Best Scummy Poems
Granny had a yellow cat Matty Sand-arum
She was fond of Cherry Blossom and bubblegum
Cherry ached in her tummy
Bubble is double balmy
She yelled out scummy gummy and fell into the scum
Granny had a yellow cat/Limerick©Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 18 November 2014
Categories:
scummy, fun, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground.
I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot,
the taint of vapored vagrancy
that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be.
I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to,
but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares.
I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day.
I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime,
the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined
by my appalling appearance.
"How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?"
"Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer
shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped
toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to
pick our scraps off the frozen ground."
The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley
of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard
businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos.
My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger
gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground.
"Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run
differently.
I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and
the simplicity and majesty washed over me.
There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more.
I was being shown a door.
Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and
close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words.
Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.
Categories:
scummy, angst, death, loss, sadme,
Form:
Prose Poetry
EBB TIDE
We’d had an angry tearful spat
Don’t remember over what:
Stormed out of house down to beach.
Needed to clear my mind
For a few moments out of his reach:
Sniff air, breeze, spray - unwind.
Afternoon ebb tide girl -
Slow swash of rollers: break and curl
Of sand-filled muddy-brown swells,
Remnants of soapy foam, scummy rubble,
Shallow rattle of empty shells;
Cold slow plop of pebbles,
Where the furious morning breakers had died
Among the the rising billows’ wet tide,
Assaulting the dry beach,
Hurling mud and packed sand
And hard little stones up the reach
At the cliff beyond the strand.
Sweeping all the gravel over the lee,
On the smooth flat strand the shallow sea
Healed the wet beach: glassy shine -
Clear, cleansed, soothed with balm.
My heelprints filled quick and quiet with brine,
As I turned for home, calm.
Categories:
scummy, allegory
Form:
Narrative
Beaten
Smashed
Kicked
And splashed
Out into the street
Like dirty bathwater
Nothing more than a filthy puddle
Rising over the curb
Flooding the sidewalk cracks
Eager for evaporation
Every hair
Is On end
Every pore
At attention
Yearning skin
Is stretching for a touch
That never existed
Pulled
Like the blankets
Of children
Over worried heads
Attempting
Their Satisfying seclusion
For when there is no direction
Passion is formless
And love loses shape
Categories:
scummy, introspection, life, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
Opus Mysticus
Let us enter... and be silent.
My insanity hangs on the wall with all the other Van Goghs.
Sleeping snugly between semen stained sheets
and saliva creased pillow cases.
Inundations and vivid remembrances
of days dead and hours traumatized.
You and the skinny one behind the wheel.
Whistling depressing dirges in D minor.
Your vituperative Mein Kampf of the ages!
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
Young children bathing in the quagmire of Eden.
Bellerophone on Pegasus riding through Hell's Kitchen
in the upper east side.
My problems are but pinned butterflies
quasi-embalmed in glass cases
seeking in futile
the sweet revenge of past indignations.
Where are they now?
The artists of Transcript Necco?
Of Zoot Horn Rollo?
They're down on the dark city streets
off in dark scummy alleys
jamming till the lights go out.
Elucidations.
Proclivities.
Paragons.
Intense disaffections.
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
Categories:
scummy, dark, dark, dark,
Form:
Blank verse
‘Do you like Pigeons Dad’
“Oh No”
‘But Why?’
“They’re scummy things
They’re Rats with wings
They’re vermin of the sky”
‘That can’t be right Dad’
“It is”
‘How So?’
“They pilfer seed
They breed at speed
And harbour disease you know”
‘Are you sure dad’
“Oh Yes”
‘Since when?’
“Since the Rock Pigeon flew
And ended up in a stew
Since their domestication by men”
‘But I like Pigeons Dad’
“I know
You do”
‘I like how they sing
I like the shape of their wing
So you should like them too’
“But I don’t like Pigeons Son.
Not now.
Not ever.
Their walk is bizarre,
They crap on my car
And they’re really not that clever”
'But Daaaad…
...they wake me in the morning,
With their delightful coo,
Their plumage is wonderful - an iridescent blue.
