RAND-
y po-
TAto POets taste
tart but not 2 FART-
y TEAspoons of
grown wild goat
bot goop.
You may see me as so much smut,
in my mouth lies the hardest stone.
A single bite straight to the bone,
rotting diamond teeth will still cut.
I’ve got this age-resistant strut,
ninety proof that I walk alone.
You may see me as so much smut,
in my mouth lies the hardest stone.
Filled with such polished etiquette
the sick properties held are known.
There are things I haven’t outgrown.
With all four ‘C’s keep the door shut,
you may see me as so much smut.
My woman is
a sad French painting,
feeling.
A chardonnay and cheap red wine,
contradictory, yet refined.
My woman glitters like the chandelier of
an old world building, clear and bright.
Graceful, sensitive, secretive,
forgiving of much too much and
vengeful all the like.
Wild,
ever wild,
adventures à la mode.
Waxed in all the right places,
with hair I like to pull.
Sexy, sure of herself and confident.
Cheers to you, the other half of me
I am sure to never
find.
I sense here some things sinister—a scent
of sulphur, sulking in a sultry pit;
a serpent’s hiss, expressed from space unlit;
a warm spell spilling from some seething vent;
I find now some things filthy—foul ferment
foaming, frothing; a gaseous, gurgling slit
discharging fetid, festering, sour spit;
malignant mold in cold, cracking cement;
So languid, loath, obtuse I trepidate
on into the black bowels of my home.
Gagging back a nausea’s tepid bubble,
shivering a shudder that won’t abate,
discover I a gory catacomb.—
Woah… I see well now how bad my trouble!
Hollywood's dirty laundry exposed in the Enquirer
We drool with anticipation at the juiciness we acquire
Why do we revel so
As in smut, we wallow
It sure isn't difficult for our minds to decipher
This community of poets is very diverse
From love poems to dark poems to poems about hurt
But through it all
This jester does crawl
Some sillies, some crazies, and smut quite overt>center>
This community of poets is very diverse
From love poems, to dark poems, to poems about hurt
But through it all
This jester does crawl
Some sillies, some crazies, and smut quite overt
This community of poets is very diverse
From love poems to dark poems, to poems about hurt
But through it all
This jester does crawl
Some sillies, some crazies, and smut quite overt
This community of poets is very diverse
From love poems, to dark poems, to poems about hurt
But through it all
This jester does crawl
Some sillies, some crazies, and smut quite overt
The lims keep flowin', don't know how I do it
Guess I'm cleaning out my system, I'm full of s--t
Filled to the brim
No more can cram in
Thanks for always reading this smut I submit
This community of poets is very diverse
From love poems, to dark poems, to poems about hurt
But through it all
This jester does scrawl
Some sillies, some crazies, and smut quite overt
© Jack Ellison 2015
The winter emerged bare chested and ripe, stripped of summers hot and heavy lusty nights.
A virgin frost had formed upon the flesh of the olive branch, and the flushed face of summer's bloom slowly sank.
Cloudburst now revealed the nude turquoise of winter, which flooded the skies with its breathless chill of frigid pleasure.
Never in a rush
Keeps his meow on the hush
King of his ground
Never backs down to any hound
Smut Scarface Casanova bwana stealth of a great lion. A relaxed and gentle lover Miss Kitty
purrs a sweet sexy song when king of the junk yard pride saunters along her way.
Other toms walk a wide path around the fearsome fighter. Despite his street wise charm
And cool airs he’s a man’s man and a gunsmith assistant. Always at the ready for a great
hunt or just palling around.
He doesn’t like to be pranked yet he’s quick to reciprocate a prank given the chance.
Address the grey aged cat with all due respect and a food offering to cheer his kind soul.
He lived his life his own way and died his own way in peaceful slumber hidden warmly among
the oak leaves.
True friends are hard to find and harder to replace. Smut the grey Russian blue will forever live in
our minds fondly.
Smut old tom cat
Blind as a bat
incontinent as a baby
Casanova, maybe?
Gentle smooth lover
Naps over and over!
Smelly Smut, you casanova cat
Ladies swoon and mew to have your pat
Sleek and lean, really mean
Ladies want to be seen
Walking with the tough tom cat, so phat!
Doris-for the cat poem contest
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