"dreck" poems
Shrek is love, I told them, Shrek is dreck, they answer.
So I make this poem, to give them the cancer.
Shrek is life, I’m groaning, while they’re battering me.
I don’t care, I’m flying, over the devilry.
I don’t care that I bleed, because my Shrek is here.
I know he’s behind me, with strong ogre muscles.
He will venge what they did, and feel them with sweet fear.
Stronger than an army, he’s only leaving skulls.
But what if he succumbs, what if he expires ?
No, you cannot get him, he is stronger than God.
Wonder from where he comes, maybe he pulls the wires.
The bullies were all gone, thanks to my green best friend.
And just for all he’s done, friendship does never end.
Shrek is love, Shrek is life, and Shrek is everywhere.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 9:19 AM UTC
The first comment
I received
a **** you"
with a smiley face
I laughed off
wouldn't you?
Kind of crazy
kind of creepy
put it away as some one
we all know.
The second comment
came
with the usual language refrain
I was a "hack"
my words were "dreck".
The disparaging words about
my dead mother
gave me pause to reflect.
The third comment and more
began to recall
information of past
faux pas
secret affairs
one or two personal pecadillos
never mentioned beyond
the
dialogues in my mind.
Embarrassing I know.
I, of course,
went to the home page
to see
if it was someone
known to me.
No identifying data
but a picture I remembered vaguely
from a past I didn't know.
The trolling continued
relentless I would say
pulled the plug
put up a block
but
wouldn't you know
The comments continued
to come into my dreams
brutal criticism
of
every move I made
the day finally arrived
when I realized
Alter personalities were shedding off of me
like
psychological psoriasis
They were
hitting the ground running
I was
finding poems
I didn't remember writing
clothes I never bought
People kept hugging me
I had never met before
they
knew me far to well
called me many names
none of which were mine.
The silence of my nights were broken
when I found myself
in my car on Highway 101
returning from where I did not know
with a smile on my face
illegal drugs in my pocket.
How did I get here?
How did we get there?
Where are we now?
Another account opened
on Hello Poetry
with an anagram of my name.
I find my days
getting shorter and shorter
it became clear
I had become the dream
The others
had become me.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
The battle is upon us
We can finally put ourselves to the test
Memories of the past still haunt us
We fight for freedom so that our minds can rest
Easy knowing that we took a stand
Against twisted beasts of human form
I hold my blade in a trembling hand
I'm ready to weather this mighty storm
*I thought i was a man ready to protect
but now i can't even stand *****
watching my team mates feet and necks
be crushed by these mountains of dreck.
I have't even started combat but i am seeing the light
now here one comes what is the point of putting up a fight?*
Most of us won't see tomorrow
Why is Armin so frightened?
Is he just going to stand there
And get eaten by a titan?
I need to protect him
He's one of the last things I've got
And I can't let a monster dissect him
My targets locked
I'm going in for the nape
This wretched creature
Will never escape
*Without being able to solve this place's puzzle
I will my life will end by being guzzled
By a ******* belligerent beast
Only looking for its next feast
How could we have a king when these monstrosities rule this domain
Our society might all as well burst like there's a flame over propane
It is a fitting end for this monarch's curious servent
being killed by the real king for being too observant
Hey I am a king too I guess... of cowards, my friend's blood is my moat
And their pieces of the mangled bodies will be my mink coat
Now I am slipping down this demons throat, it doesn't matter who I am
***** this... Wait what is this grabbing my hand?*
I won't let him go
What lies beyond these walls?
We've always wanted to know.
How could he surrender to fear?
The look in his eyes
We can't die here.
I'll trade my life to keep his going
As I slip into the belly of the beast
My sense of urgency is growing
All I see are the bodies of comrades who have tasted defeat
The light is fading
Why is existence so bleak?
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
_Acceptance that in this life
Blood and sinew define me
And yet my mind can fly,
Doesn’t come easily.
To find the pivot point,
The sweet spot where form and fancy
Co-exist in perfect balance,
Eludes me most of the time.
To lose myself in the dreck of daily life dulls my spirit;
To reject the limitations of my reality
Leaves me stranded in the in between spaces
Where discontent, longing and self-doubt flourish.
Engaging in this power struggle
Between my earth and my ether
Leads me to gainsay one half of my whole,
Either or, vice versa, within or without.
