"lowlifes" poems
High Priest Paul stalks them in the night
He promises forgiveness by the edge of his knife
He never stops to question or hesitates to bite
Believe in him and he will make it right
Scar-Faced Jake doesn't like to wait
He murders Myan time and claws the hands of fate
He bullies his way to the top of the state
He wears a velvet hat and sells you ****** bait
Senator Chris keeps his lovers on a list
A check for every thrill and a line for every kiss
Somewhere, out there, far beyond the bliss
There's kids wondering where their daddy is
Groovy Jungle Jim buries his guitars
Played them like a fiddle in middle country bars
Slept with the lowlifes and wannabe a stars
His voice is the air and his clothes are in the yard
Ali of the Valley sees the starry sky is clear
Reflecting in her eyes like a cosmic mirror
Wondering if the universe looks at us and sneers
While the people on the earth scoff and call her weird
Mr. Priestess Slim puts the bottle on the floor
It's full of whiskey eyes but just a moment more
Someone is rapping on his chamber door
But when he opens it up, he starts a holy war
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
How is life on lsd?
Well come on this trip with me.
Drugs are bad kids, they open your mind.
They allow you to reason, and see through the lies,
Losing reality, achieving duality,
The effects might be harsh, cause abnormalities.
Seeing your world and life differently,
Flowing through your brain so quick so swiftly.
When your eyes dilate, you no longer procrastinate
You get to pick between reality and your inner state.
Seeing that the small things are what matter,
Satisfying our thirst, for knowledge over matter.
Because on drugs you might enjoy walking,
You might enjoy smelling the grass or even talking
Expressing your mind, reasoning a thought,
And not being a cynics narcissist while you internally rot.
The experience on it impairs your mind,
And may leave you always behind
Behind with love, adventure, and discovery
Instead of hate, restrictions and agony.
But drugs are bad kids don’t take my advice,
the commoner lowlifes like us will someday pay the price.
The price of thinking differently, and enjoying life,
Walk this amazing world, with no need for strife.
Drugs impair your mind kids they do,
but what happens during them only chances what’s inside of you…
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
The Lost Bird In The Sky
The Lost Bird In The Sky
Somewhere there sits a lone man
at a bar filled with lowlifes
lost in his thoughts
mad at the world
and at her
it's eight in the morning
and dawn is long past
and its eve's seat he'll now nurse
across the bar room
through the blinds, some sun peeks in
over the seedy rug
the sun drying the last cleansing
of a patron's puke
the musky smell the last of his worries
his eyes take in the bar
he intimates a hand gesture to other patrons
and a meaningless nod
indifferent to being friendly
matching the terrain
of the other lowlifes at the bar
all on crutches, it seems
on the wall
hangs pictures of storm clouds
black and ominous as his life
the first of his worries
him and his head always drooping
or were those pictures in his imagination
the music box plays a sad song
smoke gets in your eye
followed by lies
another sad song
stories of his life
accentuated
grabbing at him
his worries
her effect
how poetic, he smiles
him in effigy
through the smoke in his eyes
and more beer
he can clearly see her
with a voodoo doll in hand
sticking needles in him
maybe deservingly
if only he could tell her a story
he thinks better of his thoughts
and a pending epilogue
thirsting for sunshine instead
his eyes glance up at the women bartender
plain, plump, playful, pierced
sunshine for the moment
his lips, and tongue curl
his feet touch earth, seeing if it's still there
as she lumbers back and forth serving drinks
her backside sticking up like a beehive
and for a moment he wants to be a bee
he plays with his beer bottle
running his hands past it's neck
caressing, taking a sip
thinking of his past love
the softness of her neck
*****
her essence
of how pleasing it would be to touch her
her nest
if only he could be a bird for a moment
fly and be in flight with her
together in the sky
making baby birds
their innocence and first tweets
that would have been nice
now ... landed at a hole in a wall
his eyes and thoughts keep soring
he grabs more beer
more beer
pausing to grab some honey with his eyes
he keeps playing with his loose change
spinning a quarter
like watching her pirouette
again and again
she had that effect on him
Logan Robertson
11/15/17
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
Sirens and drunk laughter
outside my window
burnt ciggerete butts
Empty cases
outside my window
no flowers grow
outside my window
only people peeing
outside my window
***** ***** **** traffic
no white fence
outside my window
a group of lowlifes
junkies and ********
outside my window
wouldn't mind seeing a garden
or a hot girl tanning
outside my window
Walk outside
****** and drunk person
puking
outside my window
moving soon moving soon moving soon
where ill see a backyard outside my window
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
Cover your mediocrity.
With your digital identity.
The semi-logical fuckery.
Of the modern technology.
The start of a new generation.
A flood of false information.
Have caused the war of miscommunication.
And as we feed on fake emotion.
Our intelligence suffer from deterioration.
All is temporary.
Type delete save an image of a rosary.
Pathetic pixelated society
Who ***** you for being holy.
Make a mistake, that's what keeps them happy.
Lowlifes that only has a kilobyte of memory.
End times have come.
Where knowledge is neglected.
It is a war but normal to some.
Oh how I love to join but I am
Disconnected.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Welcome to our society
Where we live in anxiety
They will judge you for being drunk
And some will for your sobriety
The lowlifes that inhibit it
Come in all varieties
They divide you in the name of religion
To pray the same deity
So I welcome you all to our society
Where we live in anxiety
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
so this is Christmas
and what have we done
war is still blazing
while we burn in the Sun
glaciers are melting
our coasts disappear
it's 70 in December
and we're full of good cheer
our country is wasting away at the core
the doctrines set forth
don't exist anymore
we ignore mass genocide
in poor countries but leap
to right all the wrongs
where there's oil to reap
when the rich do their drugs
we're so sad for their disease
when the poor do the same
they are lowlifes and thieves
with all our technology, our knowledge, our toys
millions still starve
deck the halls girls and boys
and while oppression occurs
every minute, every day
we idly stand by, disregard, look away
we turn on our TV's
and bask in it's light
Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
You storm the kitchen like livid soldiers
in hollow combat
brandishing stingers,
no camouflage is cunning enough
to cover up your lethal colours -
sinful stripes of black, yellow.
Beads of ink, eyes of malice
flash as you swipe and violate
skin, in painful *********** - an evil act of love;
hateful wasp, what is it that you want?
What makes you lust for human blood?
You are the waste of summer:
the wretched lowlifes, airborne brats
and savage lads inducing fear
amongst both dogs and cats.
You circle workers
with your vicious sneer, possess
an uncanny absence
of all natural innocence.
Pleasure-seekers and noise-makers,
you ******** of August
buzzing at honey traps;
a sugar addiction your weakness,
your final collapse.
Flailing, you flap about
furious at human trickery;
Immersed, all syrupy
your wings weigh
like lead, and then
motionless you float;
at last, your crisp carcass
black and dead.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 8:10 AM UTC
Hey Mr Big Nose harassers
Thieves, Bullies and Morons
Look how many years you've had
Still can't break him or shut him up
You are thieves and criminals
No good lowlife degenerate scums
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
You are thieves, cheap common criminals
can't do better in life than stealing from others
You stole and I called you out, Your are thieves
plain and simple, stinking useless criminals
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
I will not shut up, I will not be gagged
You are thieving scums you and your paid thugs
You have tried putting the frighteners on me
You want to break me and discredit me
I am still here and I won't shut up
Do your worst
Enlist the whole world
Hound me from pillar to post
You are nothing but stinking low life scums
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
White thieves and burglars
Stealing thieving Racist scums
Wanna shut me up
Wanna bully and terrorize me to gag me
Wanna break me and **** my spirit the cowards they are
Come do your worse white thieves
yes I'm in your country and there are more of you
I ain't scared and control all you like
I will still say it to your faces thieves!
Your are stinking thieves and crooks
No good scums and lowlife
I ain't scared of you, come and **** me
I will not be broken by scums, degenerates and lowlife
You are nothing but stinking criminals with connections
Underground the lowlifes call themselves
Proud of criminality, white thieves makes a profession
out of burglary and stealing, Shame on you!
You scums blatantly burgled me because I am quiet and gentle
you thought you will meet no resistance
then I stood up to you
you swear you'll take me out, destroy me
Cheap shameless criminals
With all the civilisation and advancement in your Nation
All you can achieve is going around burglarizing
Cheap scums and degenerate, now come shut me up
I ain't scared of you and your underground
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
chalk candies
all printed thereon
different names for the same thing:
a cry for help.
all different colors,
different lies,
but all leave that
disgusting aftertaste you get from candy hearts,
which is precisely why they're not a staple of my diet.
they're good for throwing away in puddles.
there goes one for emily stein.
there goes one for denira queen.
there goes one for jilian quandison.
one by one, letting go of memories.
there goes one for spirit newberry.
there goes one for krystin bullard.
there goes one for tandra wood.
one by one, loosing old ties.
there goes lucy, and grace, and sarah,
long gone.
the box is almost empty.
here's one for kimberly rhodes,
the one i should have held on to.
here's a deformed one for nicole watson,
and a few for the rest of my detritivores.
here's one for anne folderol,
truly folderol,
and a few for the others i could save from low grade lowlifes.
here's one for lisa noble,
two years older.
and at last, one for candice coyle,
out of reach.
i'll keep the box.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:20 PM UTC
This poem is dedicated to the guys in my class
who talk about girls like they aren't worth more
than their vaginas.
This poem is dedicated to the ********
who say that anyone deserves
to get *****
This poem is dedicated to the jocks
who look down on the outcasts
and exclude them.
This poem is dedicated to the girls
who call their peers *****
because of how they dress.
This poem is dedicated to the bigots
who preach homophobia
in the name of god
This poem is dedicated to the parents
who abuse and neglect the children
that they promised to love
This poem is dedicated to the misogynists
who can't seem to grasp the concept that
No means No
This poem is dedicated to the *********
who humiliate the people
who don't conform.
This poem is dedicated to the lowlifes
who beat down the ones
that they're supposed to love.
This poem is dedicated to everyone
who carries hate in their heart
where there should be love.
This poem is as follows:
**** You.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
It looks like this piece doesn't fit
fool it, force it to call it quits
weaken worse words with our wit
lashing out at the fire licks we lit
guard the ghost of glitter and gleam
drill it, draping the drastic dream
soldier seems so out of scheme
unsealed structure ******* steam
let lowlifes linger on the lines
mark it, make it meet our minds
**** the crawler, keep our kinds
because its better behind our blinds
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Olympus is in mourning,
Pedestrian lowlifes have assumed,
Proportions only fit for dwellers,
Of that celestial firmament.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
While trying to see how they see...
We put not one more ounce of trust in the troubled world that has forgotten it's true Master.
We Are some of the few breathtaking creations that God has put upon Mother Earth, and quite frankly, it sickens me to the core, to see some of us being run down repeatedly , due to
A petty comment that left us broken. And due to those jealous stares that bore holes into our confidence.
Because of the scars that were left by someone that didn't treat us like the great women God made us to be , and instead hurt us and left us hopeless.
all people should be treated as it was written in the good Book. Which means treating all women as the queens they are. Because we were created to be at the Kings' right hand. Not to be hurt and misused by all the lowlifes of the manipulated earth that God had and still has good intentions for.
And men. You were to be at the other side of our Saviour. Instead some of you choose to scavenge the earth, for satans camouflaged scraps smothered in this life's sins, and for what? The satisfaction of Satan's lies and deceit??
That's just a mirage of the heated fumes that sin lets off.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
The pulpit is a lonely place,
at a height just below
the nosebleed level.
It's very similar to the bench,
where white-wigged
robed-people
hand out sentences
to the so-called vermin.
I love them,
the stereo-typed
lowlifes of the world
who struggle with conformity,
who know about scraped knees
& broken hearts,
who are forever tainted,
scribbling.
You see, a life
sheltered by power
is way too antiseptic
for a lowly person like me.
I'd rather be a human contaminant,
than a holder of the clean tissue,
they understand nothing,
while we bleed out love
through our noses.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
All the Single Mothers out there
If he's spending all his time playing Fortnite instead of being interested in being a father
Run like hell
If he keeps getting in trouble with the law
Run like hell
If he constantly brings over people you don't know in your house around your children
Run like hell
If he has you do all the work as he sits on his *** and smoke ****
Run like hell
If he shows signs of abuse towards you
RUN LIKE HELL
Single mothers are off the table for me in this time frame
Because I can't provide financial stability and know I am not ready to be a father
So baby if you're a Single mother and want to date me
Don't take it personal
I just want to give your kids the world and more since they are the most important thing in life
I'm not at that level yet
Don't be upset or think I dislike kids
Just know I want to be at my best
And don't want them to suffer because I still have my own issues to sort out
There's more capable men
Who can be standup father's
And those are the men I tip my hat to
Baby girl you deserve everything and more
God has a special man in store
For you and your kids
It's just not me
And its DEFINITELY not those lowlifes.
It's time we start respecting you and being what we're supposed to be.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
Don't tell me it's natural
To look at a women inappropriately
To excuse your poor behavior
They're already scared and intimidated by thousands of other men like you
Dehumanizing them in every aspect
It is Man's greatest defect
You should only inspect
Her eyes when you are looking at her
It shouldn't matter if there's a drove of women walking down the street naked
Your eyes are not to wander
Anywhere else
It is the greatest challenge for Man
But you must do all that you can
To be abstinent of flawed desires
She is a human
Not a doll
For you to stare down and wither away one by one
I dream of a day
That a Man can resist every time
That will mean he has won the battle
That Women have been fighting
For what seems like forever
The amount of men teaching their sons
The rudiments of respect
Are far lower
Then it used to be
If I ever have a Son
He will know that he cannot disrespect them as such
Or he'll be ridiculed
In every way
Watch what you say, watch what you do and most importantly
Never make her feel blue
Always make her feel good as new
Regardless if you love her or she's just a friend
Because there are way too many lowlifes that only care about her body and their selfish desires
We need to increase our standards higher
I hope that he will be stating this in flyers
He won't be a liar
Either
When he does wrong
He'll look at her in the eye
And face the assessment he proposed upon himself
Like he should
If he's sincere
She'll love him like no one else ever could
Men are imperfect
So am I
But I challenge myself every day to improvise
On the insights and complaints of women today
And work to help these worries go away
I hope I'm a better man today
Only God knows what I truly deserve
I will preserve
My actions
And hopefully I'll be close to our goal
To be the kind of man I aspire to be.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
Up with the sun, his mind razor-keen,
he hikes up his trousers and starts his machine.
Though barrels of funk feed their reek to the dawn,
he pays them no heed; the trashman rolls on.
Up alleys, down thruways, past storefronts and stands,
he guides his behemoth with rock-steady hands.
Though big rigs and small fry speed hither and yon,
he sticks to his creed; the trashman rolls on.
Down **** to Impostor, past each stinking bin,
he makes for the junkies and merchants of sin.
Though winos raise eyelids, though punks point and grin,
he straightens his shoulders and thrusts forth his chin.
********* and derelicts lurch from their sties.
Pimps and their harlots flash Jacksons and strut.
“Hey, you in the truck,” a pickpocket cries,
“What are you, buddy, some kinda nut?”
With hands on the levers, and brightly lit eyes,
The big driver leans out and coolly replies:
“No, sir. I’m the trashman.”
And down comes the fork, and up goes the muck.
The gears maul the lowlifes, the fork rocks the truck.
Though hollers and screams shake his steel mastodon,
he longs to proceed; the trashman rolls on.
The truck passes perverts, creeps churned in its bile,
up Felon to Pusher, down Vicious to Vile,
where block upon block, where mile upon mile,
the hookers regale him with smile upon smile.
Near-naked floozies exhibit their wares.
But this man just glares while they trumpet in pique.
“Hey, you in the truck,” a drunk strumpet cries,
“What are you, mister, some kinda freak?”
His hands on the levers, with brightly lit eyes,
the big driver leans out and gently replies:
“No, ma’am. I’m the trashman.”
And down comes the fork, and up goes the slime.
The gears maul the contents to streetwalker chyme.
Though hollers and screams are distressing and drawn,
his heart fails to bleed; the trashman rolls on.
Pining for virtue, he clatters along,
up Bully to Bigot, down Trollop to Spawn,
past Conman and Cutthroat to Thirteenth and Greed.
He steadies, caresses, and readies his steed. Virtue, indeed.
The trashman rolls on.
Okay. NOW CUT AND PASTE THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent, soulful readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
[email protected]
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 3:05 PM UTC
my thoughts are a million
cutting through like blood stained vermilion
i’m feeling so brilliant
the cards are dealt, the rest i’m just filling in
and i see the sun again
burns my eyes and now i feel one again
i’ve won the prize, thank you ladies and gentlemen
brought me so high with your sweet sentiment
cos surely i’m better than
these lazy lowlifes lost in the labyrinth
crawling blind down places you’ve never been
dancing in darkness, it never ends
i’ve got the better friends
i’ve got the love, got places to settle in
i’ve got the fire in the furnace to burn the men
i’ve got the sword and i’m earnest to fight again
with my brand new eyes i can see, see?
yeah i see it better
i change the weather
i change the narrative with each **** letter
i change forever
i change my fate, we are birds of a feather
i back down never
i back myself, yes i am the trendsetter
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
They tell the afflicted mugs
this is People power
that they had figured him out
and made him a puppet
and they the poeple
can now pull strings and ****
him about
and have him dazed and confused
The mugs are totally convinced
we know all his moves
we are ****** his mind and terrorizing
his soul
we are destroying his happiness
and raining on his parade
we are doing his head in
this is pysche warfare
No you are not!
You are just a bunch of misguided mugs
and stale unfulfilled nonentities
fooled, double fooled and then some more
by crass criminals, lowlifes and scums
you are just a bunch of contemptible mugs
doing what contemptible mugs do
but then
you don't come from good stock
are wellbred or from a well heeled background
hahaha hahaha hahaha
ok, come on get madder even more
get back to your pysche warfare
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 12:35 PM UTC