"bumming" poems
One day
Woke up feeling randy
No one else was handy
What's to do?
Get dressed
Satisfy the horn
With badly acted ****
On pay per view
Hopes sink
Cable's on the blink
But twitter lends a helping hand
Bang, bang, come and have a gang bang
Gain entrance on demand
Have a gang bang
Come and have a gang bang
It's a gang bang
Come and have a gang bang
Went out
Followed the directions
Battling erections
All the while
Red cheeks
Granny at the bus stop
Let her vision drop
Then cracked a smile
Half four
Knocking at the door
It opens and a voice proclaims
"Bang, bang, come and have a gang bang
We've far too many dames"
The host was a sight to see
Not far over seventy
And wrapped in a silk dressing gown
I thought I would walk away
But saw that the sky was grey
And it star-
-ted *******
It down
Stepped in
Blinded by a deep gloom
Ushered to a dark room
Curtains shut
Deep breath
Air is old and musty
Carpet feeling crusty
Underfoot
Sprawled there
Women lying bare
And fellas with their organs free
Bang, bang, cover up your **** ****
Regain your decency
Pretty gang bang
Pretty ****** gang bang
****** gang bang
Pretty ****** gang bang
Look round
Writhing on the ground
With squishy little sounds
But something's odd
Fat lass
Itching at her *** crack
Isn't that a ball sack?
Oh my god!
Jaw drops
Granny from the bus stop
Wearing nothing but a grin
Bang, bang, pretty ****** gang bang
What ******* let her in?
She's nothing but skin and bone
With ribs like a xylophone
At least several decades too old
To use the vernacular
It's like bumming Dracula
She's wiry
She's wizened
She's cold
Oh (pretty) no ******
Rasping on my ****
With fingers like a sock
Filled up with ice
No (scary) chance (hairy)
Giving her the slip
My todger's in a grip
Just like a vice
It (saggy) seems (baggy)
Like she's in a dream
While scraping with her ancient hand
Bang, bang, ****** ****** gang bang
My sore and swollen gland
Granny bang bang
Granny granny gang bang
Granny gang bang
Granny ***** gang bang
Knock, knock
Coppers at the door
Go crawling on the floor
And off at speed
What fun
Looking at the punters
Myriad of munters
As they flee'd
Cold, wet
Drowning in regret
With trousers round my knees I stand
Bang bang ****** ****** gang bang
Next time I'll use my hand
Bang bang ****** ****** gang bang
Next time I'll use my haaaaaaaaaaaaaaand!
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY-
Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that reads-
“DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY?”-
While I have and I am asking you-
Dude where is my country?
I think it was stolen my corporate monkeys-
Making us consumer junkies-
Its kind of funny-How corporations with all the money-
Make us feel like we are bumming-In search of materialistically something-
Its almost numbing how they deep drumming products in our face-
Make us feel like we have to buy-Or we will lose the race-
It’s a disgrace-Not the American way to make us feel like we smell bad without that Axe Man’s Body spray-
Or I wont feel cool unless I’m holding a latte-
And my eye glasses read dolce-
Slide a credit card man its okay-
Dig a deeper hole to your grave-
Consumer America I am your slave-
Product buying all day-
Broke as a joke-my money goes away-
My credit cards get their pay-
In minimal monthly payments anyway-
Its like a rat race-Or a never ending case-
You stay in the chase to collect what you make and the credit cards get their cake-
Its great-
Buy things you don’t need with credit cards you can’t afford-
Its all for the money-That’s why commercials go to war-
AND I LOVE IT-
I mean how can you not-A badass commercial where a dude kills a cop-gets the cold-grabs the chick-and doing it all while wearing Gillet Sport Speed Stick-
Its sick that I buy into this shit-A consumer ****** who needs another hit-
Its unfortunate-
But it’s the way it is-
Thank you Hollywood Biz-Thank you Corporate big wigs-and thank you Uncle Sam-
Without you I wouldn’t be the product buying-credit card sliding man that I am-
And before I go-
I ask you again-
DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY???
