Best Unsanitary Poems
My God, he doesn’t
Want me to suffer
Horribly, beating myself up
For the nature of only breathing
My God, he isn’t a Murder
Vindicating war with a divine right
Wasn’t given, By my God
I don't have a religion
but a philosophy
I speak to my God directly,
I don't need a middle man because
It's me and my God
Oh yes, I believe in the Lord
But at times I see, things that should not be seen
He sets my faith in an ice cube tray and lets it thaw
Drip down and clear the eyes
Lets these emotions saturate and open out
We make our own destiny
The lord is my guidance, my daylight in the darkness
He tells me my end but how I get there
Depends on my actions
And when I ask him, why ? Why is this killing happening?
Morally up righteous bible bangers screaming
All sins are committed by THESE sinners. Aren’t we all, sinners? I fall ill
Thinking of all these lies swirling
Popping like bubbles in an unsanitary bathtub trying to pass the
Minimum health regulations
TELL ME LORD
Why do you let this happen, what is the solution?
He speaks one word: you
Others run with miscommunication
Thinking, you? You? You?
Pointing fingers throwing bombs
Shooting children, in the name of God
While tears fall from the sky, clouding
All that’s morally right
But its really, it’s up to you you you
To change the world
Do you, believe, in the Lord?
Back in 2013 the President 'resetting,' drew a line in the sand
Syria sprinted across it; faced no response from our end
So, Bashir Assad killed his own countrymen with chemical gas
hundreds upon thousands fled Syria, Europe's problem, alas*
Then near the end of his term, ignoring his every general's advice
DJT threatened to pull the plug on Afghanistan one night
--thought a quick exit for his 'resume' would be nice
And now JB's gone and done it, what a horrific choice we face
To recognize the Taliban, an admission of disgrace
A low blow to all our brave troops who died in that place
Yet if we cut off the Taliban; if we can't bite out lips
ISIS stands ready to blow Afghanistan to bits
Now I'm not just complaining; I've a simple solution at hand
No more Presidents play-acting Commander-in-Chief
-- without military service beforehand
Let's have a former soldier who honors and respects his command
who can discern perils in jungles, deserts and mountain badlands
If this means a separate office for Commander-in-Chief
I'm all for it: Enough of my countrymen's (and the free world's) disbelief
And if you feel I'm all wet, think 2029... Try to envision
AOC** reviewing troops, making life-and-death decisions
_______________________________________________________
*Even today, as I write this, Syrians homeless since 2013 are being
used as political pawns by Russia and Belarus, who have flown them
in (!) to crowd the border of Poland, where they 'live' in unsanitary,
makeshift 'cities' -- all as part of Russian blackmail to force Poland
and its European backers' hands. (Source: Wall-Street Journal,
November 13, 2021, page 1 report).
**Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez... a popular 30 year-old member of the
House of Representatives, an avowed Democrat-Socialist, who's
backed open borders, defunding the police, and many other such
'progressive policies.'
Denial to live a full and free life,
Segregation on creed, colour black or white,
How much tolerance must have been,
A call for human dignity and end of strife,
As came the South African apartheid,
A blot on developing intellectual breed,
Women and children could not escape abuse,
Human rights were not getting any heed,
No jobs, no food, such was the plight,
Even most educated had a pitiable fight,
Imprisoned without trial in unsanitary conditions,
Most horrible was the inhumane sight,
Mandela took a lifetime struggle to rescue,
All false allegations were taken true,
Then first election of universal suffrage,
How the time turned, had a least clue,
Defiance campaign with nonviolent resistance,
task undertaken with strong persistence,
Pursued racial equality and other human rights,
dilemma of democracy was coexistence !!
Palestine:
The land of Zaatar, Zaytoon
and Lime
Palestine:
The land of progressive and loving people
at her core.
The British Empire promised the rocky terrain
(From which the Empire yielded no fruit
Nor money!)
To displaced people: The Jews;
The Jews called her
The promised land:
The land promised to them.
For at the heart of her is Jerusalem:
The town holy to both Mohamedians
And the Jews:
the loving cousins they were once.
Palestine:
Became a country of division, feuds!
A country of Bloodsheds
The country of bitter tears shed.
Palestine:
The land of people confined in unsanitary camps
Surviving on the margins:
Their minds becoming unsound;
Slowly !
Day by day!
Like a blood tap turning into a blood sea.
Palestine:
The land of diseases,
The land of infant deaths
In sea of numbers
The land of famished folks,
The land of murky waters and no hopes.
Palestine:
Where the bitter seed of hopelessness
Is sown;
Turning into a thorny tree;
Bearing blood fruits!
Palestine:
The land of forgotten people,
The land of bitter feuds !
Palestine :
The land of peoples’ pleas
Unheard, unseen!
Palestine:
The land of peoples’ suffering
Unregistered in our collective psyches
Sourtoe Martini
The newest trend in cocktails?
Severed human toes!
It’s the latest thing in the Yukon
Not that everybody knows
But now that the Wall Street Journal
Has given it some class
The Sourtoe martini
Is in every other glass
It started forty years ago
In the Yukon territory
Captain “River Rat” Stevenson
Likes to tell the story
He found a severed big toe
Preserved in a pickle jar
And rather than just throw it out
Thought he’d serve it at his bar
For this drink would show their macho
This drink would show their nerve
So he dropped it in a champagne glass
In a drink that he would serve
The rule of the Sourtoe
The toe must touch your lips
It’s not a drink you just chug down
It’s best taken in small sips
While it may sound unsanitary
The toes are pickled first for months
In medically approved alcohol
That the patron then confronts
You can order it any time you like
At the Sourdough Saloon
But you won’t find me at the bar
At least any time real soon
For I am not a drinker
Ask anyone who knows
For alcohol and I don’t mix
And I don’t kiss stranger’s toes
Mdailey 11/6/12
They had two children
a boy and a girl
They'd done their bit
for a crowded world
Billions then living in poverty
Conditions heartbreakingly unsanitary
The 'moral' thing for parents to do
If having kids, stop at two
So dad had a vasectomy
Quickly and quite easily
His tubes were tied
Hs conscience satisfied...
Yet just eight months later
He wished he'd had
an appendectomy
or tonsillectomy --
anything but a vasectomy
,
For his baby daughter had died of SIDS
and now he could father no more kids
Just as painful, down the road
his son came out as gay
~ No grandchildren for him; no way
"Be fruitful and multiply"
Was commanded not just to the fruit fly
But to Adam and Eve, now mocked with mirth --
Though my poor friend with a vasectomy
Knows only pain on this Earth
He wants you to have as many children as you can
Not to think that you're privy to the Divine plan
(I know this is a dark poem, but also factual. If you want a lighter poem, please read the few before this one *that I hope you will visit)
Some may say, don’t worry, make light of it
As if people may be causing an unnecessary fit
Truth is, I’ve watched the info. And numbers climb
I’ve also seen repercussions from tick carrying Lyme
China shuts down cities, keeping people inside
Unable to control it, with no safe place to hide
Countries scramble with travel bans, restrictions they cast
But, this particular virus hits two body areas and fast
San Francisco has already become an unsanitary place
Cases have started there, contacts unable to trace
A doctor says this is a pandemic, heading to be
Preparation is all we can do, with what we see
I say this as my compromised health system will kill
To face this true fact, takes very strong will
I pray for everyone affected by this nightmare
Because in a time like this, what is left is prayer
Heidi Sands
2/2/20
Momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday
during month of May
can be traced back
to ancient Greeks and Romans
devotional festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis
(a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
childbearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies
such as Hallmark generated a market
(money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed
companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea
of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite
of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed,
fêted, lionized, revered re:
formed unsanitary
squalid living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where
greater longevity doth hum
bull all because, she sought to regale mum
(mine) deceased after rigor mortis
immediately thereafter her sole son
found himself saddened severely glum,
and uncomfortably numb.
(This is a fictional poem)
You have the nerve to act like a fool.
You actually took a dump in my pool.
What you did was very unsanitary and mean.
I can't hit you because you're under eighteen.
My girlfriend was the one who found the tird.
That was the loudest scream I've ever heard.
I have something to say and you'd better listen to my words.
If you ever pull this stunt again, you will redigest your tird.
Three Cheers To Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis
Momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday
during month of May
can be traced back
to ancient Greeks and Romans
devotional festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday,”
the other three hundred
and sixty five or six,
when leap year occurs,
especially Jewish mothers smother
also manifest courtesy
eldest sister or brother.
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis
(a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
childbearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's embolden
greeting card companies
such as Hallmark generated a market
(money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed
companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea
of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite
of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed,
fêted, lionized, revered re:
formed unsanitary
squalid living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where
greater longevity doth hum
bull all because, she sought to regale mum
(mine) deceased after rigor mortis
immediately thereafter her sole son
found himself saddened severely glum,
and uncomfortably numb.
She was polluted on in the inside,
tainted from thoughts of suicide.
Infectious diseases had arrived,
only contamination survived.
Her toxicity had become contagious,
as her madness became outrageous.
She wore an illness that wouldn’t heal,
and impurity is all she did feel.
She felt dirty like a foul water,
she once was the prodigal daughter.
Now she was corrupted and unclean,
But to me she was a friendly fiend.
Unsanitary thoughts resided in her mind,
for she was poison and love combined.
Sullied from childhood rash abhor,
though it’s her I’ll always adore.
It’s not her fault she was contaminated,
it’s the way she was accidently created.
She wore ebony wings instead of white,
and savored darkness instead of light.
There were reasons for her torment,
her happiness had always been dormant.
She once was beautiful and kind,
her constellations used to be aligned.
Though she was sick I’ll always love,
now she rests gently up above.
No longer polluted on the inside,
made clean from committing suicide.
Contamination Contest
April 8, 2018
momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday during month of May
can be traced back to ancient Greeks and Romans
festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
child bearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies such as Hallmark gen
er rated a market (money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed re
formed unsanitary living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where greater longevity doth hum
all because, she sought to regale "mum."
Calves spasm in the night
warm, wet, wavering candlelight.
Western congestion, returned plight,
the drone of insects, the mosquito’s bite;
Infected, reflected, so much fright!
Warm wet, wavering candlelight.
Calves spasm in the night.
Calm balm, unsanitary redress;
old quandary, old mess;
stomachs tension diaphragms fright;
Warm, wet wavering
Hope for the Light.
(I wrote this fictional poem to try to persuade kids not to eat out of the trash.)
What you're doing is embarrassing and unsanitary and it's something I can't
allow.
You'd better stop eating out of the trash young man and I mean now.
Last week you ate out of your friend's trash and now he's not your friend anymore.
If I catch you eating out of the trash again, your butt will be pretty sore.
What you're doing can make you very sick and it's disgusting and crude.
You'll be in big trouble if you continue eating that nasty food.
Momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday during month of May
can be traced back to ancient Greeks and Romans
festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
childbearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies such as Hallmark gen
er rated a market (money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed,
lionized, revered re
formed unsanitary living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where greater longevity doth hum
all because, she sought to regale "mum."