Foul Smelling Poems

the illusion

The illusion 

In a small park ringed by gloomy trees near where the factories used to be, was the bust of a man on a splint 
made of bronze, a mesen, she liked to use words like 
that in a desperate world of poverty, tinned sardines
 in olive oil and mackerel in tomato sauce
The Mesen who owned the factories had created this 
park for his workers, where they could sit and relax on Saturday afternoons. 
The whole day on Sundays, otherwise the park shuts 
during weekdays; that made sense, one could not have workers there on days of work
A  boy climbed the fence and drowned in a dam of algae
The park, among damp factory walls, was eradicated.
The foul-smelling factories disappeared as well; the time 
had changed, people could buy cheaper tinned stuff from Portugal  
When pockets of oil deep under the North Sea
 A country was suddenly rich, and people built modern housing where the factories stood.
No one in a town like ours talks about the good old days.

Airs

The air can be relatively silent
or noiseful wind – sort of like,
flatulence – both blessing and 
curse~ depending on where and
when.  The who, more often, not  
forthright.  

             Do we wrongly blame
God, for our own airs – what we
take in and give off, lusts of the
appetite, making foul smelling of
an otherwise sacred dwelling? 

             To my mind, better we
advocate for greener mountains, and less
polluted seas – myself, not so fond of skin ulcers, 
burning, blistering pees. 

No Second Coming, till our own transformation

Christ is not late

We are….

HOLIDAY LIMERICKS

BE NICE AT HALLOWEEN


Trick or treaters were having a good time
Grumpy Joe said you aren't getting a dime
He swore then he went inside
Kids were upset and some cried
So, on his porch they threw foul smelling slime...



     THANKSGIVING HORROR


For Thanksgiving Pete asked Sue to his house
For eats he had ice cream, turkey, and grouse
Sue let out a loud scream
When out of the ice cream
A small head appeared t'was a baby mouse...



     CHRISTMAS  DISASTER


Fred went with pals for a Christmas curry
Felt pains and said guys "I've got to hurry"
But Fred was left enraged
All the loos were engaged
Felt warmth as his trousers filled with slurry...

One day a little puppy

One day a little puppy
Arrived at my door 
Playfully jumping around 
He slipped on the floor

Dark brown eyes scanning above
Curious about all kinds of smells
When I tried to pick up
On my arms his paws fells

When I looked into his eyes 
Reflecting my image, an awestruck girl
I realised at that moment 
He is going to bring chaos and happiness in my life
Those padded paws, those innocent eyes,
Hiding mysteries far behind 
He gave me a meeting gift
Quite foul smelling 
Deciding my role for all his life
I became his human,free to bite
"Oh! So well behaved." 
"Yes he is." 
I replied because only I knew how much of a charmer he is outside

The boxer brownie bandit 2

I fear I've lost the light
In this storm of chocolate rain
Muddy waters cloud my sight 
Within this foul smelling haze 
But I know I'll make things right
I'll escape this hell someday
And my tights will finally stay white
Off this soiled path I'll find my way

They say the devils in the details 
Well I sure hope he likes corn
They say in the end good prevails
But I've had this demon since I was born
In my wake I leave a trail
There's stains on all I've worn 
My life's going off the rails
And I feel chaos in my core 

Still as I waddle towards the future 
I've only known one truth 
It always goes smoother 
When you let the pain pass through 
So when my gut gets sutured 
I'll fill the hole in my heart too
I only wish I'd done it sooner
Change your pants before they change you

Never Again, Again

Who defended Jews from Nazis in WW2
     A few brave souls here and there
   Foul-smelling smoke from crematoria arose
     The masses turned aside, held their nose

   Only dirty Jews being gassed, burnt, chopped up and flayed
     Only unclean Jewish women being gang-raped by the SS night and day
   Only Jewish genitals being irradiated in sexual experiments
     Only 'Jew-dogs' ~ their essence, filth and excrement 

   Today, Islamists shout 'Allah Akhbar,' then slaughter
     Jewish grandmas, wives, babies, sons and daughters
   The West cowers, labels them 'militants,' not terrorists
     Israel, retaliate: Shoot every Hamasnik dead
                     ~ Not a single one can you afford to miss

Occasionally I Never Search In Vain

Occasionally I despair,
an eternal uphill struggle,
a hopeless walk to sanity:
what else is there for me to do
but scream?

Occasionally my stomach rumbles
as pain, hunger and strife 
make it grow distressingly tight.

Occasionally I try to fight
and seek that elusive light
at the end of the tunnel
only to find an inky blackness,
ebony obscurity of darkness
that smothers the soul.

Occasionally I search
for a twisted street or
an endless channel
only to discover a world
devoid of any kindness,
languishing in defilement,
foul-smelling with pollution,
tarnished with infamy and slander,
and an ever-reigning lust.

But often I stand up,
for myself if for none other
and look down towards the horizon
and find what I require: hope and trust.


PS Sorry I left Poetry in the lurch but was hospitalised for three days.  I hope to read your poems soon.   But please give me time.

In My Poems Colorants and Deodorants

In my poems would be found colorants,
For the foul-smelling deodorants:
An advance interception of rants;
I’m dealing with human beings, not plants!
With Poetry busy like The Ants,
To deodorants shall be more grants…

In my poems exist, too, colorants
And when they find the space sibilants,
Their piloting pen Phonetician
By linguistics made Sound Magician…

Here and there purposed attacks of fact,
No doubt, for the sake of impact;
Yet, with Candor a Palpable Pact
If not the case, would have cons packed.

The Doorway

He sat in the doorway of the empty shop
Daily for so many years
Unwashed and foul smelling
Often the object of disgust and sneers

He held out his old enamel cup
To make a dollar or two
To buy a little food and drink
Just to get him through

His face was worn and weathered
Though his eyes were a beautiful blue
A handsome face he still possessed
Despite the toll and hardship his body knew

I often wondered about his story
How he came to have no place to call home
I would never know the reason 
The doorway lay desolate and alone

Car Sick Nursery Rhyme

My cousin Suzy
was feeling quite woozy
as we drove along in the car
Her sister Lizzy
said “why are you dizzy
we really aren’t going that far”
Their brother Vic
said, “She’s gonna be sick”
as he rolled down the window real fast
Mom seemed to worry,
slowed down in a hurry
till all of the other cars passed

Suzy was green
if you know what I mean
as she hung her head outside the door
Lizzy cried ooh
at the foul smelling goo
for she couldn’t quite take anymore
Vic after while
wore a devilish smile
while proclaiming, “Man that was so cool”
Mom shook her head
as she quietly said 
“I can’t wait till they’re all back in school”

Caravaggio's Masterpiece

There he lay on the foul smelling uneven sandy ground,
Dead by beheading, blood seeping underneath the severed head, 
An atrocious act urged by a drunken adulterous  queen.
He was already dead, but the head had to be totally severed.
A sharp knife did the trick and a wanton tart had a plate
Ready to receive the Baptist head.  Looking on only one showed any pity,
The rest indifferent were just ready to please their queen.
The dungeon was not even lighted as behoved a condemned man.

What makes this painting remarkable, one might ask?
Michelangelo Merisi Caravaggio was in Malta and the painting 
Was commissioned by the Order of the Knights of Malta,
And hanged in an Oratory for criminal trails.
Caravaggio  lifted traditional religious scenes and cast them
With his own dark interpretation. Thus light and darkness
Played a big part in the painting.  All main characters are bathed in light,
The rest is in darkness as befitted a dungeon.
A masterpiece of chiaroscuro still to be admired in Malta.

The Cat

THE CAT
Oooh. Some things you wouldn’t believe, would you?
When I moved into Beaumaris Avenue, number 4
I met Gladys, who lived next door.
She lived alone with her cat, called Jed,
A big black moggie, with a big black head.
He had saucer green eyes that seemed to glow
And the threat of death in every claw.
His screams in the night made my blood boil
And he left foul-smelling parcels in my soil

Oooooooh, some things you wouldn’t believe would you!
I went round when I could stand it no more
And I indignantly banged on Gladys’s door.
A builder answered with hammer in his hand
But I threw him my complaint, just as I’d planned!
He said, “you’ve a problem, it’s been empty a year or more!”  
And with a contemptuous look, he slammed the front door!

So I went back home, I couldn’t sleep that night, 
It left me feeling all queasy and tense,
And at midnight I looked out the bedroom window
And there, were a pair, 
of glowing green eyes, looking, back at me, from the fence!
Oooh. some things you wouldn’t believe, would you?

Storm's Abeyance

It was a righteous hit and the silky smooth euphoric familiar feeling was racing through her veins to her encephalon.

It was an energetic stimulation to her central nervous system.

Her whole body fell back onto the foul-smelling and heavily stained mattress.

Her mind slumped into oblivion.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

The last thing she remembers seeing was a vivid shadow.
A shadow of a housefly on the ceiling.
It appeared to be eating something.

Through a purple haze, she wonders about the filthy creature.
In nonsensical supposition, she could feel the beastly fly attack.
Scissoring meticulously against the flesh of her forehead.
Scissoring against the hard connective tissue of her skull.
Systematically and relentlessly thrusting its cutting blades.
Regurgitating its vile acid fluid onto the soft tissue of her cerebrum.

Imaginable pain and reverberation of the piercing sound were consistent.
And then, the morning light faded.
She saw luminous colors of red, yellow, and different shades of blue, like cyan and turquoise.
She felt her body floating around in a large kaleidoscope.




copyright 2016 Torsional Storm

Do You Like What You See In the Mirror

Are you happy with the face you were born with
Do you cringe at your sordid reflection
Take heart my dear friend, could be a lot worse
We all have minor imperfections

There are some of us with big oversized honkers
And some have these sticky out ears
Eyes that are crossed and foul smelling breath
Who haven't had friends in years

People often say “we'll call you next week”
But next week never seems to get here
Could it be they're just trying hard to avoid me
With my belly that's seen too much beer

But the bottom line is we are all quite unique
No one has a claim on perfection
We don't have a choice with how we turn out
It's totally about natural selection

So now I feel better bout my funny appearance
No more need to cover it with a beard
Had this face fuzz since nineteen sixty-two
Without it would feel a bit weird

Contra Love

Spider love.
Smashing himself into the inner crook of my foul-smelling underarm.
The right one. Not the bad one.
Smelling my flesh. Sniffing around me.
licking me.
Smitten, eager for the dance of togetherness to rear its ugly head.
I gently extract him, and lavish him with a lover’s kiss.
He bites my lip. Hard!
A challenge.
We begin our mating dance.


Contra Love				Written 9-24-2018
                             Poetry Contest: Contra            Sponsor: Jesse Rowe

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