"fink" poems
I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life.
First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:
"Don't! I'll tell awful things about you!"
"Oh yeah? Well, I've nothing to hide ... OUT!"
Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:
"It's not my fault! I'm not the cause of it all!"
"OUT!"
Then Love, cooing bribes: "You'll never know impotency!
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!"
I pushed her fat *** out and screamed:
"You always end up a ******
I picked up Faith, Hope, Charity
all three clinging together:
"Without us you'll surely die!"
"With you I'm going nuts! Goodbye!"
Then Beauty ... ah, Beauty—
As I led her to the window
I told her: "You I loved best in life
... but you're a killer; Beauty kills!"
Not really meaning to drop her
I immediately ran downstairs
getting there just in time to catch her
"You saved me!" she cried
I put her down and told her: "Move on."
Went back up those six flights
went to the money
there was no money to throw out.
The only thing left in the room was Death
hiding beneath the kitchen sink:
"I'm not real!" It cried
"I'm just a rumor spread by life ... "
Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all
and suddenly realized Humor
was all that was left—
All I could do with Humor was to say:
"Out the window with the window!"
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
I want you
So into you
Love to love you baby?
Precious
******
I fink you freaky
Choke me, spank me
*** drugs and rock n roll
Foxy lady
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was,
That 'Un I got so slick.
I couldn't see 'is face because
The night was 'ideous thick.
I just made out among the black
A blinkin' wedge o' white;
Then biff! I guess I got 'im crack --
The man I killed last night.
I wonder if account o' me
Some ***** will go *****
And 'eaps o' lives will never be,
Because 'e's stark and dead?
Or if 'is missis damns the war,
And by some candle light,
Tow-headed kids are prayin' for
The Fritz I copped last night.
I wonder, 'struth, I wonder why
I 'ad that 'orful dream?
I saw up in the giddy sky
The gates o' God agleam;
I saw the gates o' 'eaven shine
Wiv everlastin' light:
And then . . . I knew that I'd got mine,
As 'e got 'is last night.
Aye, bang beyond the broodin' mists
Where spawn the mother stars,
I 'ammered wiv me ****** fists
Upon them golden bars;
I 'ammered till a devil's doubt
Fair froze me wiv affright:
To fink wot God would say about
The bloke I corpsed last night.
I 'ushed; I wilted wiv despair,
When, like a rosy flame,
I sees a angel standin' there
'Oo calls me by me name.
'E 'ad such soft, such shiny eyes;
'E 'eld 'is 'and and smiled;
And through the gates o' Paradise
'E led me like a child.
'E led me by them golden palms
Wot 'ems that jeweled street;
And seraphs was a-singin' psalms,
You've no ideer 'ow sweet;
Wiv cheroobs crowdin' closer round
Than peas is in a pod,
'E led me to a shiny mound
Where beams the throne o' God.
And then I 'ears God's werry voice:
"Bill 'agan, 'ave no fear.
Stand up and glory and rejoice
For 'im 'oo led you 'ere."
And in a nip I seemed to see:
Aye, like a flash o' light,
My angel pal I knew to be
The chap I plugged last night.
Now, I don't claim to understand --
They calls me Bonehead Bill;
They shoves a rifle in me 'and,
And show me 'ow to ****
Me job's to risk me life and limb,
But . . . be it wrong or right,
This cross I'm makin', it's for 'im,
The cove I croaked last night.
2.7k
See the Republican,
Hop, hop, hop.
Hack up the welfare laws
Chop, chop, chop.
See him getting wealthy,
Shop, shop, shop.
Watch all our forests go
Drop, drop, drop.
Teflon coated Republican,
Crook, crook, crook.
Put him in a prison cell,
Book, book, book.
Fine him for every dime he
Took, took, took.
Check out his finances,
Look, look, look.
Hear the Republican,
Lie, lie, lie.
Selling out constituents,
Sigh, sigh, sigh.
Writing up new voting laws,
Cry, cry, cry.
Cutting breaks for all the rich,
Why, why, why?
Smell the Republican,
Stink, stink, stink.
Defender and a patriot,
Wink, wink, wink.
Master of the magic trick,
Blink, blink, blink.
Hater of the common man,
Fink, fink, fink.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.
That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.
Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.
in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
cuz she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.
The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting backriding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.
and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is looking old
and I’m feeling cold as steel.
but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.
seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and you're lost in the Harper's Bazaar.
My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.
and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and ***** up our wires
and leave our *** life on the brink.
Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.
And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day when you'd hold me and say
that I'm the THE ONE you've always wanted.
But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweatpool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.
Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.
Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
.
night streets and scars of light
scarves of light
moving subtle bustles of shadowed light
carvings of royal light robes of velvet light
make out expressionist doorways
strobes of light fink and fit in protest
coding behind enemy lines
captured light fires colourful snakes about
in flaring curved science tubes
flagging the bartering night flogging the
urban night
we've made apparition in honour of daylight
and out of the theatre fear
of our own bogged nature
synthetic ghosts of light
charge away ghosts
electronic noises scare away
the horrifying lull of the dead
(a dead we don't believe in)
twenty four seven behaviour
to busy away the very spirits we have hungered
and to plot against
all that unnecessary sleep business
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 9:53 AM UTC
Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.
That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.
Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.
in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
'cause she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.
The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting back-riding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.
and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is looking old
and I’m feeling cold as steel.
but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.
seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and you're lost in the Harper's Bazaar.
My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.
and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and ***** up our wires
and leave our *** life on the brink.
Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.
And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day that you'll hold me and say
I was always the THE ONE that you wanted.
But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweat-pool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.
Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.
Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
She buys a torn and faded map
All the continents are misshapen
The rivers smudged.Her faith is
inexhaustible. So here I am,
the bridge she will never cross.
The cataratic mapmaker rubbing his
eyes knowing only one route.
I stand on the other side
watch her put on a mask
so we will know exactly
how she feels, watch
her turn away
with map in hand
watch her
as she gets
smaller
and smaller.
I am on the otherside,
sitting on a chair,
in an empty room
in an abandoned house,
the windows have been boarded shut.
With my finger I erase
the ring of water
left behind by her glass.
It is true that I loved
her. I am gaunt
and my ribs are showing.
copyright c.a. leibow 2007
Published in Rat Fink Review
Apr 23, 2024
Apr 23, 2024 at 3:12 PM UTC
And leave it to Turturro
To steal the movie again,
A tour-de-force in a single character,
Repeatedly, consistently . . .
Except maybe one time.
"Raging Bull" 1980:
Turturro was "Man at Table,"
Uncredited, of course,
A man of no words,
A role difficult, constraining for any
Would-be Richard Burton,
Some shrew-taming Petruchio,
Over the top & out of a job,
Again.
Ask any director who
Directed in the 1950s and 60s?
"Difficult to handle," says Unanimous,
Auteurs & Schlock Filmmakers,
Alike.
Turturro too, needs special handling,
Or Jesus Quintana will chew up the scenery,
Emilio Lopez will be sneaky-sneaky-sneaky,
Materializing without warning over & over
Again.
Turturro: veteran of 60+ films,
*Barton Fink, Miller's Crossing,
Fading ****** The Color of Money,
Do the Right Thing,
O Brother, Where Art Thou?*
Turturro TV: Frazier, Monk & Miami Vice.
And others.
Turturro: a Brooklyn boy, Italian,
Roman-Catholic, the son of Katherine,
An amateur jazz singer who worked in a
Navy yard during World War II, &
Nicholas Turturro, a carpenter &
Construction worker who fought as a
Navy sailor on D-Day.
Turturro: attended the State University of
New York at New Paltz, completed his
MFA at the Yale School of Drama.
A life most worthy, capped off with
Amedeo & Diego, his two sons.
So, I'd like to thank The Academy,
In advance yet decades overdue:
A Lifetime Achievement Award, Johnny.
Recognition over the long haul.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
Starkle, starkle, little *****
Who the hell are you I think.
I'm not under what you call
The alcofluence of incohol.
I'm just a little slort of sheep,
I'm not drunk like thinkle peep.
I don't know who is me yet,
But the drunker I stand here the longer I get.
So just give me one more fink to drill my cup,
'Cause I got all day sober to Sunday up.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:33 PM UTC
Here’s your fare
for the bus to school
your mother said
but some days you walked
and spent the money
on doughnuts at the bakery
on the way to school
and you felt them warm
through the white paper bag
the baker had put them in
and you ate them on the way
then licked your fingers clean
like some fingery blow job
and Ed Sutcliffe met you
in the playground and said
You got sugar around your mouth
and he pointed
with his ink stained finger
and so you wiped
around your mouth
with your tongue
until all was clean
and you said
That Ok?
and he stared
at your mouth and lips
and said
Yeah that’s better
and you said
Where’s O’Brien?
He hasn’t come yet
Sutcliffe said
but Austen’s here
he drove up in his sports car
a few moments back
you sighed and looked
towards the place
where he parked his car
red and flashy
I suppose he’ll be
in his usual
bullying mood again
said Sutcliffe
holding up
the clay pots
and saying
Look at this specimen
of a ***
and hold it
up for the class to see
Don’t remind me
you said
Austen’s a fink
with a face of pits
like the surface
of the moon
and Sutcliffe laughed
and it kind of eased
his nervousness
and you saw
in his blue eyes
that sharp fear
that people have
when another dies.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 1:52 AM UTC
Crouched between the table & the wall
with his eyes in his hands
& his mouth in the shape of a small
barren island in the Atlantic Ocean
he waits for the blow to fall
Opposite him in the angle formed
by a filing cabinet & a drinks dispenser
a tiny furry creature does the rat-fink-a-boo-boo
its eyes blinking furiously
its ears revolving like an out-of-control radar station
Somewhere a radio plays
& a voice gabbles something about moonshine
& binge drinking & little green men out of Upminister
who are SERIOUSLY NO SERIOUSLY GONNA F--- YOU UP MAN
Later there will be music & lights & long legged
lovelies will strut their funky stuff across the walls
while a siren sounds in the street below
& the woodentops come calling
cudgels primed for some ******** ultraviolence
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC
Eye fink
hive fourgotten
two tern
mi
whoretoe
cowrecktore hon
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
A Articulate
C Christ
D Demon
C Challenge
The writer group
session Australian
Hard Rock Lion
Rebirth Laptop
All grouped in
The City
Singer she thinks
her style of the pick
Raw sugar on me
The Taylor Swiftly
Her wings of
gravity
No Ladybug
Patriot Brady Bee_____
A group meeting
Got stung doing the
jitterbug
Jazzy lounge Bearhug
Music notes of Junk
Whole marriage records
So group me in
((Single))
Signed rotten Platinum
fink
Miss the concert line
Jibb
Jibbering
Riveting
Jive Five
The tribe
all feathered
Group( Kiss)
Dark eyes vibe
ACDC
the King of rock
You shock me all night
Elvis ain't nothing
hounded hitchhiked
ACDC-Money Talks
50 shades of the Greyhound
Those twin singers
Tinker Bell Groupies
Now it's the
Hells Bell
The four letter word
F--K____
F---K E Fake
What a ***** of
the light finger
The bands became
AARP Old Rocker
chair
What a **** in her
rocker pants
Drum roll
Headlights
Rock and Roll
Tour group of
FRANCE F- Friendship R -Remain
A- And N- Never C-Can E-End
ITALY I- T-Trust A-And L-Love Y You
ENGLAND E-Every N-New G-Guy L Leaves
A-After N-Ninety D-Days
The world in
Eighty tight money Days
Group 8 days a week
ahh I need
your love girl
I guess you know its true
And when you're Pregnant
Hey we are Rockers
we don;t have a clue
I phone fingers do the
Hard rock Art of music
strumming
Please no old
folks snoring
Days so long belly
stretched
The canvas
one-day creation
The car broke
her water broke
Due date
280 days
Group Pregnancy
pays
The mechanic
charging by
the hour
(Midas_-_-
That Callgirl
not interested
Age of the rush
Pinterest pictures
Poison Ivy itching
Slower age Envy
To crush ********
And going back
Forever modern age
Hey world be clever
ACDC
We are all a group
linked
My jackpot
My baby
most blissful
Inked in Pink
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
I don't care 'bout' grammar
'Cus' grammar don't care 'bout' me
Poo to punctuation
Poo with a big 'P'ee
Write it as you find it
Word it as you say
Make it real ...as you feel
So text police ...go away !
I guess it's 'cus' i'm lazy
Not bothered and ' so there'
So i'll write it as i 'fink' it
You don't like it ? ...i don't care !
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
I found the rat-fink bound at the whipping post
I found the ****** at the hitching post
I'm the one itching to go
Find me at the scratching post
Chomping at the bit
Chipping off the splintered wood on a telephone post
Get me out of this stockade
Put me in the guillotine
Because I'm out of my head
And I'm going off
Bombard you with simple truths
You know it isn't all it's cracked up to be
If it's too good to be true
You've forced my hand
Now I gotta be uncouth
Something I gotta come to terms with
Something I gotta come to grips with
Looking back at my formative years
With the world I lived in hot on my heels
The celibate dust collectors
The abstinent hypoglycemic meat puppets
I was on cue
My cue to calibrate my own gumption
Bounced off the wall
Put on parole
Used my reserved rights to exercise my rights
To put my foot in the door and leave it a jar
While I stuck my hands in the cookie jar
But I guess there is such a thing as too much of a good thing
Become an over night success
Being famous for being famous
That whole scenario's played out
So mind your P's and Q's
I'll ask you point blank
Do you think you're ingenious?
