a loud roar
“Eat my Dust, Punk,” is what she yelled
As drag racer, Gran couldn’t be excelled
Diamond in the rough
Not intelligent enough for some
A drunk
Staggeringly fkd up burnt out punk
A wasted shell
A washed up piece of junk
Or maybe I just smell
These fking insecurities that follow me around
That trip me up and tie me down
till I'm beaten blue and broken on the ground
And as I fly here spinning round
by fragile threads of hope
the spidermen came down from mars
and loosen up my ropes
And that cloak I wear to keep me warm
That woven web of shite
I throw it off that husk of shame
And dance into the night
When I was 17
I had a great job
Painting
Little
Desert
Flowers
Roses
On
Assembly line
Plates
Friends
On
The
Line
Taught me to pee on my hands
To
Neutralize
The
Poisons
In the glazes
The plates
Would
Land
On small
Cardboard
Palettes
Every
Night
I
Would
Take some of these
Cardboard palettes
When
I
Went
Home
And
Make
Pissed
On
Art
Just listen to Lou Reed
and smoke some weed
it's so cold in Alaska
and, it sucks to live in Nebraska
haha you have this punk in you!
let it get through
Rebel! Rebel! where did my Rebels go?
did they all go 6 feet below?
take a walk on the wild side
lets go on that high tide
rebels please my rebels come back
are world is under attack
don't be a poser or a fake
for goodness sake
let go of that punk hiden within!
be true to what you belive in