To find a ***** in my own armour,
To prise open the gap,
To embrace the paradox which is this person named “I”,
And walk the tightrope with panache...aha!_
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 7:02 PM UTC
In this world of refuse
Disposable items outweigh disposable income
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
a refugee from Yale, and the stale stench
of old money, he took a job with the park service
where he maintained outhouses,
and got high in the cover of cottonwoods
this crap crew job gave him no
deferment from the draft, so he landed in Can Tho
he didn't clean outhouses there--little people did,
stirring his dreck in burning diesel for 75 cents a day
when his Huey was shot down in the
Mekong, only he and his door gunner survived
they hid, submerged in paddies until dark
hearing faint but ferocious voices of the VC
who never found them--and they made the
miracle mile back to base camp, covered in muck
that smelled like dung; a scent that stuck
with him in dreams, no matter how much he bathed
when he came home, he again labored
for the forest service, and asked for ********* duty
fearing if he lost the smell,
he would lose himself as well
.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
HP is breeding . . .
Forum for hack formalists,
. . . Dreck is deafening.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
Dance me a song dreck thinker.
Let the ocean wash away your thoughts of rain.
Understand scars are forever but so are diamonds.
And every night you'll dream again.
You'll never comprehend the dark like the moon
Or the light like the sun.
Learn that only Monty python knows the meaning of life, and where the holy grail is.
So stop searching and just appreciate uncertainty.
Then sing me a dream because I'm tired of screamed night terrors.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
To be sung to ***** Laundry"
by Don Henley
We have a little story
That we could tell
We have a little poison
In our inkwell
Let's be a gossip
Let's be a shill
Give us the 'ol Pulp Bitchin'.
We peep through the windows
And listen at doors
We buy the "Enquirer"
And "The Star" at the stores
"She ***** herself"
And "She's a *****
***** little minds galore!
Give us the 'ol Pulp Bitchin'.
Have a li'l "lady"
Who's fast and free
I've heard she's been a prossy
That she's easy
Nothin' nice to say?
Come sit by me!
Give us the ol Pulp Bitchin'
Could have been emeritus
Could have been a great
But I pound out nothing
But dreck and spate
So what if it's full of hate?
You don't really want to know
If it's real or true.
It's not what they SAY
it's what you they DOO DOO
DON'T YOU WORRY WHAT
I THINK OF YOU
(THAT YOU ALL POO POO 💩)
Give us the old Pulp Bitchin'
Kick 'em while they're up
Kick 'em while they're down
(1, 000, 000, 000 000, 000 X)
🎯 Write of Passage
***** Laundry"
I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something
Something I can use
People love it when you lose
They love ***** laundry
Well, I coulda been an actor
But I wound up here
I just have to look good
I don't have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us ***** laundry
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em all around
We got the bubble headed
Bleached blonde
Comes on at five
She can tell you 'bout the plane crash
With a gleam in her eye
It's interesting when people die
Give us ***** laundry
Can we film the operation
Is the head dead yet
You know the boys in the newsroom
Got a running bet
Get the widow on the set
We need ***** laundry
You don't really need to find out
What's going on
You don't really want to know
Just how far it's gone
Just leave well enough alone
Eat your ***** laundry
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're stiff
Kick 'em all around
(Kick 'em when they're up)
(Kick 'em when they're down)
(Kick 'em when they're up)
(Kick 'em when they're down)
(Kick 'em when they're up)
(Kick 'em when they're down)
(Kick 'em when they're stiff)
(Kick 'em all around)
***** little secrets
***** little lies
We got our ***** little fingers
In everybody's pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love ***** laundry
We can do the innuendo
We can dance and sing
When it's said and done
We haven't told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us ***** laundry
Don Henley
If the shoe fits...
SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2022
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 10:24 AM UTC
I thought the full English breakfast was wonderful
But oh dear, oh dear
Sub Parr
The Xmas lunch, truly spectacular, turkey golden,
crisp skinned. Vegetables cooked to perfection
Xmas pudding flaming blue
Fresh cream and brandy butter
Log fire warm and bright
But oh dear, oh dear
Mediocre
The best of wines money could buy
Port, cheese platter
10 year old brandy following
But oh dear, oh dear
Sub par
Mediocre
Dreck
Oh oh oh
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
must be a local now,
and doin something
right...
just got my logain badge
my work dreck to his sight
redundant too
whoo!!! hoo!!!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
in black sky above us, the shreiks
of the shells cut the air, sharp, until
the dreaded booms which tell us
how close
how close the rounds landed
to our trench, where we hunker, drenched
in dreck, mud and blood, an unwilling
audience to this martial symphony
screams stream skyward
and comingle with the next volley,
a cacophonous courtship of vibrations,
invisible, but we know it's there
a miserable marriage of metal
and flesh--monkeys made into men
who ****** their own; who are determined
to sing these sour songs
when the lobbies stop, the only sounds
are the winds, the ones which will gently carry
the sounds of men moaning, crying,
praying for silence
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
^^^^^
What is little Lóg made óf?
What is little Lóg made óf?
What is little Lóg made óf?
Inadequate
And lack óf a wit
That's what little Lóg's made óf.
What is little Thee made óf?
What is little Thee made óf?
Subpar and dreck
A pain in the neck
That's what little Thee's made óf.
What is little I made óf?
What is little I made óf?
Mediócre
Ón-line próvóker
That's what is little I's made óf.
What is Carvó's art made óf?
What is Carvó's art made óf?
Mónótónes
Óf egó, full blówn
That's what Carvó's art's made óf.
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to Little Boys and Little Girls)*
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
Who breaks hearts anymore? Break mine. Conversation is not my strong point. Nor is quality poetry. But here I am, nevertheless. Peering over the chasm that separates legit poetry from the ravings of a lunatic. Slapping it down as if it were the former on a website, a deadsite, devoted to the highest art in all it's levels of quality. Listening to an old Steve Forbert record and not caring that no one who reads this will have a clue to who Steve Forbert was and especially with why I'm listening.
But you oughta know
It's a necessary ingredient in Brutal Juice
You ever heard of Romeo?
He never sang to Juliet
I'd let you know why but there are too many prying eyes spying trying to find themselves in the Juice's style and besides this ain't about Romeo just his tune and that's what keeps me going back to Jackrabbit Slim
No, tossing in obscure references does not elevate it to the level of quality poetry
I've tried that enough times to know
Sad fact is Brutal Juice flatters himself to type such dreck into a text field for to post on such a regal Internet destination for poetry that ranges from the silly to the sublime
Brutal Juice hovers somewhere between those poles
All the while wondering
Why he bothers
He's a joke without a punchline but funny as hell for all that at least to the few who sit in the same bathtub
Who rub-a-dub in the same Juice
Orange Simpson, rotting away behind concrete walls
And Brutal Joyce, retired and misunderstood
Yes, maybe only the three of us
It will hurt my feelings if you pull your snob **** peanut butter tude on me because you are a foreigner with an ever-so-subtle difference in vernactitude. My spell check tells me that "vernactitude" is not an actual word and that's just great, it's exactly what I was looking for.
Look deep but not too deep and you'll possibly find something worth keeping from Brutal Juice but I don't guarantee it. It's worth a
Try
I ain't trying to be King Fool here, that position is already taken, but it's **** hard to write and listen to Steve Forbert at the same time...
....and don't nobody tell me to choose one or the other....
that's not how I roll
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
^^^^^
Simple Carvó
Simple Carvó met a Larvó
near nórth Bedlam square.
Says Simple Carvó tó the Larvó
Inspire me if yóu dare!
Says the Larvó tó Simple Carvó
I ónly deal in dreck.
Says Simple Carvó tó the Larvó
"I's" dung, só what the heck!
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to Simple Simon)*
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
^^^^^
Bah, Bah Crappó
Bah, bah Crappó
Have yóu any gruel?
"Yes sir, yes sir. Dreck and stóól.
Sóme fróm Thee master
And sóme fróm Lógbrain
But meds fróm the men in white
Whó knów "I's" insane."
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to the Black Sheep)*
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
unfettered thoughts
scattered like spilt
coin on slippery cobbles brass, silver,and gold
all lie gleaming
on the steaming
.... . ....stone.
small thoughts
and large
spent along the way
these here,now,
are the dross
and dreck of the day.
one by one,
regained and
pocketed,
so gently,
put away,
at rest,
at last,
weary mind,
and tired bone.
all thoughts now,
neatly
tucked up
inside of my head.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
How To Know How to Crów
I only know…
how to crów…
and for that matter how snot to blów...
to flush Thee's I lids, filled with sóót…
and trample others underfoot…
and swizzle Lóg's inadequate mediocrity in beer…
and discontent so insincere…
to bake a subpar leaking **** insult…
of the egómania egó cult…
as self-serving accolade…
and act the quade, though never laid…
and dig a swirling dreck cascade…
as Carvó's paintings quickly die and fade…
within Thee's stinking I parade…
for three art and two art and one art for zero art...
We (I and Thee) can only obsess to tear HP apart.
*Original ('How To Know Not To Know') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
Stick my phone into the wall--
hoping no one trips on the cord.
No mobile phones in this dark age
and computers haven't come of age.
My TV has cable but the picture's curved.
Static makes it look so old
and my frozen dinner's gotten cold!
I shut it off and think: at least
I've got a huge stereo
with a dual tape deck.
Listening to New Wave
is much better than televised dreck.
Maybe someday they'll make it digital
but it won't be quite the same.
I'm as happy as a person can reasonably be
in the year 1983.