Prodigious?
Are you in that proverbial extravaganza?
Collecting blood diamonds
Enunciation silent letters
That say all that need be said
Sent through the Pony Express
Written in an acrostic anagram
She'll answer with palindrome acronym in a Pig Latin
And she's right
In some aspect
To a certain point
To some degree
She sheds light
In some right
Forever in debt to the price to survive
Forever seems like such a long time
Forever damaging stubborn pride
Forever giving out bad advice
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
Honestly, sir, what do you think?
That I'm on the edge, or that I'm on the brink?
Honestly, madam, say what you think.
But, in all honesty, only the greatest sink.
And I'm not that breed of fink.
I don't got no missing link.
I ain't rocking the latest pink.
The earth doesn't revolve around me, but my world does.
And if things aren't fiery I think
I'll find a shrink.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
some sort of rough chaos dictates the following...
can't bleat
a swallowing
thin crease
a minor alteration
the seventh year
twitch
& sprung is my fink
making demands
a tinker in his eye
& the waterworks hailing
from his rapid claws
commands much work
spun nylon from my whipped flaws
destruct the family plans
its for a wick lit cause
fist the winnings up your purse
spill the prophecy
hail a taxi
& concrete the curse
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 7:24 AM UTC
Stick in the mud bringing itself a drink
Through the rat fink back stabber reminder stinks
Upstairs there was a lady
I think all these drinks are gone
Yeah there was a lady upstairs
She said she knew the way
To make any man made
Wore ten gold earrings on every little finger
The sound they made when hitting each other
Was like an angel drifted through
A spraying sprinkling water sprinkler
Shell fish big eyed laid back young in her hair
She whispered nothing out loud
But every ****** man in the crowd
Leaned in as if they had heard
A smile creaked onto the cook's face
As the wood on the tables bent
From the mass amount of all that human stench
We are the masses of morons bleeding day in and day out
And yet we sit and writhe and wriggle
Refusing to leave and ignoring that we decide to stay
Replenishing our souls with the liquor bowl
We trudge through the muck unfilled and filled
Day through week through month through
Seconds of frying eggs, golden n ' laying themselves
Because around here there ain't no ****** ducks!
Sister muck, she lives upstairs
Leaves her trinkets in a jar for she is the one
That started and will end this hellicious bar
Packed up her stuff in a huff while her buff
Started the car to go quite far
To the moon in blankets cause' they just couldn't stand it
A fake for the feathers tarred and dressed in leather
A foreign affair apple pear was the color of that girl's hair
There were so many reasons to stay but I knew my way
Was not to rest easy
In that golden flecked white pitched tent
Golden and brown
A beautiful deadly bay
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 9:10 PM UTC
It's a trick of the imagination
It's a tremble of words
A trickle till saturation
A treacle of the absurd
A blink to regain reality
I think therefore I have a malady
A drink and a pill
To recall of some storm
A brick
A window
A breach amongst sanity
Some ink to **** on to the page
Pad torn
And I'm a fink
A sage
A bone
And a bore
Minimum wage
On form
To earn
An audience with royalty
Score one for mortality
I'm a scribble
I'm a scribe
Free to reside
And shake up a globe
With ruin ingestures
And muddy brutality
And wonderless digestions
I am my own worst memory
A victim of vanity
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
Goodbye cruel world
take away my soul.
I wanna go home
this sunny day,
a rock and roll refugee.
The silent reproach
your favourite disguise.
Put through the shredder
in perfect isolation.
Swollen hand blues,
fat and psychopathic.
No drugs to calm me.
Tight as a tourniquet,
a warm thrill of confusion
coming through in waves.
Itchy feet and fading smiles
put me in the firing line.
Toys in the attic
fill the empty spaces -
a snapshot in a surrogate band.
Is there anybody out there,
in this brave new world?
No dark sarcasm hid behind
some mad bugger's wall?
Time to go.
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
the odium of the thing not forgotten
all about it twas dead set rotten
the nose did well recall the stench
enough to make the gut wrench
the fresh air did smell neat
it twas a great treat
begone gross stink
that rat fink
bad its
ad
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Poetry is ******** its stupid, whats the deal
Its all about your feelings
Not about whats really real.
Why do ******* do it
Read it, write that *****
It makes no difference to my life
Its ******* wrong, it isn't right.
What good does poetry do
It doesn't help you think
It doesn't help you sort your ****
Your crap, your life, your fink.
I had a teacher back in time
Who read me Shakespeare
***** that rhymed
It never made much sense to me
Although I thought in reality
At least the rhythm kept the beat
And made the sound
That tapped my feet.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC