"gits" poems
A few hours after midnight; the world is fast asleep.
Alone and cold do I wander. Like a nightmare do I creep.
With the intent of nothing I sit and watch the street.
It’s a week after Halloween and my shoes are on my feet.
I near my house, I think I’ll shave, (My chin has an itch.)
But at my feet upon the ground a color doesn’t fit;
Black on black with a spot of white doesn’t sit quite right.
You’d think they’d be more careful, ornery little gits.
Yet here at my feet, some candy lies plainly in my sight.
I stop to stare and wonder, and my brain does a nervous twitch.
So here I am; with a piece of candy that might have mange
Meanwhile my mind is discovering a whole new range
For all the pain we go through, to keep the world nice,
Nothing anyone does ever seems to pay the price.
I’ve got a new hybrid car, gets 50 to the gallon plus it’s electric.
And when I finish a snack trash is out the window. Are we epileptic?
I mean you’ve got to be kidding me, who can say that they are not
A miserable little hypocrite? World is full of betrayal and lies.
Filling with anger, righteous and hot, I feel a change in my soul.
I’ll be better! I’ll change the world or the two of us will sever ties!
The earth will follow my example and we’ll hold to higher goal.
Give me a few years and then lets see what we’ve got!
I hold onto the fantasy for a while, sad to let it slip.
But the truth does sink in and reality has a tighter grip.
Even if I spoke who would listen? One cry in a thousand’s not so great.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, to resign ourselves to our fate.
I’ve never been a pessimist, just a realistic optimist you understand.
If you want change, aim for what you can hold in your hand.
Think you can bring about world peace, think you’ve got the might?
Try to keep peace in your town, or your block, or home without a fight.
I stand and think to myself one more Sucker here and there,
Isn’t going to change a thing. If ten men vowed never to let themselves repeat
Their mistakes, the next day a chance would come, one would stand,
Nine would shudder and forsake him. Alone he’d return to his seat.
I step away and head home. I return my thoughts to the matters at hand.
Like my homework; a poem and some calc. I’ve still got to lose some ****** hair
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
**** that **** This is poetry now. Can you say it isn’t real? Can you say my lowbrow barbaric mind doesn’t express itself? Can you tell me these words aren’t art? **** that. This outcry is whats comin next.
Them burnt cars and bullet scars,
***** boots and tittie bars,
forget to bathe, **** the shave,
my pillow case is made of pave-ment,
twenty years late on that first pay-ment.
I asked the question but got delay-ment,
on what the **** has this all meant?
My colours just distract, them smiles just an act-
you think I’m tokin and ******* and happy go-lucking,
***** im drowning in the bills I haven’t even seen yet,
throwin off the debts as the horse that rolls the best bet,
and don’t forget,
every second you lay down to lie them eyes and theorize,
youre just getten burglarized,
want a burger and fries?
Twenty years off your life- oh and the change too.
Twenty seven ninety-five,
thirteen plus the years I’ll spend,
locked up with nothing to tend,
no garden, no fruit, no love to loot,
no wide eyes to fill and no breeze to shoot,
just a chain gain filling my ***** with soot,
stabbing by the next poor guy,
jabbing by that suit and tie,
the key is not to fit it right- so that every turn reminds who you belong to.
And this is what I wanna do?
Hold up- I pay for that ****
Now I understand suicide you nihilistic gits,
taking hits while the rest picks up the bits and the red runs the slits but no one sees the slip.
Topsy turvy sliding down the grassy knoll,
the heads tumble but the dough will never roll.
No.
Its busy ******* me in, me and my ilk,
like me too much an *** to be thankful for robes of silk,
mommy’s milk, eleventh hours and the stockpiles of the dowry.
Soft as a baby,
never ****** on the sour but the sweet,
pink feet,
earned on thin green sheet and the red as the man is beat, beaten and burned,
turned spurned despite his age and whats learned.
What is learned?
If only I could tell you.
We’s on the same track , don’t ask me whats gon spell true.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
Don't worry, be stupid,
So sang some bright chappy,
I feed you lot of gits,
Don't worry, be stupid!
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC
*Newbie to this lathe
Don't wince at expositions
See lame gits as dust*
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
To write a brilliant poem:
Use a concoction of ridiculous words.
Non-sensical message conveyed.
Show off your manipulation to language.
Stop. And pause. And start again,
your repeated point no longer in tandem.
Then for some unknown reason ignore all logical structure and ask a question?
Darken your mood.
Randomly: use colons.
Where do; you use; semi-colons¿
Only poets admire your work.
The rests are ignorant gits,
who cannot see how your use of a thesaurus can bring upon untold bliss.
Reflect. Unreflect.
One or two words don’t quite make sense.
Finally summarise, your all-knowing point takes flight
Filled with silent anger; you’ve written utter sh**e.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Tuck into your suit and power.
Stand tall amongst dwarves.
The ditsy mistress polishes the pleather
Fake sheen, fake ****
Fake smiles, fake gits.
Cheesy grins all round,
Lap up that cheeky cheddar cheese.
Now onto desert.
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 8:13 AM UTC
He's King Louis.
I went to school with the regency.
He's superfluous, and
he taught me grammatical consistency.
Since the first day of education,
he showed me cultural emancipation
behind the bleachers in the gymnasium,
between three and six on Wednesday afternoons.
He wore a crown of indignation
to guide him in his transmigration
of lines no boy should cross.
He takes the bait from all the teachers
and all the handshakes from the preachers
until it's not just the heat that makes King Louis swoon.
The priests, they tell him in their French,
**** de Monarque se viendra repentir!"
Much, much too late, the little wretch.
King Louis knows arithmetic, and
he listens to The Smiths with it
and thinks the rumors just aren't fair.
He knows the kids are uncouth gits
and all their sweaters are too loosely knit
and they don't spend nearly enough time on their hair.
Because he was King Louis,
time spend wading through the past is not a fling,
but a testament to getting up and staying there.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
Cats make me laugh, the selfish gits,
They prowl through life, not taking ****
We humans are just staff, to them,
Our independent feline friends,
Standoffish, surly and downright rude,
Very fussy with their food,
They change their minds just like the wind,
Very often gourmet food is binned,
And then they stalk into 'their' house,
And disembowel some poor mouse,
There is one thing you must never oughta,
Try to wash your cat in soapy water,
The outraged cat will then go wild,
You will then know the devils child,
On the coldest the winter nights,
Cat approaches, purring, right?
Jumps on your lap with kneading paws,
But one false move, you'll feel their claws,
You can never ever own a cat,
They own you, now that's a fact,
Our intelligence they have surpassed,
They've worked out how to lick their ****
One thing deserves a generous pardon,
They at least crap in neighbours gardens,
I cannot help respect these beings,
I'd never wish to hurt their feelings,
And so I for one will doff my hat,
Towards our Royal highnesses , the cat.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
I am a fork in a world of soup
a scout without a troop
a landline phone in a world of mobiles
a voicemail speed dial
a punchline which is a slow poke
a old bloke surrounded by stylish gits
a thong in a world of bras and ****
Facebook without the pictures
selfies at the right angle
a pen in a tangle
a stranger in a crowd
nuff said not loud
a cuppa tea in world of coffee
a defenceless toffee
in a world of chocolate biscuits
don't risk it or me
cause i am too different
a black sheep in a world of white
a short skirt in a world of jeans
a nghtmare in a world of dreams.
you may look
you may stare
but i am the unknown
you have to find me a home.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
‘Sunrise.’ You breathe out
As the sky swirls
Its majestic colors
Of blue, orange, yellow, pink
‘It’s always lovely isn’t it?’
‘It’s one of the lovely
And lonely things,’ I sigh.
I’m sorry that
I just can’t help
Myself sometimes
On seeing the sad in
Beautiful, beautiful things.
I know you said
That it’s because I’m doubtful
But then, no.
Some things are just that.
Flawed.
We just fail to see
Past its beautiful exterior.
*‘What could be possibly lonely
About the sunrise?’*
You inquire (and
I love that you would want to
Hear some explanation I have).
‘Hope,’ I called out
‘Doesn’t it symbolize hope?
Doesn’t it sprays out the message
Of a new beginning?
As if you can undo all the
Wrong things—but you can’t.
Hope breeds eternal misery,
Doesn’t it? It’s effing lonely.’
It could be weird but I certainly don’t
See the sunrise as billions of eyes see it.
I had expected you
To give me a look and tell
Me to stop seeing the sadder side,
Goodness knows that what everyone does—
‘Here,’ You reached out your hand
I gave you a strangle look
‘Take it,’ your amused voice floats
*‘So we could walk together and
Look like sad gits together and
Ponder on what makes sad things sad.’*
But by then I am in no way
Sad, I could the happiest
Person alive.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
I am sick of this effing town ****** ****** Rotherham
it simply isn't no **** good It should be called Botherham
because some of the people who live there are complete arseholes
most of which are ******* ***** out for there own goals
some of the ones that you thought you could trust and where on your side
are nothing more than tossing gits and out for a free ride
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
I's don' really know much
only how to cook and clean
fa ma marster's and they chillun
they tries to teach me to read
i's neva liked the white folks edumucation
so I's just stay in the field
spend time with the sun
until the moon comes
and take me on away
das my's only time to heal
from the scars they puts on my skin
from the scars they puts in my mind
from the scars they puts on my family
my brothers and nem
I's wonder all the time
will we ever be free?
I's think of it everyday
cant wait for it to be
Mama always worked in the kitchen
but she has her fav spot
next to the chimney she a sit
listen to the white folks talk
I's pray all the time she ont get caught
one day she heard sumn
mussa been real good
Is seen her smiling
as Jesus himself gon an got mama a new dress
but I's know ha smile na
tha day she sats in a corner listnin'
she hurds them finely' say we's free
we's free
but marster wouldnt let us go
she herd' em tell mistus
he wont let us free till me make sommo'
for thems to eat
but mama hops out that chimey corner
jumps to her feet
I's herd' ha yelling
"I's free I's free'
"then she runs to the field 'gainst marster's will
and tol' all the other slaves n they quit work"
I's seen all the hoes and rakes falls to the dirt
dat nite ma slip out the house
like a banana was at da do'
she hids' in the ditch
I's get snuck out my bed
next I's in mamas arms
I's look at mama's tied' feet
running so fast
to chase her freedom
I's hear shots from *****
dem dogs barking n growlin'
Lord please keep mama safe
and the Lord hears ma prayas'
cause' that nite
afta alls the yelling cryin' n sweating
me and mama
we finely gits away
Copy Right 2020
©PoeticPat
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Herding flatly in the heat of streets
They rise up
Expecting rights and comfort all around.
But there is none.
Well, as a matter of fact there is some
(Thanks to Matt Cook we can all be more honest now
In poems. Gear-changing - so much fun)
For instance, take 1 - 4 above.
It's about groups of people in cafes and bars
In a hot evening city. I wasn't feeling
Like Joining In.
So,
They were all irritating gits in my eyes
All condemned therefore in writing about it.
Then and afterwards
They were sad desperate zombies, so they were
All looking for a fix of pleasure, distraction, coin
Of their toil exchanging misery for oblivion and so
Doomed
Doomed
Doomed.
But they weren't really
Of course.
I expect many of them had a truly great time.
Staggering laughter, blow-out fun, exuberance
Of release - and dancing through the
Smoke and din and drink and clashing colours, scents.
Maybe in midst someone of special poise
Looked felt words across that bar that
Roared and rocked them far apart.
Then laser quiet unites:
A magic channel switching out the noise.
Later they loved.
It tasted good and lasted.
Years, children, garden, wins,
Losses, and still some Mayhem Friends -
'Remember that night, and the chap
With the crash hat
Who just stood and looked?
I wonder what happened
To him?'
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
Them shabby,greedy,grasping grabby gits what sits on Whitehall's seats gives me the heebies
what with all them bleeding freebies it beats me what we has them for,it's sods own law but them lot there don't give a flying monkeys,they just don't care for the likes of me and you,
but it's me and you what makes them rich and still the greedy buggers itch for more and more,
a case of Orwell's nineteen eighty four and there's no ragged trousered philanthropists anymore,the score being, them one and us nil and the swines send us the ****** bill and if you haven't got the readies it's off to beddy byes up hangmans hill,
them ******** will
get you in the end,bend you to their way of thinking,put holes in you until you're sinking and throw you a promissory note,does **** float?
I think not
but I think it's what we get and all they've got,
it's a right old liberty with the men at the thin end of the ministry and the fat cats get them rats to batten us down.
Out of town it gets no better,they google and with the letter of the law move in to nick you,it makes me sick,an Englishman's home should be his castle not the knocking shop for them what has to hassle,but
it's in the doings and when the doings become undone, we see it now with the knife and the gun
and that's no fun.neither is the sharp end of the stick they **** and poke us with,
it's donkeys and dogs and the laps of the gods and we sit and drink tea when the clock strikes three
because we're all a little crazy,
a teensy off key,
we have to be
to survive.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
Hey you!
Yeah
YOU!
i say,
somebody out there
likes my Big Fat Yellow Bootay!
and here
is what
they
say,
"Oh, the big fat bus
with big fat yellow bootay
always makes my day."
hey,
hey,
hey!
i say!
have yourself,
one
fine
Day!
big bootay!
one fine day!
hey, hey, hey....
...The Big Fat Yellow Bootay gives a wave of thanks
and gits going on her way....
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
I envy your self-love, your ability to know that everything right now is how it is supposed to be
When you think of me, you think of good times and happy memories
When I think of you, I too cherish the times we spent together
But I'm also reminded of how lonely my life has now become
The substance in your life makes it so effortless for you to move on
Substance that I, myself, lack
And it makes me wonder
Am I really in love with you
Or do I just want you to make me feel whole.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
*shock-absorbing Christ has a limit... every man has a limit... you take pity you take up the whip and the hammer and nail... you take up the word you take up the heart, the ego, the placard of thought's freedom disengaged from concentrating on him - religious democracy? when did that exist?! oh, when we all became saints... but that was never a certain to be.*
you're not saving the system, you're merely salvaging it -
meaning you're exploitative of youth
and leaving the old farts to fend for themselves -
i'm way past theorising the established order -
by theory you invoke a solution -
Marx was too easily toppled -
the old gits bogged down on the review
and linked-in saying: the adventures
we had worth merely plight -
we ventured to authentic bookmarking -
these days nothing separates us from the young -
you really did place your criticism of
Communism due to the ethnicity of the Pope -
not partaking in the years of Martial Law authority -
it's Christianity built on
John Paul II forgiving Mehmet Ali Ağca -
what... no Barabbas as part of the story?!
in a prison cell - **** your principle of forgiveness
and a cell - GIVE ME SIBERIA! give me the forgiving
elements - not your superstition of forgiveness and cage!
no? oh... THEN YOUR TEACHINGS ARE WORTH SQUAT!
HAVE A SINGALONG WITH CASTRATOS IN THE SISTINE
CHAPEL... and, personally (due to a Catholic school education)...
**** YOU! i love how i can be Antisemitic in this region -
and be a Jew at the same time - CRUCIFY THE ****
or hear the gas chamber choir for your birth at Bethlehem.
because what the mortal fears is what a mortal hasn't lived -
funny isn't it? the concept of the Antichrist wasn't
at all Adolf. like Sylvia Plath in daddy, 2000 years ago
from now... you ain't that special no matter whether gentile or Jew;
you disagree with me you undermine democracy -
you agree with me you undermine democracy
as in not automated anthill experimented with,
but as in demonstrated or demonised anthill -
something or other a priori; or the Kant i read today,
too drunk to coerce a sentence with,
thus better left unsaid.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
as is the case with all young people,
they think they own it,
but then again, they can't age with it...
tra - gic;
oi keith! oi! ola! keith! hey! throw us a lemon peel!
throw us a lemon 'cos i'm about to
make a smiley shortcut in a selfie!
gits and their bananas, i mean it,
gits and halfwits and their ba- -na- -nas!
you have a horror movie soundtrack ready?
i feel like playing it while i hallucinate!
i **** you not, three demons and a dog;
gives us da'h bandages... gives us da'h bandages.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
In dreams I create marvels
palaces, castles, mansions, and epic worlds
populated with people, places, things
especially you, my forever girl
I know it may only last a moment
and yet, seem an eternity
all the words and thoughts spoken
that I can't speak, in reality
You didn't mean to leave
it wasn't your choice or mine
I know, I'll see you heaven
when it's finally my time
Every night I go there
to create, peruse, and submit
waking up in tears, at midnight
emotions, are sneaky little gits
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
People often ask me ' do you have a wife ? ...girlfriend ?
I tell them that i'm single , yes ..i know it's not the trend
But i would much rather be happy and live alone just with my cat
Than be with a controlling freak or a boring.... lazy tw@t
I often act quite silly , spontaneous and free
Happy and uncomplicated ...marriage ?...not for me !!
Don't get me wrong , i love to love and do so with my heart
Genuine , affectionate ?...i've been that from the start
Trouble is ..i've met too many fakesters , selfish users
Money grabbing nasty gits , lazy, boring , boozers !!
Lie-ing turds , compulsive flirts & one's that are not true
It's not a case of you & me , it's more like ..you & you
One day i'm sure i'll meet someone that feels the same as me
And none of this will matter ...then lovers we shall be
Until then i guess i'll stay as one and live as i see fit
You see it's as the saying goes..'if it's not broke..then don't fix it.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC