Best Rude Poems
I was at my favorite restaurant and I'd had a lovely meal,
if I finished all my food then a pudding was the deal
I’d relished every morsel and was pleased as a Cheshire cat,
the dessert menu was on its way, oh I couldn’t wait for that
The waitress brought the menus, I rubbed my hands with glee,
oh sticky toffee pudding, now that’s the one for me
She came to take the order – we had waited as you do,
turning to me she said ‘now Madam, what can I get you’
Oh stiffy cockie pudding please was my swift reply -
I didn’t realize what I’d said till I saw tears form in her eye.
I went as red as a beetroot and the others began to laugh,
at my spoonerism which turned into a complete gaffe
The pudding it came quickly but I couldn’t wait to leave,
I choked on every mouthful, how my stomach it did heave
So please take notice of my error on this horrendous day,
if you order sticky toffee pudding be careful what you say!
A true story!
written on 2/2/2014
submitted on 08/03/21 to YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by L MILTON HANKINS
Mara loves to steal from others
A skill well learned with no druthers
Paraphrase one word or two,
Hoping no one has a clue
Her poems formed from another's
Mara cannot hide behind her word crime
And pretending to, is a waste of time
Poems and words can be traced,
to a new plagiarism case
She needs to stop and find a new pastime
(The Contest)
I once knew a gentle poet boy
Pretending to be the real McCoy
He lost two in a row
This is no game show
At the end, I felt used by the playboy
(The cold rain)
I wish I could take back the HM
Don't know why you chose to condemn
I thought we were friends
Now I see through crystal lens,
How you think all your poems are a top gem
(Not a reason to hate)
I once knew a girl with heavy makeup
Behind her smile, her face was corrupt
She was in it for the race
Wanting all her poems to place
She did not win, now she's all worked up
SKAT
you may try to make us feel inferior
strutting around with head held high and mighty
i wonder
is it for our sake
or just to cover up thy own inadequacy
fumbling your way around the factory floor
the bosses son soon to elevate to greater roles
i remember you
on your first day the rawest of incumbents
silver spoon still protruding
from your mouth
i gave you the strength needed
taught you everything
now I sit across from you
your eyes never to meet mine
no apology
when handing
the redundancy paper that says goodbye.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
They chatted for so long
The day was here to meet
She was so excited
Feeling her hearts every beat
He was Scottish and oh so lovely
She thought he may be the one
She had looked for red flags
But there had been none
Meeting place was at the pier
The wind was blowing a fearsome gale
Her beautiful brushed hair blew wild and free
The gusts were steadfast with no intention to curtail
He stood there handsomely in traditional Scottish dress
She thought her heart had stopped
A mighty gust of wind then blew his kilt up
Thats the moment she knew…..she had hit the jackpot!!
Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few
Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess,
All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress
On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss
At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words,
Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect,
My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest.
Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude
All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude
Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink
Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice
Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers
Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please
The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease
Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late
Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure
Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure
He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue
Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin
Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue
2nd October 2012
Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest
heave bursts from lips can both injure or heal
harsh words strike deep the bayonet’s metal
while kind words stroke soft as a rose petal
floral scent~ gardener’s sweeter appeal
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on March 4, 2020 for contest KIND INK sponsored by CHARLES MESSINA - RANKED 3RD
An idyllic Saturday evening scene-
on our street, little kids play
‘touch and go’. Excited shrieks
and laughter warm the chilled February air,
pavement alive with little feet's patter.
My neighbor’s Golden Labrador does it again:
he slips out just as his owner
drives through the tall, wide open iron gate.
Marley runs after the laughter-
playful, in his ferocious way.
Neighbor stops, engine idling,
and looks intently as a frightened child,
no more than ten, runs screaming in terror.
In hot pursuit, teeth bared, barking
with all his might, Marley obviously
enjoys the chase. I command the dog to stop
as I reach the child, his body trembling.
I look at my neighbor's eyes - waiting.
He lowers his lashes, shifts the gear,
tells his help to get Marley, and goes on his way.
In a perfect world, a little child would not know
the meaning of terror and passive cruelty,
all in one breath. He would not have to feel
less valued than a pricey, crossbreed dog.
17 February 2016
Catie Lindsey's In a Perfect World Contest
-------------------------------------- ~*note: done in fun and aimed at no one~
try and seed my name you'll concede to shame
no use in calling names to lose the game
yir' ill will is just plain disastrous
asinine avatars deserve an asterisk
as for being fact-less, your slaps don't diss
every lick you spit simply tends to miss
harmless words that curse, rehearsed childishness
gets your face erased and they'll say who's next
as defilement arrives inside your text
that's when shame wheels you back, right to the nest.
