Long Pimply Poems
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Enter Your Plea
All rise for the honorable judge,
some pimply-faced wiener-teen
with a computer mouse for a gavel,
a keyboard for a bench
and the whole world is on trial.
Welcome to the millennial's millennium
1000 years of cyber-bullying
sworn over oath of the holy Facebook
to rain down judgment from above
like precision guided twitter turds.
Any minor misstep makes you a target,
bully-proof vests will spare no one
for Punk-tilious is his name
and ruthless forum flaming is his game
(well, it’s that or Flappy Bird.)
Let all give ear, as he doles
expert opinion on politics, science,
sociology, psychology, and every other –ology
from his sweat-stained easy chair
in his parent’s basement. OMG WUT!??
ORDER! Order in the court,
20 million likes and three times the shares,
a jury of my peers has found
me guilty of contempt…
perhaps rightly so!
07/19/15
who left trail of heartbroken sage woman
commander in chief deliberately stoked,
née sparked long
simmering smoldering, and stewing
long festering white supremacist altercation
fiendishly igniting racial conflagration
exploding during late spring 2020.
No matter no child left behind kibitzing
(yours truly as boy plucked petals
off daisy reciting "she loves me,"
"she loves me not"...
cupid loosed an arrow
into boyhood neighborhood sweetheart
she innocently bespoke
"I wanna marry you,"
when uttered courtesy Sherry Jones,
a little girl who lived
approximately three doors down
along cul-de-sac within Apple Valley
perpendicular to Lantern Lane,
or more age apropos,
when young gallivanting
purported vestal virgin ladies
nonverbally signalled
libidinal proclamations of emancipation,
as demurely expressed
lest unlucky (chaste into)
precocious phallic proclivity
suffered the punishment
of being buried alive.
Now back to present day,
when our old geezer,
the prototype garden variety
male of present poem -
any resemblance between general referenced
fella and living persons purely coincidental.
He (yours truly) easily qualified as
overly cocky whippersnapper,
i.e. young buck and/or Casanova wannabe
experienced bit torrent
hormonal secretions gushed
particularly in close proximity
wherein wafted pheromones -
think a waif faring ingénue.
As evident and quite obvious,
I fabricate (prevaricating
my signature trademark)
rather than stating bland reality stark,
yet will plainly explain issue
in summary essential rhyme
without reason constitutes
nothing more spectacular than
garden variety generic pockmark
excised pustule ofttimes hallmark
of teenage/ pubescent pimply benchmark.
I stand at my counter
Black gloves in hands
I count out the empties
Countless bottles and cans
The pay isn't much
Working at the Beer Store
But I'm a lot better off
Than those who dirty our floors.
You've got pimply face kids
With their nervous laughs
You've to smart dressed executives
Feeling out of their class.
You've got the working class Joe
With a 24 in hand
And then there's the homeless
With cans in his hands
I shudder inside
And feel kind of sad
When I see the old man
With the cans in his hands
He walks in all dirty
Shuffling his feet
Throws his cans on the counter
Which he found on the street.
My head turns away
His breath, I can't stand
For here comes the man
With the cans in his hands.
He argues with me
When I give his change
Says those are worth more
At the bottle exchange.
He curses and swears
But he's out of luck
As he orders a Tall Boy
More beer for his buck.
I look down at the empties
Wondering where they've been
What sorrows they've drowned
What horrors they've seen.
They're shipped to the plant
To be filled up again
To give some respite
To a world full of pain.
I shudder inside
And feel kind of sad
When I see the old man
With the cans in his hands.
Lollipop, Lollipop, Lollipop
Remember way back when?
Gummy bears and peppermint sticks
Such treats when we were ten
Teenage years weren't far behind
Raging hormones and pimply skin
And puppy love so intense
It sent our heads in a spin
Soon we made it to almost twenty
Really couldn't imagine how
Our first job is a cashier at Walmart
Making real money, holy cow
We meet that sweet special someone
Our world is twirling around
Before we can say Jackie Robinson
We two are parenthood bound
We're blessed with a couple of kiddies
Relieved when they finally mature
They grow up to be a doctor and lawyer
We're peacock proud for sure
Never thought I'd see the day
When someone would call me Gramps
It all started with ice cream and lollipops
When we were a couple of scamps
© Jack Ellison 2012
Dark denizens of the night
gathering in ill-lit backrooms
haunts of the night
They tease each other with
rouged cheeks, their mascara
their pimply breasts, shaved legs
Some are known for tantalizing
tempting striptease, revealing
hairy chests and knobby knees
Their hardened faces greeting poor
unsuspecting 'straights,' who, horrified
run screaming off into the night
And now the Left has lumped these
misbegotten sickos of the night
in with today's 'civil rights movement'
of transgenders, kweers, and worse
too debauched to describe, to be
celebrated in 'Drag Queen Shows'
in our public libraries, where America introduces
her precious youngsters into the fraudulent
creepy cabals of Satanism, endorsed by 'leaders' gone mad
Andy was a pretty young girl,
Flirty, fun, always busy, in a whirl,
She was popular at school,
Was intelligent, nobody’s fool
She never was short of a date,
But this would become her fate!
There was at college with Andy,
A nerdy guy called Randy,
Always unpopular heartily disliked,
He spent time alone, always hiked,
And occasionally, biked.
He asked Andy to join him one day,
She felt sorry for Randy, decided to say
Yes, so off they went on a trip
On his bike,
She had no idea Randy was
A complete psyche,
Rode far away from people in sight,
He bludgeoned Andy to death
With might
Used his bicycle pump, threw her down,
Off a mountain, into a shallow
Lake to drown!
Rode back to college, and was in tears,
His face had scratches, her friends
Worst fears,
Were foremost in their mind,
Randy was a freak, one of a kind!
She fell of the ledge Randy lied,
As he continued his story, and cried.
A helicopter flew to the scene,
The police were at this stage keen
To discover the absolute truth,
About this nerdy looking,
Pimply, youth.
Police feared that Andy was dead
The Chief of police at a
Press conference said,
Randy killed Andy, her hair stuck to his
Bicycle pump,
Pushed her and she had landed
Below in a slump.
Randy was found guilty, sentenced to die
By lethal injection,
Which didn’t bring back beautiful Andy,
With her fair complexion!
Looking back, it seems I've made a giant plastic nest.
Plastic cars -plastic totes- plastic toys
plastic guns- plastic utensils- plastic boats
plastic bags- plastic Easter eggs- plastic remotes.
Plastic Jesus hanging from a plastic cross
a plastic grimace on his perfect plastic face.
I've fallen hard for plastics
so cheap
so practical
no more slivers of glass in the soul
It's really God-like
it's an all-around helpful entity
we can dump our excessive baggage.
It'll never complain- it never goes away...
Plastic was the answer
until it worked its way into the food chain.
Back in the day, at about the age of 7 or 8
mother(step) schooled me on how to wash dishes.
The plastic plates were the toughest to master.
Mother(step) would run her finger over the surface.
Like a pimply teenager's face, all but impossible to get rid of all the grease.
She'd disgustedly toss the plastic God
back into the greasy suds.
I'd scrub the greasy sin from my plastic God...
over and over again.
Plastic has polluted me. I have a plastic brain.
The price I pay for sleeping with plastic people.
Been searching high, been searching low
For a gal I could spend my life with
Found one but she's got a pimply bum
And real bad breath, take a whiff!
She's no dreamboat, sunken ship perhaps
She walks with a limp and she stutters
I've just got no luck, in a quandary I'm stuck
Soon be old and decrepit, and I mutter
Maybe it's me that might be the problem
No Adonis though at one time I thought so
Just coz I dribble and spit in the street
Down inside I'm really quite sweet though!
Surely there's a chance that I'll find her soon
They say there's a mate for all lovers
I'm sure she's out there, a gal I'd be proud of
Not one that has wings and can hover!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Listen to everything I tell you son
You will see that you will have fun
Go to the house of Lady Loo
Knock on the door and do what I tell you to do
So with dad’s advice at hand I knock
The most beautiful woman from Bangkok
She gave me a welcoming embrace
And looked at my pimply braced face
Then she led me through a door
Into a room full of joys and more
“Lay her on the bed”
“And handcuff her hands to it behind her head”
So I did exactly what dad had said
With my face a bright pimply red
She said “who’s son are you boy?”
With my clothes off, she screamed “Mr. Smith’s” in joy
As her eyes googled my toy
Now me knees were knocking a tune
So I dressed and was out there with a zoom
Met my dad out side
He took me home in his ride
As my braces glisten by the light of the moon
He said “ That’s an experience, wasn’t it fun”
“Now I have a man for a son”
Three months later in the papers I read
Lady Loo found dead
Her hands handcuffed behind her head
As dry as a prune on her bed
Lips that are provocative, irresistible to the kiss
Lips of an ex wife that nag, cuss and hiss
Lips that quiver at the hot tea before they slurp
Lips of the drunk that proudly burp
Lips, when a girl in a mini bends over, go Ooooh!
Lips that betray you at your wedding by saying “I do”
Lips that aid that tongue that slips
Lips that express your sadness when they pout
Lips that are bitten eventually shout out
Lips that smile
Or grimice from the pain of a pile
Red pimply lips from an ex-girlfriend you just seen
As you shout to her boyfriend “Put her down, believe me you don’t want to know where she’s been.”
Thse Mad Poety
Date: New