Long Hooker Poems
Long Hooker Poems. Below are the most popular long Hooker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hooker poems by poem length and keyword.
He loiters in shadows in line for no harp
The tools of his trade all surgically sharp
He slices their throats before they start yelling
The Lord knows his name but the Lord isn’t telling
So prowling these lanes seeking hooker or stripper
To bolster the legend of Mister J Ripper
He skulks in the gloom, an All Hallows’ day tripper
His yen to splay female flesh wide like a kipper
Thus, nervous and pretty with Lilly-white skin
Her blood gushes free from just under her chin
A flash of a blade in the moonlight is made
And she lies agape and ravaged and flayed
His lust and sick love precludes notions of rape
He melts in the night with a swish of his cape
They don’t understand so they call it a crime
But Jack will be back... at least one more time
But there’s no monopoly on London’s streets
And angel or Satan... everyone eats
Yet too many nutters the law cannot track
So, why not blame all of the carnage on Jack
And when Jack returns to a lust fuelled delight -
(A lady who markets her wares in the night)
A chilling voice whispers, ‘Wrong alleyway bud’
And the Vampire moves in to savour Jack’s blood
4 May 2021
Contest: A Poem of Horror
Sponsor:Funom Makama
A man with a quiet demeanor
was cursed with a miniscule wiener.
He tried lotions and pills
But not one cured his ills.
Now he's a silent nail hole cleaner.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
His todger though tiny still worked.
When he went for a wee it jerked.
He could still have full sex.
It was rather complex,
but when it was over he smirked.
BY JAN ALLISON
His wee-wee was indeed very wee
to the extent that no one could see.
When asked, “Are you a man?”
He replied, “Yes, I am.
You can follow up stream when I pee.”
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Went out for a night with a hooker
Blonde but thick and no looker
When she saw his todger
Said my dog is bigger
You're taking me for a sucker
BY SEREN ROBERTS
A silent curse shrunk his wee to a teeny thing
I swear it is no bigger than a lil chicken wing
For sex a useless reject
Can't tell when its erect
We make jokes about his miniature ding a ling
BY MARTI
Wait a minute please, I won't tell a lie
isn't always small, it's big as apple pie
the winds were mighty chilly
affecting my poor old Willie
now you hurt my feelings, think I'm gonna cry
BY TIM SMITH
Big Bertha said, "It ain't the cubic inches
nope, the part for me what clinches
is strokes per minute
while they's in it
not a tool needs movin' with winches."
BY LIM'RICK FLATS
if you want join in the fun!
What were you doing, alone in the woods, my John,
What were you doing out at dawn?
Why it hasn't rained for ages now,
So many failed crops, and fields you must plough.
Your dirty clothes are all so glum.
You're just a little dirty bum
You deserve no pity, my son.
Go up and clean yourself, get done,
There'll be no food for you tonight,
And don't dare cry you messy mite.
What were you doing, alone in the woods, my John,
What were you doing out at dawn?
You dared disobey me again,
Bastard idiot and a pain.
Look at your clothes, all wet with dew,
Torn without a valid reason, too.
Do you think that I can afford
Money needed, is all we hoard?
I'll show you what attire you'll fray.
I swear I'll tear your hideaway.
What were you doing, alone in the woods, my John,
What were you doing alone at dawn?
Did I not send you to get twigs,
Why do you behave like poor pigs?
What are those stains around your face?
Eating berries? Did you say grace?
There, how's that for a bloody punch?
Now your face looks best like a crunch,
Can't even take his correction.
Wipe that juice, you misconception.
What were you doing, alone in the woods, my John,
What were you doing alone at dawn?
Were you smooching with silly ****,
That goody goody, y mutt?
Go find a hooker, try to learn
What true pleasures women can burn.
You'll never learn from that hussy,
Good for nothing bit of lassie.
If I see you again with her,
Why I'll castrate you forever.
What were you doing, alone in the woods, my John,
What were you doing alone at dawn?
Were not your father there with you?
Why is your face so red and blue?
Why haven't you returned together?
Eating berries in this weather?
Why is your new shirt so blood-stained?
Don't you know he will have you chained!
Oh John, my John, you'll never learn
Your father will kill you, he's stern.
What's that smile on your face, my John?
What were you doing, alone in the woods, my son,
What were you doing?
placed 1
It's weird to think to be the opposite sex
take it from one who knows best...
being a boy is much more fun and wild,
but being a girl will destroy my manhood!
No chasing after gorgeous girls with beautiful hair;
no asking for dates and kiss by candlelight,
no showing off those muscles of might...
becoming fragile and feminine: a real nightmare!
Some boys dress up as girls wearing wigs and earrings;
I couldn't see myself and slowly walk on high heels,
I'll break my nose and look like a bleeding hooker...
so sorry for having tried that and excited an onlooker!
All I will say, " A guy can never be a gal, and a gal never a guy. "
Have that sex change, get rid of your body hair ...
and you still be despised and given the evil eye!
This is my motto, " Born a man, always a man: straight or bear! "
She’s not exactly a stunner
Or a beauty contest top-runner.
Sometimes she slips up on grammar.
But is that a reason to damn 'er?
Some men want gold and not copper,
And more often than not come a cropper.
George married a pretty blue stocking.
That divorce case, how horribly shocking.
Giles got hitched to a bunny,
Who soon hopped off with his money.
Cyril, with his eye for good looks,
Is now happy with someone who cooks.
Poor Herbert fell for a hooker,
And then most sadly mistook 'er
For his faithful, his heaven-sent wife.
(In fact, they were hell-bent on strife).
Such examples truly are many.
You can get two belles for a penny.
But I’ll keep to good-hearted Jenny.
Plain Jenny, you’ll do for a life.
I ran into Shakespeare the other day.
Told him I too am writing a play.
He asked about the premise, which was a reeler.
I had no idea he is a big premise-stealer.
I told him the plot, and he took a few notes.
I was excited when I saw him put them into his totes.
What will you do with them? I asked him, truly awed.
He would not tell me, because Shakespeare is flawed.
Just one thing, he asked, what is a hooker?
I thought that was funny, he's quite a humorous cooker!
A harlot, a whore, a rounder, tart, courtesan, I said.
"Oh, a strumpet!" he guessed, and his face turned all red.
So the next time you use the word strumpet remember to thank.
The guy who reintroduced this word to me - I call him Hank.
It's a fun word for sure, and will get some attention.
But don't use it if you are haughty with high needs of pretension.
The impatient motorist,
drunken and careless, drove
through the red light
and stroke a pedestrian
sending him five feet in the air;
then crashed into a concrete wall,
to commit suicide...
that's why he died!
The drug-addict shot up cocaine
with a dirty needle...in a filthy,
abandoned store on the avenue;
his acute pain was relieved instantly;
he rejoiced for a few moments,
them his red and semi-conscious eyes
slowly began to close and he turned blue...
that's why he died!
The police car chased four robbers
in a stolen car...shots were fired,
and gess who got shot?
The wounded policeman
called for help,but blood
gushed from his dizzy head;
the thieves fled on foot...
to a hut in the parking lot!
The sirens' lights whirred...
they were sourrounded,
but didn't surrender to pleads;
they kept on firing their cheap guns,
they came out challenging,
attempting another ascape,
but they were mortally hit...
that's why they died!
The tripping hooker
in a leather miniskirt,
hustled the motorist
stopped at a crossing light;
she made an offer,
the car door opened
and she hopped in without fret!
By the murky river,
where the streets are empty and dark,
her lifeless body was found;
wasn't safety haunting her foolish mind?...
That's why she died!
The homeless man
begged the passerbys
who usually complied;
nickels,quaters and dimes glittered
in his small coffee cup...
money to be spent on beer,
food and cigarettes...
without having a place to go!
Winter was brute and covered
his frozen eyes with snow...
that's why he died!
The smelly dude with torn clothes walked
in a huge save-a-dollar-store...
with the bad intention he had premeditated;
he had no job: a loser and a destitute...
the wailing owner of the store,
pulled out his rifle and shot him twice!
The leaping robber dropped down...
holding a bloody,sharp knife:
grasping for breath,but found none...
that's why he died!
I was running from the man
Or the cops if you please
I hopped over a fence
Landed funny, scraped my knee
Looked around and saw a shack
Hoped for comfort and ease
Like a hooker in church
Sweating on her knees
Peered into that shack
What a shock and surprise
Head like Mount Rushmore
We were lookin eye to eye
Started running for my life
Jesse Owens be proud
Dog snapping on my leg
Not a bark ,not a sound
Almost made it to the fence
With his teeth on my ass
Like a student in school
Was hoping for a pass
Had my back to the fence
Was looking for a stick
That dog drew first blood
Stream of red like Moby Dick
The end of the story
Had been lookin for fun
Searching for my phone
Called K911
Listen here!
I am hurting up all over
Lying here undiscovered
Papparazzi cumulus are jostling in my street
God is taking photos of the remnants of His sheep
Climbing footholds and gripping on the rungs
Heaving and panting I'm a-aching in my lungs
Ascend this twisted ladder of my helix
I'm not the father of this mutant DNA
Help me Hiroshima,make it go away
Panties on the washline hip-hopping in the air
Headbanging jackets dancing with no hair
I tried to speak , stutter, spitting out the truth
Joy the dormant factor in my spittle and my sperm
Followed you through crooked mile
Tracked you through the non-return
Nowhere to go now, just following my feet
Like an unpaid hooker walking on her beat
Oh, my bedside lamp begs the question mark
I do not want to hear
Sprinkled in baptism
Ah! Salvation ...hanging in the air
-the petrichor of rain
He’s a broken leg performer with a crooked second act.
Went from Brooklyn to Las Vegas with his sarcasm intact.
Does a Smith and Wesson stand-up, voice as sweet as antifreeze.
Tells you how he lost his cherry to some hooker overseas.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
He’s as salty as a used spittoon.
MCs the neon circus
Where he shines just like a plumber’s moon.
Doesn’t pander to his critics. Slanders movie stars for laughs
Wielding heavy-handed put-downs like the jawbone of an ass.
Always orders top shelf vintage; likes his girlfriends under-age.
He’s the truth behind those rumors they found bloodstains on the stage.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
Claims a hammer as his only tool.
A shylock rooked his agent,
Left him face down in the swimming pool.
He’s a smoke and mirrors pundit; all his opinions are strong.
Pegs some yokel as a sucker and he slams him all night long.
Bet the house at Caesar’s Palace; he was shaken, never stirred.
God, I hope that pregnant widow didn’t take him at his word.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
He’s as wholesome as a canker sore.
Don’t ever lend him money.
He’ll just blow it at the liquor store.
He’s a poster child for rehab at the bottom of a slump.
Tried to come back with a wisecrack when Aunt Sophie found a lump.
He insinuates his poison to the marrow of the bone.
He’ll be praying for an encore on the night he dies alone.
They call him Mr. Sunshine.
He’s as funny as a dry monsoon.
He isn’t Mr. Starbuck.
He’s just a prick with a sharp harpoon.
Did ya hear the one about those crazy corporate chemists?
They’ve crossed the ebola virus with e-coli bacteria.
It’s being marketed in West Africa by Monsanto as Ebo Cola!