"malodorous" poems
Something about your love feels shady
Something about your love feels like neon lights
Drunken kisses
hurtful slurred confessions
Seeing the wrinkles of your chapped lips
Colored with a shade darker than my lipstick
Shattered heart
broken trust
Countless shots of alcohol burning my throat
To rewire my brain
So it would justify your actions
And lull me to forgive you again
Something about your love makes me feel like
I would live in a perpetual state of hangover
Of your memories
When you would have moved on
Without looking back at me even once
Something about your love smells
Malodorous
Horribly wrong
I won't fall in love with you at all
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
I see your ghost everywhere
The ghost of who you once were
Before all the **** went down in your brain
The beauty that flowed from you till you woke up from the dream that was your life
That dream shattered right out
Right out from under you
Made you want to forget
Forget who you were
All brought for nought
Fragments still rattle
Behind your eyes
Those candy rock promises someone whispered in the night
Lost that luster, didn't they?
Couldn't find the silver lining?
What was once radiant phosphorescence
Became gangrenous and insipid
Leaving a malodorous taste
Stagnant in your mouth
The feast turned to crumbs left for the rats under your skin
You become to stately for our unostentatious life
Now you've painted the Petunia's colors of your choice
Rearranged your furniture
To play at being all grown-up
Bit of turpentine blotted on the canvas might smear the lines
But that won't erase your past
Your fingerprints are etched into
Every discarded can of spray paint
Lips carved into the pores of to much skin
You'll slice them off to get rid of the feelling
Keep up your newly minted fascade
That caused you such strife
To grow in the petri dish
Under your mothers sink
While you tryed to burn your
Bridges to ashes
Ashes embedded forevermore under your fingernails
Now you linger in ghosts
Haunting cities you've never been to
Places you're naught to see
In them breathes a
Chilly air wishing to keep you alive
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
when I was sixteen
Grace and I smoked
some cigarettes on her drive way
on a summer afternoon
my first breath
a rush of nicotine
made me dizzy to childhood
we drove and listened
to Christian music
briefly sweating
while we swore and smoked
Allison and I loved
winter cigarettes
bland coffee and cold grass
beneath our bodies
warm sun lay sleepily across our backs
school left behind mid-way
with contented smiles
Aaron did not have a car
i drove the two of us
through foreign neighborhoods
after school with mix cd’s
short-lived and
always spraying sweet perfume
deep cologne
before sitting well-behaved
at the dinner table
enthusiastic about our studies
Next to the river
rushing water
sometimes littered and malodorous
on the highway bridge
in the center between two worlds
rushing past
Jacob and I
had nothing to do
everything to say
the one I lost
grew up without me
hunched on the curb
outside his parents house
with me next to him
older and less destroyed than he
we both inhaled exhaled
without knowing what it meant
i smoke still
those who have gone
stay with me
with each inhale
and swirl of smoke released
against the night canvas
must i let them go
for my poor lungs’ sake?
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
I learned about Oxalic Acid
At seventeen
When less than anxious for yet more information
More notes on a chalkboard
In a malodorous Sulphurous school room.
Hastily copied in pencil
Scribbled then and required to be transformed
Later, into copperplate, almost textbook pages.
To be judged as adequate; or not.
Oxalic Acid; not as deadly.
But in a close league,
To the clear deadly liquids
Held in the dusty skull marked bottles
Within easy reach of any manic schoolboy.
Dusty bottles in a rack
In a rack on a bench
On a bench where I sat
Where I sat wondering why my mind
My sharp juvenile mind would never grasp
Molecular Valence Theory quite as well
As the taste of a girls lips
The smell of her hair
The ring of her laugh
The answer to a question in her eyes.
Years later
When that girl had gone
I read that Oxalic Acid is found in Rhubarb leaves.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
dead summer
sun shines between my bones
long crooked shadows
how long have I sat here?
oaks shade gave way to yellow
oblique rays illuminate
these dessicated sockets
gilded parched pastures
all dew has been up and took
long before I first awoke
autumn crows' appetite
my earthly flesh plucked away
I hear my heartbeat
thump thump as the rabbit runs
knowing winters frosty breath
the rabbit-catcher's campfire
cannot warm shivering bones
under their dry leafy quilt
all desire is quelled . . .
content with malodorous meat
from this hollow frame
my ice-glazed scaffold
coyote steals a femur
it was mine to freely give
suffering it was his to take
my gnawed bleached bones
scattered ,full transformation
predator to prey
play to the nature of things
sea transience by precipitant moon
4.12.12
A collaborative renga written with tsac
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 9:20 PM UTC
I am not a smoker
I tell myself
As the cigarette hits my lips
As I light the end
As I fill my lungs
I'm not a smoker
Maybe I'll light up
When I'm out with friends
When I drink too much
When I'm stressed
When life's hard
When I want to die
When I crave one
But I wouldn't call myself a smoker
The word smoker
Sounds immoral.
Negative connotations of
A raspy voice,
****** lungs,
Malodorous clothes,
Cancer.
That's not me.
Right?
It can't be, because
I am not a smoker
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
somewhere deep within,
sheltered from
the litter of life
unrecycled....malodorous...
like civic lessons unlearned,
ignored even,
stuffed into spastic bags
piled high like butter
on southern rolls...
sat a child
in a cocoon of innocence,
eyes wide with desire
to explore and discover;
staring at the sun,
chasing the sparrow
over solid rock
and red hills,
day-dreaming of play stations
and ice cream;
eyes blind to color
class and creed...
then the real world
started talking...
and the child listened,
and morphed into you...
~ P (Pablo)
(7/25/2013)
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
*I lay, of my own volition, in a space meant for her:
a confined and achromatic scene.
My hands, malodorous, muddy and splintered,
leisurely rest on my chest, free from labor machines.
Here I rest, hackneyed and discouraged
in a pitifully human attempt to simulate death
I curse my virtue; it chastises back as it
mourns the curious exploitation of my health.
It was meant to last only a minute,
as sorrow chains my putrid despair in place.
Yet I, to this day, cannot begin to explain
how the darkness manifested itself a face.
I attempted to strike a movement but remained still
as the daemon began to smile.
The plan was to endure without oxygen for seconds,
yet the creature stayed my conscience for a while.
In a surprising and trepid consternation,
I find myself in service to mendicancy.
The creature, a devil with venetian red oculi,
salivates at its newest and prized delicacy.
I cry at the fleeting mastery of my faculty,
yet the tears remain inattentive and departed.
Time blesses the creature with a dominant sentence
as reality registers a dialog that I had started.
“Where is my daughter? I demand to know.”
The creature’s smile grows ever wider.
He then takes the form of the stuffed turtle toy
that used to sleep right beside her.
The creature, in a droning and unmelodious voice,
utters a perplexing, yet commanding noise:*
“ATIV ARETLA NI MAN ES ED OLEF”
*Frightened yet discouraged, I aim to find the sense
in the puzzling command the creature produced.
“She’s been missing for days! I need to know where she is!”
The beast speaks again, letting its anger loose:*
“FELO DE SE NAM IN ALTERA VITA!!”
*Suddenly, albeit boundlessly, the stillness was lifted,
and my structure was free from this tenebrous stead.
I raise myself and clasp at the summit’s precipice
after having danced with a beast in this wooden bed.
The vacant coffin remained pristine,
fitted with natural calico cotton lining.
The devil you fear the most is the one you create
and mine emerged with impeccable timing.
The creature’s malevolent ballad persistently tattles
as The Lapse rebroadcasts the “truth” it wanted to utter.
It had told me, “Become a felon of oneself,
and thine own life shall be traded for another.”
I refuse to concur with the creature’s decisiveness
as my unyielding faith will ensure my daughter’s return.
Her weighty and boundless absence must cease
and lead to the terminus of my inexhaustible concern.*
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
still, so still..
a musty odor abutting against my door
percolating from the malodorous appendages of a subordinate
feigning work at this late night hour.
And my frazzled CFL is glistening over
intolerable Latin, scribbled before my eyes for me to devour
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Although I walked thoughtlessly
Beneath the doctrines and sciences of men
And all the path I trail led to rust
Like the scriptures speaketh stoutly
The tail of every dust is rust
Yet still I laid beside him
Like one of his darling grungy garments
Elected out of the trivial
An inexplicable love
I doubt men had shown in the histories
Such a great mystery of love
For even in my malodorous transgressions and atrocities
Did he prize and pride me into his waters
And washed me thoroughly of my smirch;and made me whole
I reminiscent the deeds of old
When I stride in the midst of the sadducees and pharisees
Wallowing the mire
The envious glares in my eyes,deceitful tongue
And the felonies that pitch tents on my heart
Yet he never let me by or alone
In the tides of death nor drown into the deep abyss
What a love I've found with no bounds
A love that crowns the tramps
And make them champs
A love that shove all iniquities
Dear Jesus thanks for your love
Like a flowing stream
I lie tranquil in its showers
Like a flower,and quail not
What a lov-u
Amen
What a lov-u
©Historian E.Lexano
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
Exiles from a dysfunctional global pipe-dream
of borderless corporate matriarchies,
multi-kulti nonsense and data-driven diversity
where virtue-signaling despots ruled
and those so confused
they didn't know their own gender
competed for victim-status
as they shrieked,
where rainbow torches on the filthy walls
smoldered with toxic smoke
barely illuminating the fragments
of computer carcasses we had to step over,
we fled the oppression
of passive-aggressive elitists
suffering from Trump Derangement Syndrome
to found a pure republic, based on poetry, goodwill and faith in God.
We emerged from the labyrinthine caverns and malodorous tunnels
into the light right outside the cave:
Clear, strong patriarchal light
purifying the fresh air.
We breathe deeply.
*Once I saw some Vikings
sail the sea looking for Diet Coke
only to find angry gulls and mothers
squawking in parking lots
as the dust of the gentle hills disappeared
down the unpaved road
of rolling Scandinavian seas.*
I was emotionally engaged once . . .
but she was a neurotic feminist poet, so I broke it off
and moved to Kekistan where
(thanks be to Kek)
I married my TWO Kekistani brides.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 7:18 PM UTC
I drown myself in wine
Lose myself in the flavor of liquor
Blood in my veins feel the shine
Fighting back all thought of time
Fighting back what heed of madness I find
Ever present yet absent from mind
Fumes of envy, vanity
Every breath exhumed consumes me
Liquor's sweet sting on my tongue, my throat, my lips
Away, all but my madness it strips
Foreign fragrance and bitter taste
Bring sweet stupor; a seductive sedative, aglazed in daze
By and by, away blaze days
While slumber I and feel no waste
Sloppy smile, half-closed eyes
And sweet, melodious, malodorous sighs
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 4:23 AM UTC
I don’t smell him
But he looks malodorous
As he…
Oblivious…
To the rest of us…
Sits here on the city bus
While I unsuccessfully
Try not to see
Him oh so enthusiastically
Pick at and between
His gnarly toes… and
As if this is apropos
He never says a mumbling word…
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Beyond the rusty and almost illegible "NO DUMPING" sign, lies the old dump. Beyond the first layer of recently deposited ******* leftovers of the occasional hobo alcoholic or teen partiers, is the heavy underbrush, a thicket so thick. Beyond that, you begin to get into the good stuff. Waylaid remnants of yesteryears all bungled and tossed about, with plenty of new inhabitants (hatchlings and their recent refugee Canadian geese parents) calmly making good of what surrounds. Lots of rot, as it all sits creekside, gives malodorous inclinations of fishy remains, the raccoons' and martens' cast-offs. Beyond, and beyond further that, if you have stomach enough and don't mind mustering about with muskrats, is a nifty cache. Trinkets are found amongst heaps of broken glass in the beyond beyond regions. Whole or only slightly chipped vessels are gold. Especially, ones that may say, "Dr. Whosie's Whatever Wonderful Tonic Water." Those are the best.
Amongst a treasure trove as this, in its paragon of days gone by, is also a seepage of what may not be as good as the good doctor ordered. It is arsenic, and other carcinogenic pollutants, things unheard of, that would make your molecular epidemiology stand on end. Things an Industrial Revolution left behind, the not so pretty things we find, but do not see. Seepage that sinks into water, under our skin, into Leukemic bones, and beyond words' worries of families affected. Beyond all this, is us, and by stirring it up, we are given a question. Is it better to leave what's left behind in its depths, or are we to pull it out, likely spreading more about, as well as what may be residually left unfound, or do we just stop and think? And maybe get a new "NO DUMPING" sign. Thank you for allowing me this whine. This has been my dump.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:39 AM UTC
As I am, I growl with hunger
As I lust, my musk malodorous
I do, as though the thunder
Confess my will shall so oppress
It’s a drive my eyes are fixed upon
The scampering of the lemmings
My fangs blood and phlegm do don
No intelligence worth condemning
It is life for which I fight
The ***** becomes my prowling
My need to breed a might
Her moon begins my howling
I claw my way through darkness
Scavenging morsels to find
Eyes that perceive a bark lest
Be indicative of my kind
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
The air is intoxicating,
And malodorous.
I feel it suffocating me,
It saddens me.
Makes me feel nothing,
But nothing is a feeling so complex,
Because nothing is something,
And something is not nothing.
I can feel the air,
Tightening around me like a fist fighting death.
I can feel I----
Nothing.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
I am ashamed to live today!
There’s too much malodorous mud!
I want to create, to win, to love!
But how’s it possible?
The evil’s crowned!
I look out the window and see the sky.
I go out the yard and hear the groan.
It’s up in the air, ashamedly, clumsy.
It understands that the final is known.
I am ashamed for this crippled truth.
The fact, that seemed like a nonsense yesterday,
Is now a reality where we have to be.
I don't want to live here!
Just noway!
Noway!
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
Unblinking reflexive opinions lean
indubitably, favorably and certifiably
with minimal pandering soliciting
uber voodoo yawping woos
socially quintessentially obviously markedly
consciousness brakes alignment
defining mine political views
loosely yet not strictly, jerry-rigged,
hidebound Democratic
fealty haltingly pledged ones and twos
to roster of candidates
slated to challenge incumbent Republicans
all to quickly accused,
sans participating sinister ruse
this active voter puzzled at controversial
eyeopening ex post facto
fractiousgovernmental
harmfully injuriously jaw-dropping
suppression within top secret queues
during nasty donkey kong braying p's and q's
(case in point) scurrilous, opprobrious,
and malodorous Clinton administration,
where (based upon my recent perusing
"The Peoples History” –
me strongly endorses
(authored by Howard Zinn news
worthy revelation, (whose recounting
atrocious, calumnious, egregious
glaring ignominious knowledge
jackbooted, mandated, predicated
on blind trust, essentially billeted
charade, facade, inlaid faux Hope loose
bandied cutthroat gratuity legislation
favoring pandering "pork" via
pretentiousness to wealthy gentiles Jews
abandoning average civilians snuffing out
sputtering, grousing, and hoo's
flick erring tapering fuse
whereat this news worthy informed citizen
totally tubularly unaware of any clues
pertaining to antithetical maneuvers,
(loo win ski) shenanigans, and undertakings
today yields genuine boo's
toward Clinton, where I despondently feel
he renegged promises
made to electorate (except top 1 %) got souled
(sold) to remaining 99% cheapest bidders
as-sized thirteen duff heated no nothing
sneezing Schnorrers
spluttering phelgm at me at-chews.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
Life has been never so humorous
It is also not so rancorous;
It is full of injuries and pus,
We have been troubled by cuss.
But life, my dear, is not sonorous;
It is much largely murderous.
Teachers care for all future fuss.
All teachers care for dangerous
Children who lead life glamorous.
Teachers are always right rigorous,
Who will guide against vaporous,
And are strong and tall like coniferous.
They like great Shivaji, truly valorous.
Teachers care for all future fuss.
Follow them Oh! ye malodorous;
And they will fill you with flowers.
Teachers care for all future fuss.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
From the brilliant striped tents,
To the malodorous animal dung,
Peanuts, popcorn-
Filled the air. I had to-
Explore the tents and through the doors,
To see the animals that wait for no one.
My concerns behind,
And nothing but mysteries ahead,
I peak in each room,
‘Till I stumble upon the strangest of all.
A man with full rose lips,
A face as fresh as a new piece of paper,
And a foam tomato-
Perched upon his nose. He was a laugh to see-
Until it all came off.
He tugged at the foam tomato,
Like burnt flesh, or overcooked leather-
A long rod-like nose unfurled from beneath,
I was so morbidly curious; I had to see what else was in store.
Next the bony fingers grasped the smile-
And peeled gradually at the rose red lips.
For underneath the smile lay rows of jagged shark teeth.
He bared his teeth at me!
Those teeth, caked in blood and chipped to a point-
Those eyes, have killed, and they have witnessed everything-
I will never forget when they stared into my soul.
The creature guffawed,
Like a monkey, he hooted!
And with our eyes still locked,
He asked in his creaking diminutive voice
“Are you friends with the monsters under your bed?”
His teeth flashed once more,
And I scampered out of the room,
Then I thought to myself.
For a clown, he wasn’t really that funny.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
And she just wanted a little sunshine
Among this obscence malodorous mud.
She just wanted to hide in sun rays
From this dirtiness, from this crud.
And she just wanted to be joyful.
She wanted to laugh but not in hysterics,
That rippling laughter would wink with a smile.
She wanted a gladness, and no mysteries.
She also wanted a lot of snow,
So white, so huge, with snow banks!
But you found nothing better than damage all!
Aren’t you people? There’s nothing sacred!
And she just wanted a little happiness.
You were so stingy, and she would have shared.
She didn’t have grunge for you, she didn’t have meanness…
At the beginning… Look, what you’ve achieved that!
Look, what you’ve turned the angel into.
She walks without the sun through the mud.
She’s lost, but she isn’t humiliated.
Why have you done all that to her, my God?!
All that she wanted was little sunshine,
A little warmth and simple happiness.
And you thought that it was ****** and silly.
You tore her soul to pieces! You’re merciless!
Torn to shreads, appalled and pained,
She still walks because she’s alive.
And you keep on spill all with mud,
Without seeing her, burn up and deprive.
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 4:30 PM UTC