Richard A. Itskovich
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 4:47 PM UTC
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Bumming your fat knobs and insert your helmet naked and unashamed
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Kicking off kick-off, cyborgs brought face to face
Tartan sunstroke and may Mumbo Jumbo's **** all lie among you
Nine, eleven, seven, thirteen, six, quinquereme, ******** ********* Tweedledum and Tweedledee, unsocial person, erectoffensive!
This is Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
You've really ****** the naval officer
And the hatchet faces want to know whose blouses you abuse
Now it's time to evacuate the ******* if you have a free hand
This is Lance Corporal Tom to Masticated Ectoplasm
I'm fancy dress dancing through the cat—flap
And I'm groping inside a swollen grotesque sailor
And the plums look gigantically unusual nowadays
Ergo from Land's End to John o' Groats am I piddling in a crumpet slammer
Telescopic hindward the lump
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
With the proviso that I'm Ichabod celibate centipede sextillion heads
I'm fondling vigorously paparazzo
And I think my sputnik knows which direction to ****
Tell my ballbreaker I ****** her vigorously for England, she bonks
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Your menstrual cycle's kaput, there's oojakapivvygizmo spleen
Can you smell me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you get to the bottom of me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you delve into me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you...
From Land's End to John o' Groats am I vibrating ring my crumpet criminal lunatic asylum
Telescopic hindward the groupie
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
Even though they control my *****
claim over my lootie,
and they attempt to gaslight my sovereign multifrequency
I haven’t forgotten I am a certified Duesy!
You’re bumming off me, little mousie.
Even if you thought I was a loosy,
I adore my *****
I mean just look at the way it oozes,
sweet nectar that makes you goosey!
I’m too busy
keeping you alive from my *****
Orgasming at light speed to my divine presence, to behold you’d require a diamond koozie.
Call yourself a flouzy
for not respecting this sequency.
If you truly had one too, you’d understand why I am reclaiming my dignity.
They want to own what they do not revere in secrecy.
I can’t be bothered to slow down for you to drain my juicy.
I am too in love with my *****
They try very hard to downplay my power, so sussy.
Bow down or drown in this *****
Ordained into structured flowies,
life is mine, fulfillment With me can be so easy.
But if you’re not with this *****
don’t get too close you Will get dizzy!
So much life is brewing inside my *****
It’s ironic, all these dictators came through my *****
My lips spit you out even though you pretend to be so bossy.
True Power can’t be manipulated you fool, I’d be triggered too if my mind was that lousy!
Are you put off yet, *****
Awww, don’t be so fussy!
Thaw that heart out it’s too icy.
GET OUT of my *****
go elsewhere to be pissy!
Just not on my planet crazy,
you’re on your last mercy!
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 11:11 PM UTC
Blandly mother
takes him strolling
by railroad and by river
--he's the son of the absconded
hot rod angel--
and he imagines cars
and rides them in his dreams,
so lonely growing up among
the imaginary automobiles
and dead souls of Tarrytown
to create
out of his own imagination
the beauty of his wild
forebears--a mythology
he cannot inherit.
Will he later hallucinate
his gods? Waking
among mysteries with
an insane gleam
of recollection?
The recognition--
something so rare
in his soul,
met only in dreams
--nostalgias
of another life.
A question of the soul.
And the injured
losing their injury
in their innocence
--a **** a cross,
an excellence of love.
And the father grieves
in flophouse
complexities of memory
a thousand miles
away, unknowing
of the unexpected
youthful stranger
bumming toward his door.
