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Best Poems Written by Joseph Demarco

Below are the all-time best Joseph Demarco poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Joseph Demarco Poem

Poker

The suicidal King and the one eyed Jack
Were perusing the bar for a late evening snack
"How's her?" asked the Jack.
"Too thin," said the King.
"I like the women...
with bottoms that swing."
"How's she?" asked the King.
"Too plump," said the Jack.
"I like the women...
with a nice tight rack."

The Queen of Hearts pulled her panties up with a snap
And shoved The Beast's craw off her god forsaken lap
Shut her eyes, held her breath and rolled out of bed
And tiptoed out the door
Without a word said,
The Beast was OK
An Ace he was not
Confused, she strolled to the bar
for a late evening shot

"You pig," cried the Queen
"Who me?" pleaded the King.
"I can't believe you have the decency
To still wear your ring."

The king looked her up and down,
sole to soul and foot to crown
He knew something was wrong, 
almost RIGHT AWAY
For one, there was a smile on her face
That seemed to last ALL DAY

"You slut," cried the King
"Who me?" questioned the Red Ace
"Not you!" said both King and Queen
"How could you stand there and lie to my face
with your button half undone
and your stockings out of place?"
"How could you?" cried the King.
"You don't deserve to wear that crown
With your bra strap twisted up
And your dress falling down."

"I'm leaving," protested the Queen
And she would've I know
Except sometimes
Love waits until the last minute to show

"Wait," cried the King, but he stopped
He had decided to call her bluff
And he turned his back
Even though it was tough
Because also sometimes 
Loving someone just isn't Enough.

By: Joseph DeMarco

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Aumakua Rant

I was running up the mountain, 
Just dog tired,
Suffering,
My mind drifting 
Between the Infinite Rift.
My Aumakua (spirit animal) stops on a branch nearby.
He starts to chirp a mile a minute.
I cannot understand him.
For a second I imagine his chirps as something other than sounds.
This is what the little bird might have said,
"If Friends come and go
Enemies must 
Stay and stop
Or what happens 
If I don't think?
Does that mean
I am not?
Could I just fizzle away
into the immaterial matter in the air?
Become one with the universe,
Dissipate like the wind
Which has a pulse and a spirit 
And a really bad temper.
The wind gets really pissed 
If you break its rules.
For every reaction
There is a bell that goes off in a parallel universe 
And two porcupines make love very carefully
Until one of them pokes the other
In the way that poking is bad..."
I put my finger in my ear, and realize the bird is still chirping and chattering, But for some 
reason I can't understand him any more. Maybe I never could.


-Joseph DeMarco

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This Is the Story of How We Begin To Remember

We hardly remember the truth
Victims of the Great Forgetting
We hardly recognize that history is popular culture
A screenplay of the past written by the victor

Just look at Thomas Jefferson
Author of the Declaration of Independence 
With his quill scribing the words, "All men are created equal."

We hardly think of him slinking back to his slave plantation
Grabbing one of his African slave mistresses 
and having his way with her
His love puppet 
Of which he had a harem

My ninth grade teacher (whom had tenure) 
whispered from the side of his face
The only thing Columbus discovered 
Was those people he called Indians
Which we now call Native Americans
were savages in the sack
And the only thing he brought back 
from the New World was syphilis 

We hardly look at the big picture
which is that we are destroying ourselves
We cannot continue to keep living 
the way we are living 
And not expect civilization to collapse

We are so short sighted
We hardly see history repeating itself
We are Rome 
And quite sadly Nixon is our Nero
Hardly a hero
It won't be long before 
The clock strikes zero

By: Joseph DeMarco

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A Mermaid's Wish

The (not-so-little) mermaid stares down
between her scales,
to the spot where the sun don't shine.
A look of concern dawning on her face,
she can't help but wonder
(not what it might be like to have legs
Or to walk and run)
but what it might be like to have a p#$$y
or who-ha if p#$$y is too dirty.
She has v@***@ envy.
For although she has been 
blessed with a bodacious pair of puppies,
or tatas or breasts if puppies and tatas offend you.
She feels incomplete with out the who-ha
or c##t if who-ha is too clean.
She saw the word in a dirty magazine,
that her friend gave her,
and now whenever she gets the chance,
She swims to the surface,
and stares at the pictures
of women spreading their meat curtains,
or showing off their honey pot, if meat curtains is too pejorative.
She fantasizes about having that bearded clam between her legs,
About taking her fingers and parting those luscious lips
Perhaps fishing around down there
Although she doesn't know why men use that term
The v@***@ is not like a fish
It is more like a flower.
She stays in that spot, 
studying and staring at where all life begins 
envious that she herself
does not have a heart-shaped box.

Details | Joseph Demarco Poem

Have a Wonderful Summer Break

Twas the day before Summer Break
And all through the school
Not a single kid was studying
or following one single rule
The books were all stacked in the corner with care
while paper and spitballs
were airborne everywhere
The children would not listening to what teacher said
For visions of vacation
danced in their head
They'd have parties and picnics plus get to sleep in
The only downside was dealing
with their family and kin
But that was a really very small price to pay,
Just a very small sum
Because Sweet Summer Break had at long last come.
The clock ticked toward three,soon they'd be free
Half left their seats before teacher could decree,
Have a wonderful summer break


By: Joseph DeMarco

Details | Joseph Demarco Poem

Dear Miss Rigby,

The Beatles are frozen underground
Like some sort of Prehistoric Cave Drawing,
Art Incognito.
The Ground is Hard
And my Fingernails break.
The Clay inbeded in my DNA,
Some part of me is Buried
Should I attend my own Funeral?
Nobody Else seems to be going
The Eulogy is short and unsweetened,
There are no Tears.
It hasn't rained in days,
I long for the tropics,
Where things make more sense.
I long for that girl
from long ago
who was never anything
but beauty personfied.
The butterfly on her lower hip
flutters and is perhaps my heart.
Desire is an impossible suspect,
My fingers slide under her yellow underwear
Past the Tattoo which dances,
Subtly stopping to admire the colors of her wings
The Moment is perfect.
The Cold outside in perfect contrast 
To the warmth I feel for her,
beneath the Reptilean Skin
I crawl looking for this moment
Because that is all I can do
To pass the time

Details | Joseph Demarco Poem

The Persistence of Memory

We all hear the internal clock ticking,
A self-contained Doomsday device,
Melting like a candle in the desert heat

Shaded by our consciousness,
We try to ignore the Fun House mirrors 
That manipulate our memory.

Our minds as flat as pancakes 
Are screaming for persistence 
And there's something that looks slightly like a deflated goose on the sand. 

Our memories are not real
They happen to be past-tense fantasies
Reality souped-up on steroids

Hounding us like a dog
we bargain with memory 
and give in to its demands

By: Joseph DeMarco

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Magic Words

In the land of the lost
They dug up a book of magic spells today
No one had seen spells like this before
Some of them were extremely weird
The cover of the book said:
PO--etry
And the people wondered if PO-etry was a black or white magic. The book was sent to an 
expert in magic and his assistant for examining.

Look at page 82
"Mumps on the breast
sleepless rest
Eastless west
I didn't have to study for my urine test."

or
page 97
"Crazy insane
painless pain
evaporating rain
nothing changes perception
quite like the brain."

or how about
page 115
"Vision blurred
brain is slurred
this is what happens
when I think like the herd."

The expert in magic confirmed it was white magic and shared the spells with everyone. The 
spells brought wonder and joy to the people in the land of the lost. And perhaps that is magic 
in itself.

Details | Joseph Demarco Poem

Fantasies

Orgies are best left 
to the hobbits, elves and dwarfs,
imaginary

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I Met a Young Girl, She Gave Me a Rainbow

Black Pearls

and Broken ocean shells

Cannot stop my love for you



We are shipwrecked

on a jagged reef

A pirate's treasure of booty

with nothing to spend it on



The curse is on now

it is the dark time

and the thunder clouds

grumble and groan



The rainbow above us

is not artificial

As Dylan holds that note

like a little kid holding

onto a helium balloon



He yanks it out of the sky

like a promise

not yet fulfilled

an idea incomplete



Our folly is funny

fumbling footloose

through the pillars of time



The color and sounds

continue to fall,

run, sparkle and fade



"And what did you see my darling young one?"

Her lips are dry

her throat parched

The words wobbling in her mouth

"Were you wounded in hatred or love?" she asks.

But she already knows the not-so-simple answer

when she looks in my eyes


By: Joseph DeMarco