They look good in the garden Dad
They don’t make such a mess
Do you like Pigeons Dad?’
…“Yes”
[This poem was the result of being asked this question many, many, many times by my son. My son is on the autistic spectrum - he has Asperger's Syndrome to give the official diagnosis. He is a lovely human being & I love him dearly. But one of his most irritating traits, is the fact that he asks the same questions continuously all day every day. No matter how you respond, the same question will be posed minutes later. Currently and for at least the last 2 to 3 years: 'Do you like pigeons daddy?' is his favourite/most frequently asked question. Now that you know that, perhaps you can really feel the exasperation in that final ..."Yes"]
Categories:
scummy, animal, bird, child, conflict,
Form:
Light Verse
Somewhere soft and padded....
Today her hands are free to explore.
Her throat burns with acid from a heave of fresh gore.
She grunts and reaches for a blood-dripping meat.
With the bones of our children she picks her teeth.
No longer do the pupils come,
Roused and fattened with Stahlberg's rum.
No longer may her con be made,
Bewitching the flesh to beg for the blade.
A thought interrupts this blasphemous script,
Lamenting John Anderson, and his one missing bit:
"Mrs. Stahlberg is truly evil.
She belongs down in the depths of hell,
To burn forever with the Devil,
In the everlasting flames she should dwell.
She deserves great and eternal pain,
Cruel and unusual punishment.
But she would soon overpower Cain,
And put an end to all her torment.
Then she'd start to torture other souls,
And make their pain very, very great.
Then she would come and terrorize the schools,
And to the students release her hate.
Mrs. Stahlberg should be killed slowly,
'cause her soul sure-as-hell ain't holy."
Twenty years later....
It was ten minutes to closing when I noticed
A scummy liquid spilling from a table to the floor
Where a large-mouthed woman sat gorging, oblivious, on ...
What was it she was stuffing into that grotesque, huge maw?
I was shaken and frightened -- what a pitiful sight.
Just an old crazy eating
A fast meal
On a snowy, cold night.
I regained my footing -- my resolve grew tight.
I was alone with the eater, her drippings
A dizzying stench of urine and vice.
Damn this degenerate who delayed my home flight.
I said, "Miss, we're closing. Go home. Take a rest."
How stupid, I thought, as I slipped on her mess.
She neither spoke nor stopped eating that horrible chow
But leered at me, dripping, special sauce and dead cow.
Categories:
scummy, abuse, evil, horror, murder,
Form:
Narrative
Kids of different
nationalities gather
every day to play
in the streets of Chicago
once their daily chores are done.
They play with marbles,
scummy top, pitching pennies,
or a rambunctious
game of stickball in the old
neighborhood cobblestone streets.
Children stand and watch;
the pitcher keeps a firm hold,
throwing the tattered
ball, placing it hard right down
the middle of the chalked square.
With broom handle in
both hands, batter swings, striking
the small tattered ball.
With excitement the kids jump,
clapping and cheering, "Run! Run!"
8/21/2017
For the Poetry Contest: Form T
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
On the theme of ............. 1. Tattered
Categories:
scummy, baseball, chicago, children, nostalgia,
Form:
Tanka
THE YOLK'S ON ME
It was bath time for my twins, I played a little joke
and filled their bathtub with purple dinosaur yolk.
The bathtub discoloured, the yolk was scummy
but in the purple gloop I found a missing dummy
Into the tub I placed my little daughter
she shivered, so I poured in hot water;
alas the egg congealed, it was a huge mistake…
for their next bath time I’ll use chocolate milk shake!
Daft and Surreal Contest
Sponsored by Kevin Shaw
10-17-17
Categories:
scummy, food, humorous, silly, water,
Form:
Rhyme
Bath streets have sights on show
and houses sitting by the row
there’s not a place you cannot go
our crime level's always low
packed all year round with global tourists
city centre market stools fruit veg florists
nothing to be weary of or fear if I’m honest
wandering this wonderous this once Aqua Sulis
We’ve a sick history the Romans came to visit
you'll hear the local accent saying in it and is it
they built a mad bridge with actual shops on
for what to do a magazine called whats on
This the home of James Dyson Jane Austin
Bristol has a bridge and webbed off spring
this the town they crowned England’s first king
where the whole of Uranus was first seen lurking
On the walls "I was ere" written in graffiti
the underground water here's self heating
we've many a restaurant do you like eating
you can watch rugby from stadium seating
So in this place where Romans swim
the inaugural crowning of the King
inspired Dickens and Jane Austin
as well we improved your hoovering
from sending the first Royal Mail letter
The Post Office began right here
a mix of everything never better
in the River Avon we built a weir
we walked with Romans discovered a planet
saw bombings by Hitler but didn't panic
crowned the King of England at the Abbey
and too made a hoover without the baggy
because there's no where else this outstanding
the Nazi bombers but we're still standing
a one way system with no understanding
two thousand years now that's longstanding
Others say they come from a place all crummy
I honestly can’t relate
I’ve been elsewhere now and I'd say scummy
makes Bath look bloody great
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iU4_Pzq_gN0&list=PLrWXQQOwWgeAzG8lMiXPHNQeO_aFFxhLi&index=6&t=0s
COPY AND PASTE LINK FOR SONG (UNFINISHED RECORDING) is that a word unfinished lol
Categories:
scummy, england, hope, humorous, me,
Form:
Free verse
There didn’t have to
be a reason
no one thing
no trigger
it was always boiling
just beneath the surface
always.
It could have been
the number of soldiers
lying empty on the desk
next to the ashtray.
You know the one
the one that left
the two scars
the one into which you
stamped your anger
hostility
hopelessness.
I could always tell
in the car
Adele’s playing
the hours will not pass
quickly
it will be a long night
a call to arms
a call in the morning
“I won’t be in today
something’s come up.”
And blood
would seemingly trickle
from the corners
of your
downturned mouth
from your hateful
eyes
from chewing on
the razors of your
merciless
rage and despair.
So many
candle impressions
left on walls
breaking windows
staining chairs
so many treasures
and keepsakes shattered.
Amazing how everything
was always ready
for a new scene
how you managed to
replace the facts
change the clues
change impressions
replace the views.
But then
you were exceptional at
evaporating the mess
outside scrubbed tidy
(inside would always
be ugly spiteful vengeful)
you were so thorough
so vigorous
through your efforts
appearances were kept.
Not me
nothing clean here
filthy with horrors
dirty with dread
scummy with fear
on the inside
never knowing when
the other heel was going
to drop or when
peacekeepers would
appear skeptical again
arrangements were made.
In the end
you wrote a play
I was the unknowing lead
the irony the comedy
the blasphemy
great theatre
it didn’t win me awards
you got me put away
what a drama!
Your performance epic
your sad woman’s show!
No sweat
took on the bout
no man could win
no sweat
it was the principle of it
I wasn’t lying down but
the judge she didn’t see it
my way
funny that
k’od.
Oh, but now!
But now!
I have today
freedom never
tasted so good
sometimes I’m amazed
that I don’t
have more scars
but then again
your aim was never
that good
was it?
(click on the pic to buy my poetry book!)
Categories:
scummy, fate,
Form:
Free verse
(This is a parody of "Frankie and Johnny")
Charlie and Molly were playmates.
Golly, how they could play.
Mornings they'd meet at a corner
to plan how they'd spend summer days.
He was her pal, and she was his gal!
Molly ran down to their corner,
a melody filling her head.
The ice cream man was a-coming.
She searched for her Charlie instead.
He was her pal, and she was his gal.
She asked the ice cream vendor,
"Has my Charlie-boy been by?"
"I seen him with some cutie-pie
back there," was his reply.
He was her chum, but he was a bum!
Molly took off like a rocket,
for she knew who the "cutie-pie" was.
And sure enough she found him.
She lost it right there because
he was her chum, but he was a bum.
There by a scummy ditch
as he kissed her neighbor Grace,
Molly unwrapped her ice cream bar
and smeared it all over his face.
Then she kicked that bum into the scum!
"Pick me up and quick.
Pick me up from this ditch.
Now I've nothing," said Johnny
"when once I was so rich.
I was your pal . . . now I've lost my gal."
April 10, 2023
Categories:
scummy, parody,
Form:
Light Verse
"Every time, countless stares, they try to peer into my mind.
Every single time, I am so tense, I cannot relax and unwind.
The painful judgment unleashed down upon my own flesh and blood,
Who is right, who is wrong, who is guilty and who is strong. Who is fit to rise from that which dirties our hands and body, the mud.
I want to get away from you, but I fear you not.
I want to watch you suffer as I rise and you rot.
Do not mistaken me, I truly am just a simple, regular girl with nothing to live for.
But that means that I can go to such lengths to grab your heart and crush your core.
Accusing me, I was just fine with that,
But now bringing down my entire family? You scummy, shameful rats!
Throughout my childhood, all I wondered was "why?"
Now, I don't care, when you cross my mind, I chant, "just die."
Blaming us for what?
Shunning us because we fought?
Your manipulation of our minds will NOT be tolerated.
I am the watch dog of this family and will not let you belittle and derate.
I don't need your help and I promise to be better than you,
This is one of the few reasons I will continue living and that fatal day you shall rue.
You stole my childhood, you made me cower in fear, you broke my already fragile soul...
Therefore, allow me to dispose of that heart tainted to the level of corruption, the place where your heart was placed will become a jet black hole.
How sweet shall it be to see that that fragile, odd and silent girl you ignored or insulted,
Will be the end of you and all for she, for ten years and still going, has cultivated,
A garden of thorny roses, beautiful in all colors and tainted with your scarlet blood so saccharine,
That truly this is not a heavenly virtue but a mortal sin.
And yet, perhaps your demise shall not satisfy the craving I so dearly wish to be relieved of.
Perhaps you should continue to live and watch me become the things you wish you could be, but for money's sake, could not do and afford to love.
But that day will come and revenge will be sweet.
It will surely be the sweetest thing I could ever hope to eat~!
May 1st, 2013; 5:13 pm
Categories:
scummy, anger, angst, betrayal, child,
Form:
Free verse
Zesty zippy zombie sat checking out the Yummy yuppie Yankee that was wiggly
wishy washy but wealthy as he could be. And even so vary vainly vaguely unfree.
Till one day, a Tuesday I believe, the tiny twiggy twenty year old named Tracy Tori
Tory was watching the toothy toughie trickster zombie sitting under the thistly
thorny thickly ugly tree, watching our Yankee. Now strangely she was a strongly
sturdy sweetie, and sweetly but swiftly suavely went to see the Yankee to let him
know of the scummy squirmy spooky zombie checking him out under the seedy
shaggy shabby little tree. Now to show his appreciation he was really ready to
rarely ask this queenly quirky quaintly lady to promptly go purely proudly puddle
popping on their way to a preppy peachy pearly pastry bar with oddly the only
oldie oozy pastries in the nutty nightly nearly neatly town of Nietzsche where
monthly a mystery mushy movie played. Since they were both loony lofty lefty
laddie and lady and lastly the lengthy lively lovely movie was about to play, he
keenly kindly knightly ask her in a jolly jiggly juicy way if she was iffy itchy
interested in this imaginatively happy haughty history movie. Well in her giggly
giddy goofy funny funky flirty easy earthy earthly duly dizzy ducky cutely cuddly crazy
bubbly briskly bravely aussie arty amply way, said …….. NO!
Categories:
scummy, adventure, confusion, funny, happiness,
Form:
Alliteration
it was a beautiful scene
her loyal imperfect heart
her spirit and soul was filled
with the love of God
it was a beautiful, smelly, scummy scene
it was a beautiful, super, stunning scene
it was a beautiful, spiffing, smooth scene
it was a beautiful, solemn, striking scene
her loyal imperfect heart
her spirit and soul was filled
with the love of God
it was a beautiful, slow, single scene
it was a beautiful, strange, soft scene
it was a beautiful, sad, sweaty scene
it was a beautiful, scary, strong scene
it was a beautiful, silly scene
it was a wonderful scene
it was a beautiful scene
it was my wonder, my dream
she’s my beautiful scene
12/12/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Categories:
scummy, analogy, appreciation, beautiful, blessing,
Form:
Alliteration