~10 syllables in each of 10 rhyming lines~
Rude people who think only of themselves -
I would like to sit atop mantle shelves
Yes, I know that is wrong
but it's where they belong
when they act like those impish little elves
(After Langston Hughes)
I hadn’t known
my infertility was their problem;
The adult table contracts
from a toddler’s wide wobble
while over a gavel — I mean,
a rattle — and in between
chip resistant plates
advice is served, lukewarm.
“You’re trying too hard,”
says the pregnant one
who glows like a dim nightlight.
Another nurses as though
she was the one feeding off the babe
and why, why couldn’t the loud
suckling swallow her oblivious
“I get pregnant if he just looks at me.
I couldn’t even imagine
being barren.” A girl’s head gilds
jeaned thighs with the sweet
piercing of curls, but the mother sighs
“Go on, now" and to me quips
“I should just give you
one of mine.” Then the cake is lit,
another year has passed
away. Happy Birthday
to you and you and you —
It hollows me from the outside
in. Tonight soundlessly breaks.
The tot eyes the trick candle,
makes a wish. Wait and
wait and wait and...
If I
Were exactly what you needed…
you would be mine now.
I would sadly die however,
as… if that were true?
I would be in heaven.
I am not, but I strive to be.
Perhaps you might look at me?
I will not kindle a bad hope.
I am not stupid, I use plain soap.
Yet, I want the best…
for you. (a low, and serious tone… barely heard)
What does that mean;
I want to be the knight that saves the day,
that requires not a kiss or token.
I want to be the warrior that defends your honor,
that demands still nothing and provides more…
I want to be the shadow ninja…
even if unasked, filling needs,
all that I can, until I can not.
More than that, I want to make sure,
no one ever hurts you again.
While I draw breath, that will be the way of it.
Your eyes betray the truth of your laughter…sadly too real.
Your secrets, they are safe, I do not need the details of hell.
Sometimes things can not easily be fought,
They have no name, no face, as they have been torn away…
Clawed out of existence in the pathways of our mind(s).
Ever vigilant I am your friend. I mean that.
It is not more than that, or ever less.
If I, if you, if we, it can not be.
Once there was a girl, little hood,
She was a fine mamma, looking good.
Hood decided to take a walk
Didn’t see the wolf watching her like a hawk.
Mesmerised by her swinging ass
He trailed behind watching her sway with class
He said “I gotta have a piece of hood,”
“That ass is juicy and good for food.”
Suddenly he stopped with a frightful stare
Across from her was mamma, papa and baby bear.
The notorious trio who did goldilocks
Just down the road about three blocks
Wolf said “I’m not gonna stand for this.”
The Wolf now was getting pissed.
He draws his ooze and colt 44
Rat a tat tat mama , papa and baby no more.
Smoke clears and he sees hoods’ on the floor
“F--k!” he screams “I killed my wh-re.”
She stirs and looks at him with a smile,
Hood says “Bad boy tonight you get to do d--gystyle.”
Mei-Ling was known to kiss and tell
Got worse when she wed Me Hung Well
With the power of thought
Set to give what he ought
And spent all night ringing her bell.
- - - - - - - - -
5 November 2018
Inspired by Jan Allison's limerick, "His gift it needed a lift".
I That Because Of Your Attack, Will Never Yield.
No single tear given, nor I gift you an open field
so yes, make merry with your hatred and false face
as you pretend to be a true and great religious man,
a fraud, with your camouflage, you are a total disgrace.
I that because of your attack will never yield.
Walking through majestic flowering meadows heart singing
as an ancient soul in poetry's many pass ways
ink will set and as my poetic words I be slinging
while you slither around within your hidden dark byways.
I that because of your attack will never yield.
This solemn vow I choose to make because of hate in you
as dawn its bright glory shares, my words will your evil haunt
never are given blessings to those that wear masks of two
with this new creation, you sad wickedness I now taunt.
I that because of your attack will never yield.
Robert J. Lindley,1-23-2020
Slam/rhyming poetry.
( A wolf in hiding, smiling behind its nasty evil nature )
Note: This poem is written about the one that hides to so falsely
accuse, demoralize and try to destroy other poets. He that shall
not be named but will suffer as all such hiding villains do.
A shame and a travesty that such a wicked soul gets by with such
reprehensible charades. Surely your envy/jealousy leads you to be
a tortured and lonely but hideously wicked soul. Yet a judgment
exists well beyond the scope of mere mortal man. Consider these
words as a poetic truth that will one day see you face the judgment
of your vicious and truly contemptible hidden deeds.
Tis I, that now deeply pities an evil wretch, such as you....