Long Obscenities Poems

Long Obscenities Poems. Below are the most popular long Obscenities by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Obscenities poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Have I Gotten Over It--My Spokenword-

 I was stained soiled and broken
 Out of my mouth came evil miss-spoking's 
Perpetual vomiting of obscenities
 Spewing out of me 

Have I gotten over it
 a light switched 
On from the Dark Dawn light now
 I'm seeing in a new mindset in God 
I am over it

 And a precious previous past life present
 No reciprocated love from God's precious vessels 
The devil had me thinking past tense I was an unwanted man saw the true And truth I was a righteous man

Seek Him first
Seek Him First 
Seek Him first God 

And all of those things promise to me to you 
Are now ever true always, already done 
Already granted that thing in mind in your heart 
Those the Beautiful Things already made done 
It's already mine already yours 

Those the battles won O' how I got over 
Have I gotten over it
 A light switched on from the Dark Dawn light now
 I'm seeing in a new mindset 
In God I am over it my Father asking me 

Have I gotten over it yes!
 Father I am more than enough 
My sins shames and doubts 
Streaming nothing but positive thoughts 
In a new mindset I got over it 
Selah

1/7/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©


Premium Member The Victim - Through Their Eyes 2

You stood in the dock when the guilty verdict was read out …
Just a spotty youth with a cocky look in your eyes
Now sentenced to five years in prison, I hope you rot in hell!

The defence team tried to make out that YOU were the victim
You had drug and alcohol issues, which catapulted you into a life of crime
I had to sit there and hear about your past 
Was I supposed to feel sorry for you?

What about me, the real victim…
You’d entered my house, hell bent on stealing what little I had
I handed over my widow's pension but you weren’t satisfied
Demanding more, you began shouting obscenities at me
You started trashing my house trying to find my jewellery
High on drugs - you were like a wild animal
Your fists rained down like bullets  … you beat me senseless
My daughter found me unconscious, lying in a pool of blood
I spent weeks in hospital
Now I’m terrified of being on my own and have moved in with my daughter
I couldn’t go back into the house I so loved


You will be out of prison in a few years…
I have a life sentence

Through their eyes 2 – Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton

08~12~16

Premium Member Hamra Street

He dresses as the fool
But does he fool you?
In clothes of rent
Torn twisted and bent

He drinks to excess
His voice is loud
He spouts obscenities
But he runs like the wind

Catch, me if you can, he shouts
The maze of traffic makes his jams
He speaks in riddles
Like old men, from ancient lands

He collects bottles and begs for lamb
He mumbles, I am homeless, kiss me hand
He is crazy for this is sure
He lives in alleys like a whore

Jets above fly overhead
Their orders received from a street called Hamra
As their armies invade, so bold  
The homeless man, their leader

The man from Hamra


Notes: Hamra Street is a somewhat famous street in West Beirut. It was one of Beirut’s trendy areas before the civil war, and was frequented by poets, writers, and intellectuals.
During the civil war, and before the Israeli invasion of 82, there was a bum who lived on Hamra Street who was really a spy for the IDF of Israel. No one paid him any attention, being a street beggar, at the time when there were many. Not only was he collecting intelligence, he was the running a network of spies at the time.

From a Lebanese restaurant/coffee shop I frequent, I am told many fascinating stories from all over the world. What a lovely feeling to sit among people of all religions, nationalities and opinions, and share life’s experiences. 

Thank you Diwan

Anyone who happens to have any first hand experiences referencing this poem, I would love to hear from them.

Portraits On the Fourth of July

A girl in the crowd takes a selfie.
Her tam o’shanter sparkles
because of the fireworks going off
in the background.
At the gates of Moscow
Tchaikovsky runs away
hands over his ears.
The girl with the cell
is as pretty as her friend beside her,
but her friend outshines the tam o’shanter
as if it were just an ordinary beret.
She has sapphires in her eyebrows.
Kids in earshot of adults
‘wow’ or mouth age-appropriate obscenities.
The limp body of a teenage messiah
is elbowed and pushed around by his disciples.
Several rows back, a woman is laughing
as she cranes her neck skyward.
From the chin up, she looks like Greta Garbo,
only she is short and fat.
Rockets fly like fan-dancing ostriches.
The truncated 1812 Overture burps to a close. 
My lens can’t capture the woman
or the girl, or her friend
who now shines like a diamond.
I can’t fit all of this into 12 mega pixels.

The night stops throwing cannonballs
at 1 a.m.

Premium Member Raped By Rejection

Imprisoned in the four walls of Rejection’s cell
The world stone deaf to the screams coming from this hell

I throw myself at the padded walls, frenzied…appalled
Self-loathing spews into my mouth leaving me galled

You see the face, read the words, but don’t understand
Rejection is pounding me down with iron hand

He shouts obscenities, strips the robe of esteem
Hand connects with my face, knocking clear every dream

He forces me down, and I lay splayed on the floor
Kicked by the memories of all he’s done before

Blooded and bruised, I pray for the end to be swift
In and out of consciousness…my deranged thoughts drift

The straight jacket of pain, he tightens every day
Oxygen deprived, each lucid thought goes astray 

Too despicably weak to break free, try to fight
Done with gruesome work, Rejection turns out the light

Tortured about the motive for his perverse glee
My need for affection makes a prey out of me

Rejection has raped me and left blood on the floor
Nearing death, I pray, he’ll lose the key to my door

Eileen Manassian Ghai
Form: Couplet


Premium Member An Unwelcome Visitor In Soup Creek

In the saloon Tom, Jenna and Tania were talking about Christmas week 
They wanted to spread some cheer for the good folks of Soup Creek 
Tom thought  Milton would make a good Santa and hoped he'd agree 
Their meeting was rudely interrupted with sounds of a noisy melee.

They went outside and Ranger David was looking very bemused
In handcuffs was a scruffy individual who was looking very confused
And had mean beady eyes with long hair and a long unkempt beard
He was shouting obscenities waving his arms and acting very weird.

Just then Sherrif Koplin appeared and asked David what was wrong
David replied "I think he's on drugs  or he's been in the sun too long
I was over by Calypso Canyon on patrol, when I came across him
He pulled a gun on me but it jammed, and said his name was Jim"

Sheriff Koplin said "he's scaring the kids we'd best get him inside 
Then I'll telegraph Doctor Keller to come and get him certified 
I'll put him in the jailhouse for his own safety and for ours too
Maybe he needs a spell in an asylum that's probably long overdue. 

The overland stage arrived next morning, Doctor Keller had arrived
It had been a long sleepless night for the Sheriff but he'd survived
Because the unruly prisoner had shouted obscenities all night long
And for a man to behave in that way something was seriously wrong.

Dr Keller had brought an assistant along, who looked like an assassin 
The doctor spoke briefly with the Sheriff then to the jail they went in
The docs assistant had a straightjacket and rope; tools of the trade
A crowd had gathered to listen to the racket that was being made. 

They came out half an hour later with the patient who was now secure
But in the scuffle had badly soiled himself and stunk of fresh manure 
Doctor Keller  approached the towns people and he had this to say
"This poor wretched man is quite sick and we'll be taking him away"

The overland stage then arrived in town and all three climbed inside
A journey to Sacramento Asylum was about a five and a half hour ride
The driver shouted and cracked his whip and they were soon on their way 
"Good riddance to you " said Sheriff Koplin "don't come back any day. 



written on 22nd November 2022
Form: Rhyme

Hillary Clinton Gone Wild

When Hillary Clinton lost on election night, she went wild.
She screamed obscenities, she was like a demented child.
She started throwing objects that weren't nailed down.
Instead of accepting defeat, she acted like a clown.
On election day, Hillary and her family prematurely celebrated.
Bill jumped up and down like a school girl but when Trump won, Hillary became exceptionally irritated.
She thought that she had the Presidency in the bag, she didn't know she would fail.
Now she's screaming "RECOUNT!" even though she has a snowball's chance in hell.
Bill went on Twitter and he posted an angry Tweet.
The Clintons are sore losers, they can't handle defeat.

(This is a true poem about the Clintons behavior when Hillary lost.)
Form: Rhyme

Apprehension Or Renunciation

For I grew weary of my life I went as drifting water,
and flowed only to the lower land to see the world open to the main, however, since drifting water is no one but my own, the world within me is troublesome as before.

For I just cannot stand there and watch the heap of obscenities so tall, 
for it is over and above my capacity to bear the pile of corruptions 
so heavy, I wished to become a puff of cloud drifting high above, 
and move along to the out of boundary of the world, and thereby 
live like hermit, disregarding all the worldly matters, 

however, my heart’s desire is not for others but my own, 
the filthiness and the depravities are, even though 
I become a puff of cloud and drifting along, 
the mind of my own.

In order to endure the terrible moment of a vicious circle,
in order to ignore the detestable life that never ends,
let myself entrusted to the time, which never will to cease

and walk on the darkness-gathering beach, however, for the footmarks 
washed away by surf were not of anyone else but of my own weight,
the every step I take therefore, the footmarks imprinted on the sand therein, 
is no one else but my own detestable life’s circles.

Is the reason I lived too long urging me to feel I do understand?
Or the reason I abandoned myself makes me think I do understand?
though very little known, from the great many unknowns in my heart in this trice.
© Su Ben  Create an image from this poem.

Portrait On the Fourth of July

A girl in the crowd takes a selfie.
Her tam o’shanter sparkles
because of the fireworks going off
in the background, and because it has glitter.
At the gates of Moscow
weary French troops run away
hands over their ears, as Tchaikovsky
fires his righteous cannons.
The girl with the cell
is as pretty as her friend beside her,
but her friend outshines the tam o’shanter
as if it were just an ordinary beret.
She has sapphires in her eyebrows.
Kids in earshot of adults
‘wow’ or mouth age-appropriate obscenities.
The limp body of a teenage messiah
is elbowed and pushed around by his disciples.
Several rows back, a woman is laughing
as she cranes her neck skyward;
from the chin up, she looks like Greta Garbo,
only she is short and fat.
Rockets fly like fan-dancing ostriches.
The truncated 1812 Overture burps to a close.
My lens can’t capture the woman
or the girl, or her friend
who now all shine like diamonds.
I can’t fit all of this into 12 mega pixels.
The night eventually stops throwing missiles
at the moon,
the girls, and women fizz out,
the kids continue to sizzle
until they are led away by dark-eyed dreams.

Orphaned Hope

. for public domain

Happiness was far too much to hope for
in a world of abuse and misery,
and more sadness not worth the talking,
but we could strike back with our tiny fists,
and smiling falsehoods never ending.

We refused to go down without a battle.
If we were fated to be put down so young,
then we chose to go raging and clawing,
hurling our anger and obscenities,
laughing wild in the face of our "betters".

Cruelty for cruelty, we repaid in kind
to all who brought us into their world
to turn their backs on us to languish so.
Knowing only undue abandonment,
likewise we turned our backs to them.

But in the quiet of the night, beneath bridges,
dark alleys, cardboard boxes on doorsteps,
lonely children dream of a loving world,  
and tears roll down burning cheeks in our sleep.
We wish it were so.  We wish it were so.

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