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 1:26 PM UTC
"Two dead fieldmice, rigid as boards,
"Two suppurating corpses of foot-and-mouth sheep,
"Two fat vultures, their gobs choked with putrid carrion,
"Two flea-infested, plague-ridden rats,
"Two rabid wolves, drooling jowls dripping with lethal froth,
"Two cancerous wildcats, eyes shrieking out in agony,
"Two squashed pet dogs, breed unknown,
"Two mangy, skinny, louse-covered buffalo,
"Two shit-sodden pigs rotten with unspeakable internal disorders...."
The list seemed endless as each page revealed a fresh useless horror.
Noah turned to his supplier, the swarthy Ike, and said:
"Vot for you should bring me this load of dreck already, you putz?
******* like this I don't vant for my Ark, yet!
"Better quality I can get from Rueben Rosenberg any day, already"
"Rueben's shut on Saturdays, my dear" said Ikey,
Looking a bit uncomfortable and sweating under his skullcap.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
**** bruh! call a bo[ɑ]mb squa[ɑ]d
'cause she's a bomb—
—shell, whose rear evokes a somewha[ʌ]t
unholy, wro[ɑ]ng thou[ɑ]ght
reminds him of a jihadi-done jo[ɑ]b
'cause this bum's (boom) banging; this honey's dancing
boldly & lewdly, got his ja[ɑ]w dro[ɑ]pped
she's beyo[ɑ]nd "ho[ɑ]t"
this gA̲l's freaking blazing
his hand's in offensive motion for her hind part
a haptic invasion
she moves on from wining to fondling, she's eager
like someone punished by dI̲nt of
a guillotine, his head's lost as she seductively strI̲ps her—
—self naked; she says: "make me
high as a rooftO̲[ɑ]p nearly reaching
the sky; give me a tI̲me so exquisite
that I̲'ll be left speechless
when this ro[ɑ]mp's over"
she's none short o'... a mind-blower, like a gun-toter
blowing a brain of a power-drunk mo'fuh
————————————————————————————————
she goes out just like a la[ɛ]mp as a co[ɑ]n—
[the "out like a light" expression]
—sequence of their bout of high-octane carnal fun
as against the hero of tonight who ca[ɛ]n't catch
sleep; he's still wide awake af—
—ter more than ane half
of a twenty-fourth of day passed
his mind's got diverse thou[ɑ]ghts
going one after another, like a race track
occupied by sport cars
he's a nobo[ɑ]dy who's ended
up having a great tI̲me with a splendid
woman, which he's now lying in bed with
with his existence being nO̲ne but pathetic
he's been, like a person with whom O̲ne isn't ca[ɛ]ndid
in the dark &, processing the world as highly offensive
from a sociopolitical point, wa[ɑ]nting a vengeance
just li̲ke vigila[ɛ]ntes
he's up in arms, due to pieces of vI̲ce-ridden dreck with
their eyes blinded with pelf &
power; a hE̲A̲rt-damaged a[ɛ]nti—
—hero with little avE̲nues to spout the
anger, who seems to have found a
source of light he doesn't wish to be outta
he hopes she won't slyly desert him
the subsequent morning
if she arises before him
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 4:12 AM UTC
Good poems killed by
dreck with a thousand hashtags;
murderous silence.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
O! That you know me so well!
The story my shadows tell
A death knell
A dead one
In the light of the the your night-falling words
What manner corpend?
That you would portend
The growing clouds
The viscious wind
The vacuous void
The abysmal end
As you wish
To draw my ire
My flames of burning desire
Engulfing as fire
I shall surely make you feel your bones as ash
Make me now an eater of soul!
My carefully concocted creations
Aiming squarely as arrow in bow
Being drawn as a portrait of your mechanations
Your confusion
Your naiveté
Your goals
All meaningless
All your nothingness
All your dreams to be as I am
You have assaulted my art loving ears
With pure dribble
Tripe and dreck
Trite and dretch
A sketch by an amateur artist
Back-handed and drawing with the left
Make me now an eater of soul!
A hand touching darkness
Grabbing it neatly
And delivering it as it is
To you
On a silver platter
These jaws of a lover
Growing fangs
As you want
Becoming the jaws of hell
Eater of soul
O! That you know me so well!
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
eines Tages sind wir weg
irgendwo sorgenlos und frei
frei ganz ohne Leid und Schreck
sag mir weißt du schon wo?
Vorstadthaus oder Leben im Dreck?
Glücklich werden wir sein
wir zwei in unserem fernen Versteck
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 2:22 AM UTC
^^^^^
Little Lóg Carvó
Little Lóg Carvó
crept like a larvó
trailing Thee's egó in dreck.
And nót lóng thereafter
the muck óózed with laughter…
yes, leaving Lóg Carvó a wreck!
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to Miss Muffet and the Spider)*
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC