Best Skid Row Poems
FRED THE PERV.
Kinky Fred stole knickers off the line
One summer night his haul totalled nine
His spree ended in tears
Got an extra ten years
When Judge Sue said that red pair were mine.
LARS.
A young astronaut from NASA called Lars
Blasted off from Cape Kennedy to Mars
But then there was a glitch
When he pressed the wrong switch
Last seen heading at warp speed to the stars.
PETE.
A young pianist from New York called Pete
Could play William Tell using his feet
But he fell of his chair
And he started to swear
Was booed off and thrown into the street.
JOHNNY GABLE.
A mean old waiter called Johnny Gable
Saw a man choke to death on a bagel
He then shifted his body
To the side of the lobby
Said forgive me but we need the table .
O'TOOLE.
A forgetful pilot Johnny O'Toole
Was over the north sea flying to Bule
Then both engines spluttered
Under his breath muttered
Looked at his gauge and screamed no ruddy fuel.
OLD GANGSTER.
An old gangster rose from rags to riches
Got rid of all his traitors and snitches
They'd find in their bed
A racehorses head
Or find themselves sleeping with the fishes.
THE BAKER.
An unwashed old baker from Idaho
Had filthy fingers when kneeding the dough
Folk choked on his paella
Some died from salmonella
Got closed down and ended up on skid row.
O'KEEFE.
A fella by the name of O'Keefe
Was the long serving town's police chief
Someone stole the mess cookies
Everyone blamed the rookies
But it turned out O'Keefe was the thief.
AMOUROUS MICHAEL.
Amourous young Michael from Mayo
At a girls house he tried to stayo
She started to shouto
And then kicked him outo
Said she" you're not staying no wayo."
NIGERIAN POEM THIEF.
A sly poem thief from Nigeria
On the soup caused a mass hysteria
He stole soupers work
Soupers went beserk
On the run now cos he's in fear of ya.
Written 18th august 2019.
I have a little secret
That maybe you should know
Let me whisper it in your ear
Let me get real close
Promise me you will keep
My little secret please
Promise me you'll never tell
Pinky promise please
This is my secret desire
I want to set the world on fire
Afire with my words and phrases
Receiving so much love
And heartfelt praises
I want my words to continuously amaze
Affect with each line
With each turn of phrase
This is a silly impossible dream I know
My writing will not get me off skid row
It will not make me rich
It will not make me known
But a dream is a dream
And I must let it flow
Well over a hundred years ago
The illustrious Vincent Willem Van Gogh
A genius somewhat like Michelangelo
With thousands of artworks in his cluttered studio
From the sublime to the grotesque for show
Might have been better off working as a gigolo
Because he died a pauper on skid row
In those days artists had no impresario
To make sure they lived high in a chateau
Dining on champagne and escargot
So it was quite a different scenario
That brilliant artists lived totally incognito
Often exchanging a painting for a meal on a patio
Or selling their wares door to door on tiptoe
Carrying under their arm their impressive portfolio
So it was for Vincent Willem Van Gogh
Misunderstood and suffering from vertigo
Mentally unstable and drinking heavily in Bordeaux
Depressed, impulsive and insane – a tragic combo
Cut off a piece of his ear, his sanity was touch and go
A troubled soul, life for him was a wild rodeo
Obsessive passion, far from living the status quo
His life and work intertwined shimmying like a yo-yo
Feeling the stranger, he shot himself overcome with sorrow
Post mortem everyone wanted to hear the myth of Van Gogh
With his vivid colors of burgundy, ochre and indigo
In his honor every year the orchestra features the oboe
And while the Italians chant magnifico
Everyone else cheers Bravo! Bravo!
How times have changed for poor Van Gogh
From a mere hundred years ago ~
Read on air by invitation ~ March 21, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 1st place 2026, 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2025, 3rd place 2022, 3rd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 15, 2021 for YOUR BEST MONORHYME contest sponsored by WILLIAM KEKAULA - RANKED 1ST
An occasional chance encounter
With a stranger on the street
Can change life like a tidal wave
And lift us off our feet.
The mystery of wakefulness
Like the dance of rolling dice,
Is filled with rhythm, love and hate
Virtue, darkness, light.
Bending ‘round from sky to ground,
Heaven, hell and in between;
An occasional chance encounter
Can turn a whore into a queen.
Who may have been lost in paradise,
Trampled, beaten, bruised;
The **** you spit on yesterday
Might well have been just you.
Or the skid-row drunk whose soul has sunk
So low you can’t relate,
To the pain he knows each time it snows
And the cold winds won’t abate.
Unless, until somebody fills
His heart with dreams again;
An occasional chance encounter
Might mean the world to him.
A word or two of hopefulness,
From nightmares all day long;
A helping hand, one measured stand
Turns sorrow into song.
And now and then when nothing’s wrong
And everything feels fine;
No dark cloud storms or feeling worn
Cast clouds upon the mind.
When all feels well and quite routine
And there’s nothing much to say,
An occasional chance encounter
Can change us all in many ways.
A look in the eye and words that fly
Out of one’s tongue and mouth;
Before we know it love starts to show it
And the heart starts heading down south.
Running away like a child at play
As if never before set free;
Wild in the wind as one begins
To open up eyes and see.
That blindness isn’t limited
To those that have no sight
But affects us all the weak and small
Every day and every night.
As now and then like a Zephyr wind
A stranger comes a’ calling;
Before we know we’re all a glow
In love and freely falling.
Like a coin toss out of nowhere,
Probabilities, unimaginable;
An occasional chance encounter
May render life numinous, unfathomable.
Trust me when I tell you that
There are riches deep inside;
Every soul that ever lived,
Struggled, loved and died.
As it is written in the book of life
And inscribed inside our heads;
An occasional chance encounter
Can find beauty in the beast within
And love where hatred led.
All alone here I sit, in this hell I call home.
With no motivation to silence these moans.
There's junkies in the next room, and tweekers below,
outside on the street, a whore with no one to blow.
There's a crackhead with a pit-bull, and a toddler in tow
she's looking to score, but the gangster says "no".
She curses and shouts as she heads down skid row, to
the mark on the Drew, who's been known to hold blow.
Down the staircase I'm winding out and onto the street
with Cecillia as my anchor, we step to the beat.
I stagger or swagger,
it depends who I meet.
I'm off to see Mary, and the kids on King street.
When I get there it's early and the kids are asleep.
Their chemical consumption has altered their beat.
The street is deserted and I feel like a creep.
Ya, I'm fitting right in, in this hell I call home.
So I'm off to the station, with a head that can't think.
I curse the men with the money, and the ice in their drinks.
And the ones who reign judgment? I don't care what they think.
All I need is my escape from this hell I call home.
I arrive at the station and my mans at the booth.
I approach him and ask with the slang that is couth.
He fixes me up and I get high as the roof.
Another lost Thursday morning, in this hell I call home.
A pauper begs at the town gate
and sets, each day, a date with fate.
He harbours dreams where riches flow
but morning finds him on skid row.
------------------------------------------
Killing With an Epigram Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Margarita Lillico
Placed 2nd
28th April, 2022
Nothing In his eyes
i'm nothing in his eyes
how did it get this way?
i gave my all, gave my best
but none the less
he choose to take my child
blindsided by the illusion of love
i though he wanted me
he make excuses about his childhood
so why would you wanna
do that to your own child
betray me in this way
i'm nothing in your eyes
no matter how hard i may try
you want another
i know you do
i wanted you
but you declare i want another
pushing me in that direction
telling other i disrespect you
its a lie you know it
you want another
but you want me to make it easy
give you a way out
a reason to leave me lonely
on skid row begging
i'm done, you pervert
i no longer seek peace between us
you don't want it anyway,
i know it, you know it
you've made that loud and clear to me
while blinding the minds of everyone else
pretending to love, all the while
showing me your true colors
and your fake light to others
i'm done, I'm nothing in your eyes
and you made sure i'm nothing
in the eyes of all men falling for your lies
Ps. why am I'm such a horrible person
why do some people see me as bad
find fault where there is none
finding error in me when i told the truth
made the effort to be righteous
not the self-centered person
many make me out to be
just mere slander, character assignation
questioning my motives in all things
make judgements based on perceive notions
with no base, without foundation
can i survive this persecution
this all out attack on my rights to exist
i'm nothing in anyones eyes
ugghhscreamuuuuuggggggghhhhhhuuuuuugggggghhhhhhscream
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth... Ecclesiastes 12:1 KJV
Once, there was an artist, who would paint the Savior’s face,
Portraying His great splendor and benevolent grace.
The artist found a model with facial features fair,
And touched his brush to canvass, painting the Lord with care.
His eyes with compassion and his face with love,
Glowed with radiance, lighted from above.
Then for years, the artist was applauded for his art,
And he thought how love binds together, but sin pulls apart.
He’d paint a second portrait, to also share the wall,
Contrasting our need for Jesus, without whom we fall.
Searching in back alleys, and barrooms on skid row,
He finally found a vagrant, the lowest of the low,
With eyes like road maps of red jagged lines,
And a face laced with etchings, seamed with tracks of time.
He would pose for the artist, so they agreed upon a fee,
Enough for a bottle, and another drinking spree.
But when he saw the Savior, framed there on the wall,
He fell upon his knees, and began to bawl.
With his shoulders shaking, his eyes showing pain,
He said, amidst his sobbing, “I have lived so vain.
“When I saw Christ’s portrait, all at once I felt faint.”
“Come on!” said the artist, “Stop sobbing so I can paint.”
“I can’t pose for you, Mister! It just wouldn’t be right.
For I carry a secret that haunts me day and night.”
“Forget it,” said the artist, “and stand up like a man,
Let’s get on with this painting, and do what we began.”
“No,” replied the vagrant, “But I must tell you the truth,
It was me who posed for Christ’s picture, when I was but a youth!”
“Wait a minute,” said the artist, “this cannot be.
That man portrayed innocence, health, and purity.”
“Yes,” replied the vagrant, “but that was way back then.
Later I lived a loathsome life, full of wretched sin.
“I made bad decisions, and now I clearly see.
Satan promised happiness, but he lied to me.
Here I stand unworthy, with tears upon my face,
While in the Savior’s eyes I see amazing grace.”
Live your life I such a way that Jesus can be seen in you.
Schizo got my white man knowin’
What papa felt like bein’ black.
Mania got me actin’
like a strawberry
fiendin’ fo’ crack.
Got OCD and I cain’t get my hands clean
Passin’ out on my carpet
Because I’m high off my bleach
Spider crawlin’ past my head makin’ me
Panic
Anxiety attack ragin’ on and now I’m frantic
Nothin’ left but suicide to get rid of this pain
But, if I kill myself I’ll bring reproach on my God’s Name
Can’t even preach
What example do I show?
When people look at me
They have to ask
What could she possibly know?
Tired of the fight
But, I know if I let go…
I’ll never stop-
The curse of bipolar is that I’ll over-do everything
Wind up on skid row
Without a pen-ny
And some type of venereal disease
From having so many lovers
and Probably a bunch of kids
With none of them wanting sick crazy me for a mother
So I lock myself in my bedroom
And become a hermit
Write hate love poems on my laptop
And pretend I have wit
Dream of contact
But, have to refuse to be touched
Because even one look from a man is simply too much
And I’m out of control
I am only normal
I just want to make love
Sick of great sex
I just want to make love
I’m Crazy and Lonely for Love
CAN I DIE TONIGHT?
?
September sun beats a downtown hotel,
For skid row children the heat is hell.
Mother drugged and father out to score,
Their children play alone, on the lobby floor.
They play with no one watching them,
Growing up without roots or stem.
Outsiders of the swollen hotel lobby,
Don't show up, its just not their hobby.
Their crimes will soon pay the price,
Parent's example leads only to vice.
9/9/2015
with a black robe and a bad heart...with eyes that see evil and ears that hear lies
viewing the world like a dying disease
like the beggar on his knees with dirty hands stretched out
i grab the gavel...and judge him to his death
carjacks and soul smacks...billions on their bellies and backs gettin crunched and cracked
like rats and roaches...robbing banks and million dollar stage coaches
fools roasting in the heat with nothing to lose...singing the blues
paying the devil his over priced dues
shiny and bright turns blackened and blue
taxin the poor...poverty turns into a criminal
his mom weeps and wails with disgust and dread
i grab the gavel...and judge him to his death
teen age mother sittin on skid row...nothing to do and nowhere to go
victim of violence...she turns to a pimp
just like a pharoh he makes her a slave
another trick in a trap...her soul snaps and tears hit the floor
gangster ghouls they kick in the door
raped and murdered in a pool of blood and sweat
i grab the gavel...and judge her to her death
judge not lest ye be judged...still i hold that gruesome grudge
hard hearted like a boulder that nobody can budge
God gives me a nudge and he shows me the truth...because nobody's perfect and nothing is new
i look deep inside to the dirtiest depths
i grab the gavel...and judge myself to death
A lotta things are like an old band-aid
Should just yank it, but we peel it nice and slow
Think we kinda like the pain, in it we wade
Things used to be pro bono, now their quid pro quo
She’s mastered façade, playin’ games like an arcade
She loves me, she loves me not, swayin’ to and fro
Probably should evade, but for you I'd wait a decade
Your love is my drug, feenin', feel like I'm in skid row
Still feelin' like someone else would be a downgrade
Cut off my ear for you, call me Vincent Van Gogh
Serenade, I'll be by your side til I'm old & decayed
There's so much room to grow, girl we have no plateau
Mr. Seagull,
Have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Crow?
Oh my, I'm worried about them,
Where did they go?
The Ravens' answer,
"They didn’t say, we don't know.
Eviction dispelled them far away,
and with nothing to eat.
Nowhere to sleep,
and the last of the flock left for skid row.
Like the Byrd family, scattered.
They flew out of formation,
F.Y.I. they're beat, Broken.
In search of a new underpass.
A new city, such a pity.
Meandering, and struggling in tow.
To find shade in this scorching August heat.
Forced to move on and hide their pride.
Trying to begin once again,
A new start, an old low."
Tom Thumb got caught peeping
Now his life is on the run
Little Bo Peep lost her sheep
On a gambling junket she was on
Little Miss Muffet is having to tuff it
Out these days in jail
Selling ecstasy to undercover police
And now can't pay her bail
Little Jack Horner took him a corner
Of the Mafia drug trade
Once you are hooked on the Meth that he cooks
There's no way of escape
You think that's bad you ain't seen nothing yet
That even comes this close
Since Mother Goose started hitting the juice
And ended up down on skid row
Humpty Dumpty's more than broke
But not from any fall
He couldn't pay his bookie
And his legs were first to go
Baa Baa Black Sheep
Where forced to sell their wool
To pay for all the damages
While they were in school
Jack pushed Jill down the hill
When he caught her cheating with Little Boy Blue
Now he's paying her doctor bills
Which has left Jack blue too
You think that's bad you ain't seen nothing yet
That even comes this close
Since Mother Goose started hitting the juice
And ended up down on skid row
Drinking water all night,
jerking off on the Sabbath,
and feeling the night making me feel alive,
Sabrine she left me a year ago-
a lie or two broke me apart;
giving too much of love,
giving her my heart and knowing that she'd lose it,
and I sit in the dark room
with one window open,
listening to the people next door making love,
and the bed frame slamming against the wall,
thinking "Holy Moly brother, give her a break, she'll break on you!"
but then remembering my next door neighbors were lesbians.
Then I remember Sabrine again,
letting lose with other men,
while she still is trying to get into college,
she was a good girl and a nice friend,
one you wish you could ask for,
wanting to make love with her,
but she is with another guy-
living in California,
but sometimes I think she turned lesbian
and is swinging with other women on Skid Row,
feeling up each other's shirts and skirts- it makes me hard-
see I still think of her, but now in a different light.
.2.23.2014.