Best Unhygienic Poems
Who is
Who is this twerp to lecture me,
That I shouldn’t suck my spaghetti,
Put up the seat for we we we,
When I go on vacation,
How dare he say I caint text too,
Unhygienic, on the jolly loo,
Guess he thinks he’s Hitler new,
No cause for celebration.
What’s wrong with me new vibrator,
New gal says, she’ll catch me later,
Yes now I’m cast as woman hater,
it an me, amalgamation?
Don Johnson 9-aug-11
Her hormones fled the coop
on scalding tires.
He drifted into her,
working the night-shift
of a traveling fantasy.
Motel maids were her sisters
bars her occupation,
a place to work
on the aerobics of hope.
Their love
was an unhygienic affair.
Everything spilled out,
much maintenance
in putting back in.
Emotional jism
was scrubbed by hand
until skin-tight excuses
glistened
milky as mollusk flesh.
They had lots to attend to.
Feelings had to be
daily resuscitated
into former victimized forms.
He would not leave;
she would not go.
He anointed her again,
and again
with his pity-me flesh.
Their mutually dependent rodeo
played itself out
on the steps
of a haggard tomorrow,
both now blinded
by owl-light.
He stares
into the distance of the days,
of those gone and of those yet to come --
he touches no one,
is touched by no one.
Yet noisy commerce
around him flows, constant movement;
but movement without a change of place,
no progress forward, no backward retreat --
an illusion of movement, only.
He sees youths --
with no sense of self --
and leathery crones,
unhygienic vagrants,
no place to go,
assailed by noises --
a repetitious assault
upon the ear and air.
Still he sits,
in frozen semi-trance,
staring always inward,
but also into distance,
sentient and inert.
Arriving from unknown somewhere
He set up clinic in the market square
Declared he could cure any disease
Using herbal drugs of plants and trees
Townsfolk being credulous
Soon to his shop began to rush
Diabetics, rheumatics, asthmatics flooded
None over his degree brooded
A few weeks later, afloat was this rumor
He cures for he rightly detects the humor
Realizing that every client is a prospective fan
He talked in technical terms even with laymen
He would expose his victims to numerous medical terms
Also trade-names, contents, firms, diseases and germs
Just to exhibit erudition and sound philosophy
Without occasion he embarked on learned topics
Often dwelt on sedatives and epilepsy
Or discoursed at length on tumor and biopsy
Then in a torrent of rodomontade would relate
Histories of cases cured with specific names and date
Discourses full of references to Ayurvedic treatises
Madhav, Charak, Susrut and other varieties
To prove his point he recited aloud original excerpts
As a result ,he soon won the epithet: "expert of experts"
"Discourteous ingrates! They even do not thank
Though I give 'em new life" exclaimed the mountebank.
Always eager to spar against allopathy
At the slightest provocation he would lecture on allopathic hazards
Or would lament on untidy hospitals and unhygienic wards
Boldly averring: "To hide anything from patients is a deadly sin"
Within no time he became a celebrity
His tricks worked and brought him publicity
After a year DHO came to see him in person
And sought his counsel for his sick son
A minister's car at his doorstep halted
Just to enhance libido and weakness treated
He gave the minister powerful mercury dust
Which triggered his vigor and inflamed his lust
Then to CM's ears reached his fragrant fame
Who called him secretly telling him not to declare name
MPs in turn heard of this rare phenomenon
And turned up to consult him one by one
Director drug control came to seek his advice
For chronic dysentery and perennial bronchitis
At length PM had to send him his compliments
For service to nation and" particular "patients
The whole world acknowledged him as master of his craft
But a person knew his truth in his own staff
His compounder knew his master was a fake
But he swallowed the secret for heaven's sake
Like the mediaeval skirmish, defeat with stale dismay
Adjacent to every dwelling the silent donor plague;
Masquerades of scarlet doom as those who pass away
Unhygienic circumstance with umpteen reasons vague.
Black Death buboes mystery and evil stench of sewage,
Overcome in mammoth form an infestation magnitude
A maze of sedimentary canals, full to brim in carnage
Reared bubonic wilt of life, description misconstrued.
Queasy whiff from rotten flesh, riddled scourge of fleas
Dejected mass oblivious did every suburb town;
Sodden paths were warily like red light district sleaze
Opening cracks to insult what this suffereing put down.
Gradual was the ambush, a pungent trough of mess
Undisturbed was litter strewn to marinade as broth
Sludge and silt defied the tilt and wasn't getting less,
Darkened skies were charcoal grey, depicted every cough.
Stand pipes caused an arbitary membrane miles long,
Scavenged crust of leaking rot was London's crumpled city
Death prepared ones destiny to which whose dare belong
Disease was one priority, the other? That's a pity!
Expertly did a crafted sway! Enactment to the bold
Manifold a peoples ploy to disinfectant everywhere
Found conclusive rations, much was burned to scold,
Sanitised a rat free zone to dormant sleep somewhere.
In a time of panic,when the world battled a pandemic,
He was a migrant,kicked by nasty tyrants.
Days of thirst,Months of famine;
Shattered dreams,isolation and quarantine,
The lock down had made him quite confined.
His hardships began when they had to wait in line,
For insipid food and shelter that never saw the sun shine.
Sleepless nights ,anxiety and unpaid labor,
Little did he remember the last good meal he devoured.
Away from his home,away from her;
An ordinary beauty,it was her love that had him captured.
Perfectly imperfect,her skin with patches of white,
She erased his struggles giving a life so bright.
With unconditional love; she held his finger,
They had a baby ,whose smile was enchanting as ever.
He awaited the journey,the journey back home,
His hopes went vain,as lack of money made him groan.
With a group he wandered,they craved for water,
Migrants! echoed some voices;
The voices that once gave errands, now sprayed disinfectants.
Wading past grimacing looks,
The migrants were never in good books,
Portrayed as the forbidden and the stigmatized,
Termed nefarious;their unhygienic looks had us traumatized.
Nevertheless ,the truth is always bitter,for they never even get time for a banter,
They clear all our litter;build wonders from clutter,
They always remain unsafe as we stay home and be safe!!
The People we don’t want to know.
From pay check to pay check many working class people have two jobs,
then it all dries up and there is no work and manual labourers are
called work shy…. I knew a woman with three jobs she was tired coming
home, yet boiled potatoes and fried fish for her children before falling
asleep, coughing a lot. She had tuberculosis and sent to a sanatorium,
and the children sent to foster homes. Her illness caused by unhygienic
home, people from the social services said. No one asked why a woman
should hold down three jobs to fed her children and no one said she was
a “deserving” poor whatever this word means. This inequity will go on till
we understand poverty is not a choice but a mishap of birth, few escape,
those who do will always carry the dishonour, the mark of Cain, by being
more hateful of poverty and branding the poor lazy. As the average actor
who got a role in a film that made him famed, his hate his own class, poor
himself once, reveals his fear of slipping back to poverty again; he harms
his flesh and blood in an attempt to get rid of his own stench of privation.
But the Haves can smell an imposter, but they do like money so perhaps
his daughter will make it to the ball.
Not long ago did I meet her
She was like an angel
draped in tight fittings and sweater
She walked with the most graceful gait
and smelled so nice
In an instant I became a wormed bait
Came up to me and said the most sweetest "Hello"
I was on the verge of passing out
yet holding my nerves, I replied back with my voice all mellow
Never mind the questions she asked, I stood mesmerized
Like a zombie
I thought "Alas! I am about to be exorcised."
Then lo nature's cruelty, the beauty makes a 90 degree turn
In comes a mechanized wagon
carrying a cool intern
Gelled hair and cool sHades
I was boiling
with unwanted sweat and lot of hates
The beauty and "the beast" made a run to the cinema
I stood unwanted and realized
It is hopeless for a student without a diploma
Later I heard she was a doctor specializing in cardiology
Trying to pinpoint
at my unhygienic smoking philosophy
Any-ways it makes a good story for poetic inspiration
It's just a story
A story from my imagination.
When all the sick
Are put to rest
Train station
And plague ships
Are empty
Retributions are fought
And paid
Nature
Again
Forced from towns
Highways and byways
Rumble and hum
To the movement of mode
Again
White trails
Crisscross the sky
Will it really
Be the same
People can’t blame
Their Gods
Just there wicked
And unhygienic ways
Will malnutrition
Poverty and hunger
Mate
To birth war
And hate
Will the little
Privacy that’s left
Be taken
Stolen
Without consent
Will social capitalism
Be the new bent
Social worth
Based on a social score
The one truth
(Am already behind the eight ball)
Will persecution
Again flourish
Targeting
The Blacks
The Jews
The foreigner
Beggars, pilgrims
Disabled
Women
Will Art
Turn black
With pessimism
And a dance of death
A return of Gothic
And Gargoyles
To accelerate
The wrath
Of Gods
Life
Won’t be the same
What was
Is gone
The flux
Of our existence
Replaced with
What’s to come
Dog chases tail, and we laugh, assuming
he must be excited or merely bored.
Meanwhile, the cat licks herself for grooming.
If I saw my dog do that, I’d be floored!
Dogs lick and eat things I find disgusting,
but unlike the cat, dogs are more a friend.
As said, he’s “man’s best friend,” and so trusting.
Loyal a dog can be until the end.
I had a dog like that a long time ago.
Unhygienic, yes, but he was so true.
Along our fence line, running to and fro,
barking at passers-by he was wont to do.
No one he'd ever catch. So silly . . . yet
he was my adorable, most loved pet.
He wears a bandana and smells
worse than an unkept dog with a horrible breath;
I heard rumors that he sleeps
in a garage, where dogs are infested with fleas.
He drives a station wagon emitting strong fumes,
does he ever change his engine oil or let it burn 'until the engine
stops running? He shows no blush of shame, but curses more than
a truck driver while he sits still and counts his woes.
The hungry dogs bark and peak out of the car windows,
seeing angry faces and hands waving at close distance...
the defiant driver refuses to come out of the broken-down car,
and with raggae music blasting, he gives them the finger.
Only a bigot could act in such a disrespectful way
as fury increases and every driver blows the horn constantly,
but too much air noise gets pedestrians tense, and one of them
calls police on his cell phone...they come and arrest him.
And he still smells in that cell cramped with criminals and offenders,
he even had the guts to ask one of the officers to bring in his dogs!
Oh, filthy, unhygienic guy they should hand you soap and towel,
instead of keeping you in there and make everybody yell!
Through the front Mr. Jonah was swallowed.
In the sea monster’s belly he wallowed.
In the muck and the gas
unhygienic, alas,
was the back door expulsion that followed.
Her late husband, badly missing
Possibly last week, still kissing
On his account, all companies shunning,
Their jokes she once loved, stunning.
Her meals eating with unhygienic cutlery,
Sometimes with none, as though lost to burglary.
In the nearest cupboard imprisoning her body creams,
Her emaciating body stirring no dreams.
A switching over to cheap black earrings
And necklaces like a dull rain cloud:
A maintenance of voice without lively wings,
No expression of her thoughts aloud.
The bare earth for sitting her rump,
An approaching centipede not likely to make her jump.
Just the actions that onlookers assure
She wasn't her spouse's murderers:
Simply decisions that tighten the gossipy's jaw
And prove her a simply unfortunate tigress.
Incidentally, the prime suspect over her husband's demise,
His Kins-folks asserting that it is no surmise:
How she had his very last meals tampered with,
Much attention to this drawing like a pith.
Not though defenceless, The African Widow:
With potent curses equipped besides Jesus' shadow
And touching tears by the grave of her husband
That don't fail to her adversaries crush an army band.
A dazzling forest of an armpit
By watchers paired up with cesspit,
A moment's confirming touch of this
By much displeased hell - raising Doris,
Sure it would puncture Marital Bliss
And all day keep her courting a hiss;
More so, her unhygienic Elvis;
Issues has with The Vilest Pelvis...
No longer The Forgiving Girl friend,
She is now seeking its abrupt end:
Not the best pelvis for love making;
Why would any Eve stop a - raking?
Elvis' suddenly stirred Ring finger
Ready to find out what does linger,
His fore finger to soon face Eugene
For a marriage - delaying hygiene.
The whitish bird,
Soon in the midst of a herd:
One, two and, soon, a third ….
Partly there to supervise their curd,
Fractionally, to catch their navigating word;
Sometimes around pacing like their king,
While their “moos” in its ears ring.
But chiefly the Egret is visiting a dining table,
Of which a reaching it is capable:
Easily, a pecking pouncing on the parasites.
That their dung-smeared bodies have chosen as sites.
At this, forever,
The ingeniously clever,
Neat-looking Cattle Egret,
Doesn’t an unhygienic meal regret.