New York, April 13, 1952
3.4k
Smoke in the summer Forget
about the winter Ash glows
like sunsets Tried it once
before Coughed till I couldn't
anymore Asthma is the worst
Once bought a soft pack
My cigarettes were soggy Buying
hard packs now What the
**** is that In my
skinny cigarette Change about fifty
Go outside the joint Ask
around for a loosie Bumming
cigs is hard Tender cigarette
After a sucky *** daze
I want you back now
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
No vices, no difference
I have some things to do tomorrow,
I think I’ll just take the wagon
I’m just waiting for something to happen
to help me make up my mind
I always imagine tragic
someone dies and they’re so close
I don’t believe in fairy tales or souls,
but I don’t even want to write their names
for fear I’ll have a hand in why they lost life’s duel
or maybe we’re all just an election away from
anarchic warring states,
where I must defend my beans and cucumbers
from slugs and marauders
If we hold it together, red China could invade
so would I rather be a prisoner or dead?
Perhaps, I’ll just meet some girl,
where I’ll feel “some” as a description does her deep injustice,
because the love will be enormous
Now, I’m courting a chickadee that’s never dull,
but her name doesn’t quite roll off the tongue
Her name is Adventure and she rolls like hills and mountains,
and speed popping truckers with their eyes and ecstatic smiles
If I’m still seeing her, I might be a gat slinging ******* out west
bumming around San Jose or Cambodiay
Hearing all that talk, I think I just want to leave,
and I guess the pay is better anyway
My mind is made up
it’s not something real
It is, was, and is still fluffed up with schooling and the words of persuasive people
their confidence in what their saying is like a lightning bolt ******* into my stem
they jammed us into waiting rooms for something called progress
they even separate the sick people
I closed my eyes to see what was real,
and saw nothing
There is no waiting room at all
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
I've been bumming rides on Earth’s enigmatic forces
With hungry fingers,
Grasping for the wind outside of car windows,
And Escaping the laws of gravity
For brief moments
Whenever the pressure becomes displaced
Just enough for my hand to float
Purposelessly…
I don’t need the hand of a craftsman,
Or a banker.
Hammering nails,
Writing big checks.
I’ll float on the wind like a gull.
Eating crumbs,
******** on strangers.
Maybe I’ll even be lucky enough for you come float with me,
Drifter I may be,
But drifters only really drift in search of company.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
A life on the ocean wave, **
In the olden days of sail
When pirate ships were proud and brave
And their crews were very male.
Captain **** stood upon his bridge
Looking smart and flash;
But below the decks, the orders were
*** and *** and the lash.
First Mate **** went to the **** deck,
His willie at the ready;
Initiation time had come
For trainee pirate Freddy.
"Thtwap him o'er that cannon, ladth!"
Roared the hirsute lisper,
"Gag hith mouth thecurely, ladth,
Thilenth hith evewy whithper."
The pirates did as he had bid -
Refuse and they'd be punished -
And they knew their turn would come
Once First Mate **** had finished.
The lisping brute went up the poor young lad
And soon was pumping away;
Poor little Fred looked rather pained -
As he wasn't really gay.
Then came the turn of the other men
And they joined in with a will;
Little Freddy could not say "no"
Until they'd had their fill.
What a life our pirates had,
Always singing shanties;
When men were men and big and butch
And the skipper wore silk *******
The pirates' frigates ruled the waves -
Good sailors feared them coming;
If captured, they'd be condemned
To a life of seaborne bumming.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
We are rain, we are tears;
we're the condensation
on your beer mug.
And we form,
and fall,
and feel forgotten
some times.
From heaven, to earth,
and back again,
we take trillions of tiny journeys—
assemble in sheets,
hover in mists/
trickle, splatter, pelt without mercy/
quietly collect and freeze/
loud as the sea, softer than the whisper
of death—easy to deflect and shatter,
with power to carve canyons.
From shoulders we
vault to elbows,
dance down arms,
scurry between legs,
squish between toes,
hurry down the drain
linger on linoleum
when you pad away
from the shower,
trailing steam down
a sweaty hallway—
to where he lays motionless,
breathing sunny
solstice dust
in a closet-sized room.
“Better”?
“Oh, much. And thanks for the towel, too”.
II.
Everything about you was flat.
I knew your hair was blonde
but also something else—
not dishwater
or *****
or even unclean—
“flat” was the only word that fit.
Flat as your face,
your chest,
the bottoms of your shoes,
and not a whole lot less scarred.
Flat as your eyes—
such eyes as I’d never seen;
not always awake—
hunting/wanting/sharp
like a scavenger’s
yet full of blind spots,
placed there by the drug
to impede self-perception—
and wantonly green.
I knew only your name.
You hung with Jim, haunting Mother’s—
just two junkies bumming change.
I was amazed you managed to survive.
House rule was
never trust a ******
but home alone,
in too much pain to care,
I let you take a shower,
borrow my towel.
We compared spinal surgeries;
vinyl siding on childhood homes;
monsters and movies;
fruits we didn’t like;
a nod to new music/
put on your red shoes and dance the blues
then places we’d go
when our ship came in;
the greasiness of the sun outside;
the final indignity of death—
anything but our lives just then.
From summer cotton to suddenly nothing—
no memory of how or why.
You spurned my offer
of a cigarette after
with a gesture so shy
and self-conscious
I felt myself growing
suspicious—then alarmed, confused,
and finally, amused
at my own lack of observation.
You weren’t hiding anything.
You just didn’t want
me to see you
as begging.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 6:53 PM UTC
I was bumming
around Halifax town,
it was dusk, or there about.
Getting cold and
in need of shelter,
I entered an old abandon apartment
that was toasted to in the worst of ways.
All to make room for progress.
There scrawled on
what would have been
the living room wall...
The words written in blood,
the funniest thing,
it read...
'Dyslexic's of the World.. Untie'
I knew I was home for the night,
no big deal, if the bleeder came back
at least he had a sense of humour.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
I’m a running kind of guy
Hopping through Bombay smoke with an open palm grasping
every cloud with my fingertips gripping
Nothing but air a
Fine man photographing
Tequila sunrises to send to his beloved waiting
Endlessly by the shore and he just
Can’t see why her phone is dropping drenched
Like his throat
(he only drinks when he wants to)
When the right time strikes never
Checks the time unless the hands hold wine and
Light his cigarette
A normal ****
Bumming rides and piling nickels thinking
The essence is different if
Spelled in french a
Running freight train aiming
For the hill for
Mullholland where
No one knows his name he’s
Alive kicking and
Screaming raging
Through the night and
Crying in the morning when
He lies sweaty and
Watches the sun rise says
**** *** to his shadow
And turns around
Just an *******
Enjoying his ****** life
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
There is nothing to do here
But dress in black
Black and leather
And walk around in the dark
Bumming cigarettes and love
Off of people
You pretend not to know
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
stumble-bumming thru "history"
the HONEST MAN
embraces the poverty offered him
by bloated kings
and their minions
who shape all the lies into a
"DEMOCRACY" sort of a thing!
the HONEST MAN
avoiding the "stain of culture"
sings his own songs
(FOR FREE!)
and accepts the villification
from the slaves
as just an expression of their own shame
the HONEST MAN
seeking authenticity
finally finds you
WILL YOU LET HIM "IN"...?
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 11:05 AM UTC
I have been reading more.
I have been tipping my waitresses more.
Stopping on intersections to pet the passing canine.
Attempting to watch what I eat.
Having strong work ethic.
Bumming a smoke.
Paying the electric on time.
Talk less about me,
Let's hear more about your day.
You, you, you.
That should sidetrack the deafening of my thoughts.
Throwing pennies into fountains,
Tossing a dollar or two to the street performer.
Seeking fulfillment.
Not there,
Not yet,
Not happy,
Not a ton.
With this pattern I await a beacon.
With this pattern I await direction.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 2:28 AM UTC
kiss me on the cheek,
hand me your cigarette,
park on the grass,
kiss em and **** em
love em and leave em.
fill my lungs with the smoke of euphoria,
fill my mind with the thoughts of nothing,
nothing at all,
nothing important.
fill my heart with your heart,
with your voice,
your strumming, drumming and bumming.
i may lose my mind, but my heart is in whole.
holes holes holes
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
People are easy to remember throughout
The years, they always stick out for some
Reason in your mind and never let go
I remember my best friend yelling down
The hall to each other and getting yelled at
By a teacher, I remember the first girl I kissed
I was standing there so awkwardly
I remember one of the my closest friends
Style never out of whack, always fashionable
Or another one who’s ok with jeans and a flannel
I remember the first girl I loved giving her obnoxious
Nicknames throughout the years for no reason
I remember my friend who stuck by me who’s been
There since day one in that English class where she
Shouldn’t have even been. I remember seeing my
Crush at college wearing that outfit stealing the show
I remember people clear throughout the years
But do they remember me at all? What do they see?
Do they see the kid bumming it to class every day?
Or that kid wearing crisp ACUs posture straight eyes
Ready, knowing the importance of what he’s wearing
Or do they see that kid beating out a fast pace on the
Road pushing himself past the breaking point to be
The best. Do they see that kid at the party outfit picked
Out by someone else to not look like a mess. Do they see
Me sitting by a fire, cold drink in my hand, shadows
Playing across my face like the demons hiding behind
Those dark brown eyes
Do they remember me? DO it stand out in their minds?
Or did I fade into existence Right after I left theirs and
Moved on?
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
Ok, doll eyes
Don't get all worried
I'm a nobody
Just a fly upon the wall
I have a face with only
Forgetful features
I'm a one night stand
Just some guy bumming smokes off fate
I never jump right in
I just circle the water
Testing it for ph levels
Testing for temperature
I stand up shaking the dripping thermometer
"Yeah go on in the waters fine"
I would rather be in the corner getting drunk alone
Watching God and the devil at war
Just an eye
Watching the goings on
I won't say that maybe
I test fate
Ok...I always do
Running off at the mouth
Saying too much
Listening too little
I don't sit there and watch the devil fight God
I jump in and lay into God's jaw
Breaking a chair on the devils groin
I'm a bleeder
A scrapper
A lover
A Mystic
A drunk
A scientist
A wizard
A thief
A warden
A friend
I just want to be everything for you
I can be all the right things
I can be all the right times
I can take a hint
Or leave it
One time I asked to pass on who wants to be a millionare
:.........on the one million dollar question
So here is your one million dollar question
In riddle form:
What has two blue eyes
That see only good
Two white hands
That only show love
And one beating heart that wants nothing more than to tell you the truth
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 12:08 AM UTC
From the saunter downtown
to the carnivals Ferris wheel
it is my wish today to tell you how I feel.
A year has now passed
come and gone
my how it flew by so fast.
Oh the times we have had.
Too many to count
bocce and ice skating and stargazing, so rad!
It’s eleven eleven so make a wish,
perhaps a reluctant dance or sing along song?
Dream on my darling, for that is rare
Just because I am nervous,
don’t think I don’t care.
Sometimes I am as reserved as a bear.
Football games, eclipses, and smoke breaks out back
from my cave to your cave
no one else can match
Oh the times we have had.
Too many to count
yoga and dinosaurs and movies (good and bad).
Climbing, hiking, running
and laying on the floor bumming
Make all the days rush by.
From the top of my trees,
to the bottom of my heart
my affections are great, and I cannot wait
to see you soon
-AM
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
The sun , the stars are always happy seeing your face in astonishing
When your excited Just for a minute,
I'm all out of puns , but now i just got bad jokes , I'll use they're times
Wisely, just for a minute,
I'm was always on some kind of medication spazzing out and bumming
but only just For a minute,
And through it all you stood by me with guardian-like intentions with
All your fears and hopes just for a minute,
Randomly assigned to make you laugh at every aspect seeing as
You have a hard time at school with kids and grades,
Kawaii nails for grabs and the girls really liked your style,
May have a lot on my plate too but I like your smile,
Trancish features , even all your teachers think your beautiful,
Sitting on the bleachers , not knowing that it's my heart that you
Really stole.
/
Scratching wood does not remind me , of your,
Squeamish Skin when I touch,
Don't think of you as a trophy, cause I'm,
Living , living in your love,
Two days would pass by me love , but it wouldn't,
Stop me from dreaming you,
Tree carvings wouldn't be the only, cause,
The cause of feeling blue,
Could ya , could ya , be a , be a,
Everything that I've been hoping for,
I could be ya , I could , I could , be ya,
Everything forever and more,
Could ya , could ya , be a , be a,
Everything that I've been hoping for,
I could be ya , I could , I could , be ya,
Everything forever and more,
Breaking all this silence between us,
Boring all these trees.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC
My guilty pleasure is not a piece of chocolate after a long day, or bumming a cigarrette off of a stranger. Rather, I guiltily find pleasure in imagining how much better you taste on my lips than those trivial pleasures. The sheer thought of your lips on me makes me guilty with an undying want for the pleasure of your lips.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
This **** is getting so old
****
Wait, another girl
I'm not surprised
You don't care
Why should you
I only gave u everything
A roof
My virginity
A child
Good lord I hate you
So ******* much
You make me hate myself
You've ruined love for me
And now that I'm seeing light
I'm seeing someone who enjoys me
Loves my eyes my curves my laugh
I'm going to be happy
Cherished, adored, wanted
While your doing you
Being a *** ******* loser
**** you
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
A painful obsession with impressing
Is controlling me.
Tickling my throat to move,
To beg for your attention.
I'm far too worried with
What sounds better,
Hey or hello?
Or is hello too stiff?
Maybe hi...
There's no words I could write or say
To undo that last goodbye.
But figuring out
What to say
Is wasting the entire night away
And you're already leaving
And I'm still, already choking
I'm so scared I'm
Bumming a drag or two.
I thought I said I'd stopped smoking.
I guess it's hard when smoke-filled lungs
Are right at home with thoughts of you.
I wish I could let the impression
That impressing matters
Swim free.
But I'm caught up
In a dead sea
Of thickening greetings
Thought up too quickly.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 2:28 AM UTC
That first puff,
the first sip,
the burn in my throat,
light headed
and shaking,
another hit
another shot,
I remember when I promised
never.
I am not
the person I used to be,
I am not
a beacon of hope,
I am a shipwreck
and I can see
the smokestacks falling
into the sea.
Sometimes I have to
remind myself I am awake,
that this is not a dream,
maybe one day
I'll wake up
and it will be.
Do not look at me
like a sob story,
do not ask
for a happy ending,
there is no ending,
this is my life
and it is
ongoing
smoke bumming
***** stealing
blunt passing
cold turkey
relapsing
screaming
screaming
screaming.
Red ribbons
and markers on posters,
this is not
the person
I was
before.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
I'm a running kind of guy
Hopping through cigarette smoke with an open heart
Grasping every cloud with my fingertips
Gripping nothing but air
A fine man
photographing tequila sunrises to send to his beloved
Waiting endlessly by the shore
And he just can't see why her phone is dripping
Drenched like his throat
(He only drinks when he wants to)
When the right time strikes
Never checks the time unless the hands hold wine
And light his cigarette
A vagabond
Some would say
Bumming rides and stealing nickels
Thinking the essence is different
If spelled in French
A running freight train
Aiming for the hill
for Mulholland
where no one knows his name
He's alive
kicking and screaming
Raging through the night
And crying in the morning
When he lies sweaty
And watches the sun rise
Says **** *** to his shadow
And turns around
Just an *******
Enjoying his ****** life.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC