Gutter Poems - Poems about Gutter

Before the City Dawns

(A subaltern dawn song...)


We rise before the rooster cries,

Before the sky begins to blush,

Before the bosses sip their tea,

We sweep the silence with a hush.




The city sleeps in dreams of glass,

We move like whispers through its veins

With a broom, a bucket and barefoot grace,

Erasing footprints made of stains.



The milkman’s cycle hums its tune,

His bell rings

Gutter lane

She stole my heart

What's left of my walls.

gutted and hollow

 floating hearts

Sinking away in the gutter lane

Of bad memories. 

Speed Gutter Bunny

Sexuality marooned jellybean pilfered spigot refugees vomit hazelnut in some static plain cloud cupboard.
A stifled hexed harvest, suffer the stagnant taffy contraception,
Oxidized gut-string lyre feeble mast crippled rod.
Shall you be parallel on the naked stem on the shrunken pagan altar?
Penguin whale jackal follicle carriage orgies
I have the cavernous trunk of thirst,
Permanently altered, famines, droughts.
Loosen your

WHAT I HEARD ABOUT LOVE a sadistic paradox

What I heard about love,
It’s so sadistic and pathetic to the core.
They claim, “It’s the judge, jury and executioner”
The rumors sounded surreal and so real

It’s a mutual tolerance,
Of an agreement signed by fools.
Ink, that slowly fades into the blue
Leaving the hue of the unforgiving cue.
At least, that’s what I heard about love!

So much pretense,
From our

Gutter

• Soft like kisses
• Smooth like butter
• Such traits landed me in the gutter

Gutter

• I stare at the lifeless body
•"He's dead," I mutter
• I pick him up and drove for miles
• 'Till I found a deep enough gutter

THE CORRUPT GUTTER

There’s a constant hammering 
Alongside my bedroom window 
Repercussions of a corrupt gutter 

The maddening drain 
Obstinately and persistently has refused
All rehabilitation efforts  

There are no 
drip drip drips
Only 
Pound Pound Pounds
As water clashes with wood and metal 

The clangor must be amplified 
By a loudspeaker 
To make such minute water drops 
Sound like

Oblivion The Addicts Point Of View

The need to escape is truly vast
Usually from memories of the past
Or a hungry need to get away
From harsh happenings of today

It's not so hard to make that choice
When heart pain smothers your silent voice
Others around you sweetly dreaming
While your soul is endlessly screaming

Do you know what it's like to be me?
When your life's been

Gutter Talk

Rain whispering 
in the gutter -
gossip passed along
its length all night
until finally being 
silenced 
by the downpipe.

Spun To the Gutter

Has old Mark Rutter, been spun to the gutter?
Have reason begun now to be seen? Is he sad
 for
The bad? Are the Dutch now glad?
Is the national scene;  more serene? Will
They send him some clogs? Or let loose
The dogs? I guess it renains to be seen?
Maybe he'll turn to the dykes? Dredge the
Sludge quite

Deal With Mosquitoes

Now, I'm dealing with mosquitoes!
All about standing on my toes,
Refusing to accept the throes;
Back to Mosquitoes bad death throws...

Harsh hand claps to just have one smashed,
For if I did not would be lashed
Upon entries into net cashed
Their bloodstains on it shall be washed...

In water troughs would meet their eggs
And - guess the next - use

Blood and Cold Water

They were swilling blood from the road
into the gutter,
policemen with buckets
of cold water.

And all I could think of was you
and how you had left me.
It was not your blood but someone else's
that the curious had crowded to see.

You were walking, talking, laughing
elsewhere in this city
and I know I might see you someday,
which would be a

Dont Leave the Matter To Martha

Don't anyone on this flatter
Nor leave the matter to Martha.
To her it might mean 'No matter'
While it's one that could things batter.

Long-built relationships scatter,
When challenged lips simply mutter
Once clean lives in foulest gutter,
Quiet room source of loud clatter.

Each time, I awake this matter,
Fears of waiting ruin get fatter:
I glimpse feet and hear their patter.
As they

Gutter Lizzard

lizzard 'pon gutter  
phoebe builds mud nest on fan....
 rain droplets glitter  

Suddenly Sick No Money

He does not words utter
Nor heard syllables mutter
But a heartbeat is aflutter
With his sighting a shutter
Of a clinic answering “What’s the Matter”.
That would life save but funds scatter
His honest last savings shatter…

On his head a hammer’s clatter
Of a fever seeking to him batter;
A just consumed bread and butter
Vomited in excited gutter.

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