"nastiness" poems
French Fries
Frying, sizzling, greasy,
Salty, crispy, oily, potato nastiness
French fries are gross
They have no nutritional value
They're a pile of grease that you can't put down
They're a highway to obesity that never ends
They just keep sizzling in their pool of oil
Coating themselves in a thick layer of fat
They're greasy, salty, and down right gross
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.
Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:16 AM UTC
Do you know
how your body is fed?
Do you truly see
how we make the bread?
Do you wonder the ingredients
concealed like a bedspread?
Well, I heard a fact
That's got me seeing red
About artificial flavors
that 'bout made me drop dead.
Now, it may not be visible
You might see it in a museum
In a petri dish, in a *****
It's called
CASTOREUM.
It's not very pretty,
You wouldn't want to see 'em
Big business would tell you
If they were to take the veritaserum.
I apologize for the nastiness
but someone must be told
Its not on the nutrition label
Though it should be written in BOLD
I'm not sure how to phrase it
But it comes from the ***** hole
Of a dead ****** then
into your coffee, cold.
Once you realize
What's truly inside,
Coffee creamer goes from
Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.
Now, I have been scarred
I don't want it cold, I don't want it fried.
I don't want it at all, I'm mortified
That they would put in the food I tried.
So fear the vanilla
And eat the chicken
And never forget that ******
was kickin'
Before it was deprived of its ***** matter
and stay away from things you don't know what they stick in.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
I give you a grain of rock
And I tell you of the highest mountain, containing liquid gold at the entrance of the very tip
But you, throwing the grain in my eye
Choose not to believe me
Instead you choose to spew out the nastiness of your disbelief
Even after bluntly letting you know to do research
"I'm not gonna do any ******* research"
Well dear, stay blind,
I hope you fall on a cactus *** first
Bet that will open your eyes
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC
Forgive me, I tried,
to fight the demons inside,
but I have to admit,
to it I did submit,
it becomes an addiction,
forcing me into submission,
Forgive me, I need,
to learn how to plead,
for it to leave me alone,
after all that it's shown,
I don't want to live like this,
but it's something I know I'll miss,
Forgive me, for I can't explain,
why I self inflict such pain,
or why I can't put down the blade,
and disappear in the shade,
but it's my way to cope,
at times when I've lost all hope,
Forgive me, I can't,
ignore the voices that chant,
telling me that I'm weak,
and other nastiness they speak,
demanding that I cut,
and forever be in this rut,
Forgive me, but they win,
I can't fight all this pain from within,
I need to feel the blood run,
the devil thinks it's fun,
that my final string has snapped,
and in this cycle I'm forever trapped
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 10:38 AM UTC
The way she smiles at me
it's a magical glow full of love
and her eyes burn into mine
like turning water into wine
She is my everything my all
she is a giant of love ten foot tall
and I love her so very much
and I long for her touch
I would be broken without her
and I will never doubt her
that she is mine and I am hers
till the end of our sweet time
She did find me
what a lucky man I am
and I love her with a passion
like love could ever go out of fashion
The way she smiles does make me cry
without her apart of me would die
I so wait to be with her I need to hold her
and with much love and nastiness, give her a ********
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
John's morning are failed evasions
Life busted him again, shortened vacation
Nights are for him the perfect occasions
To hide from life for a certain duration
John plays hide and seek with people
So their happiness does not find his pain
Because negatives are not good multiples
His sufferance is permanent, any help is in vain
John likes to eat when he remembers
That a full stomach enjoys cigarettes better
He is one of lung cancer's club members
The mailman recently handed him the letter
John brings cigarette butts in contact with his skin
And presses them to feel, a verb he is usually lacking
He has no fear but the fear of happiness
It is a ghost of very persuasive nastiness
John counts days, sees them running and wishes they flew
Death is imminent, death is around the corner, death is at his pursue
Death, for john is the clue
Does John need rescue?
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
John wrote,
I read the news today...
He recounted accidents, wars, pot-holes.
I did too... today.
I read about charity runs,
Music under the Bluewater Bridge,
Teachers receiving National Awards.
There are many sections to the paper
I read through my wire-rimmed glasses.
I'm getting older, all the time,
So I avoid the nastiness with my morning coffee.
Is killing terrorists good news?
Oh boy!
What would John read into that.
We need some help!
I may skip the news tomorrow,
And make some holes
To let the light in,
The darkness out.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
As the Nightingale sings...
His sweet song of happiness
Driven by bountiful liberation
Relieved from timeless crappiness
Fluttering, making a joyful noise
Trials to deprive him of craftiness
Surely fails at inflicting such harm
He sings gleefully, free of nastiness.
As the Nightingale sings...
His wrenching song of fear
Realizing his time can easily fall
At any moment danger may appear
Songs of melodic screechy whistles
Alerting of predators lurking clear
He's hurt, used to frequent viewing
His kin die, for each he sheds a tear.
As the Nightingale sings...
His sensual song of passion
Strong vocals of desired courtship
Refusing to share his ration
With many rivals upon his branch
Alluring females with his attraction
Mating rituals commencing in love
His plumage thrives in new fashion.
As the Nightingale sings...
His saddened song of sorrow
Wishing for better times to come
Hoping to make it to the morrow
Living below a abundant food chain
With a short lifespan to borrow
Singing til his last breath is breathed
Eloped to heaven, a angel he follows.
© Michael P. Smith
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Cut, cut, cut.
This is true.
There is no other
Way through—
Feel my head.
It is heavier than God’s,
An Iberian sculpture
Jam-packed with *****
Misery blackens it.
Sweet Lady,
I want a Picasso smile.
No one comprehends!
I am all alone,
A Buddhist bud
Rising, falling, rising
Choking on its
Indelible, sick scents.
Those silver hooks
Cast nastiness,
Smirking
“We got her again”.
O heart,
You fill me with irony:
I cannot adore someone
Unless they adore me.
You never do me good.
I’d throw you out
If I could,
Sitting around
Bored as a Leopard,
Syncopating Satan :
You amuse me to death.
Pretty boy,
Dumb girl,
Beaten mother,
Hateful Father,
Make me numb.
My skin is a sky
Of Samurais.
That is that, that is that.
**** me.
I won’t come back.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
You are that person everyone knows
Who ******* almost constantly
About everything that ever goes
Away from how you think it should be.
You have it worked out in your head
Who should get what and when
And how much is right or wrong
And exactly what kind of men
Should have luck and who should
Suffer a miserable fate.
And which people are no good
And which race is truly great.
Why do you take such joy
In making folks around you cry?
So much so that the best thing
They hear you say is goodbye.
Why do you choose hurtful way
To get yourself some attention?
Isn’t there something you can say,
Something nice you can mention
That will make people smile
And not run so quickly away
Then stay with you a little while;
Enjoy some of the things you say?
When did all this all nastiness start?
Is it something from your childhood
Made you take pleasure breaking hearts
Every single chance you could;
And if people are having fun
Makes you jump in and stop
The frivolity and joyousness
Like some kind of buzzkill cop.
Life might change for the better
If you returned the smiles you get.
You’re a big grump now, for sure
Be nice and people will soon forget.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
~~~
how to cook a poem/poetic theology
so many ways,
but one favored
after oh so many trials
after oh so many errors
taste tastings, plenty,
some good, some feh
some inspired, some liared,
but it's the process
the methodology,
that becomes your
poetic theology,
of
how to cook a poem
slow simmer,
as if it was
a hearty filling stew,
with the red wine,
you flavored,
for style unique
stew
over it,
add pinches of
contradicting adjectives
icy hot,
bland spice
and not everything nice,
bitter herbs,
fatalistic flaws
make it
to
make the left and the right
side of the brain
argue and engage,
let it taste of the foment,
of unease, disease,
and the
coming to terms
with the
alternating au courant currents,
of fashionistas
don't forget
the final seasoning, the finishing
reasoning,
the perfect certainty
of momentary
peace
uncovered, derived, home grown,
after a thirty years war,
and the
perfect uncertainty,
you still aren't sure,
which side won
and why
some fry in nastiness,
some broil,
flaming to burn away,
some boast to roast
of the average angst
that breathing
seems to
require
some peel,
some imbibe the raw,
all get sorted
for even what
writ in haste,
all sourced from ingredients,
taking years of seconds,
in the assembling
the trial and error
the preparation,
required for living a life
cooking poetry
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
The universe baby birds knowledge
*** to mouth
and you wonder why the lives of the wise are always so
******
You think you’re woke but just repeat tropes created by
people selling a lifestyle that puts on trial the idea that being
standard is wild.
Kaleidoscope fractal of reality’s gaping ****** *******
wraps the goal of happiness in a cloak of human nastiness.
This crawl through life is so full of strife
that we spend the majority of it looking for someone
to moan and groan with as the bone is exposed
from the scrapes and cuts we earn when we're alone.
And I am alone.
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
there's many ways to skin a cat
or so they say to talk out prat
perhaps in ways the sayings true
in relationship to clothes and you
your breath offends
your ******* pretend
don't start me on IQ
so go to hell
don't say you fell
from heaven or ill puke
dont get me wrong
I don't blame you
society's done this
you think its hot
to drink and trot
your slutty nastiness
Dec 20, 2010
Dec 20, 2010 at 10:22 PM UTC
No law or compulsion
In the history of man
Has vanquished the spirit
Or sullied his plan.
No preponderance of nastiness
Or heavy of hand
Have diluted the soul
Of a son of this land.
No oppressive demeanor
Or depraved mood
Have squandered the heart
Of my family brood.
No rule of despondency
Patterned or plain
Will blunt the edge
Of this febrile brain.
No damaged tissue?
No rendered dream?
Pass on cruel smile
With your cold eyed gleam.
Yes, get thee gone
Oh despoiler of men
Or feel the fury
Of my vengeance then!
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
24 March 2009
Jan 12, 2010
Jan 12, 2010 at 11:48 AM UTC
When we left, the anger was courageous
Tears shrugged off their ducts and ran a river
And so....it was an adopted day. Lopsided
Out of kilter, hard boiled, the reflux swallowed
Spite spat out its tabloid journal and spanked me
A chancer on a long haul flight of emotion. A broken limb
A ball of 'Nastiness' bit into my flesh. Stamping dishonesty
A clear winter blue sky......guarding its frosty secret
The guns shot their bullets, cracking the air between us
Hitting the eye of the bull. The red rag waved at a tangent
Calling in all favours. Bystanders gorged. Rubber necked
As your heart parted company with your soul and bounced
When you undid the latch, the safety catch broke and hit the floor
Purged. Vented. Filling the air with blemishes. The stars fell
Short of their place in the universe; befriended and hung out
With blackened bark as debris hit. Now minus will only equal minus
.......equal minus
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
I hit you from seven hundred angles
Inhaling your vapor
You stink
I never thought someone like you could exist
I think at light speed
How to take your oxygen
Make your existence reduce
Like a crack pipe abduction
Can I allow your death
Which your nastiness has denied
I wish your eyes to bleed
When you see my glory
Hold my dreams to your face
Fill your blood with its doses
Then watch it stop your heart
See my conscience in the sky
Feel my word of mouth
Stab you in the eye
Rip your lungs out
As you try to inhale
The fragments of my intellect
I am the young jedi
Looking to devour your force
Squeeze your source of life
It is quit awkward looking at my portrait
Smiling like mona lisa
Only I know what I want to do with you
I will fill your ears with poison words
So it can o straight to your brain
Feeling like I am hitting you with stone
There will be no copies made of you
As my words impede
Your reproduction
My thought will remain in your head
As you ********** to my ecstasy
Then you will love me
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
He was a sad sort of man
And we let him exist
On the corner of our consciousness.
ignoring all his nastiness
And jokes calling women broads
And how he wanted to ******
And pinch them and stare
At them when they were naked.
We giggled at his ugliness
And displays of tacky wealth
And how he has so little
Of anything called class.
We called him an ***
And wrote him off in the seventies
As a silly arriviste fool
Who played around in school
And dodged the draft.
He was a joke fore and aft
But we underestimated
The danger of a snake
Slithering in the silence.
It can bite us just because
We were not looking at it.
And it is no help to ignore it.
No matter the excuses we make.
It is still a slithering snake.
We forgot to take into account
That some people like snakes
And take them as pets
Despite all the epithets
Of their neighbors and family.
They do so happily
Because there is something wrong
With people who handle snakes
And they usually shout about Jesus
Which I am sure he would hate.
But no problem, it seems of late
To them, Jesus was a bigot, a hater.
They must have read later
Some Bible we never saw
With a different set of laws
And advice. Really not nice.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
Sharon posts a photo of her new baby
on social-media and
Nasty-Jim comments
“That’s an ugly baby!”
Sharon feels shocked, insulted, appalled.
She hugs her baby protectively,
feeling hurt.
Sharon posts a photo of her new baby
on social-media and
Civil-Sheryl comments
“Congratulations on your beautiful baby!”
Sharon feels joyful and happy.
She hugs her baby warmly
kisses him on the head
and says “I love you little one”.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 5:47 AM UTC
Under The Bed!
Where shadows creep.
Nightmares lurk.
A child cries.
Fear not dispelled.
Sandman will not venture here.
For he too.
Is filled with fear.
In the secret land under the bunk.
A trunk.
What nastiness concealed therein.
If you're brave enough to move it.
Below it is a hole.
The hole descends deeper and deeper.
At the base of the hole.
Lives the Grim Reaper.
What could be unleashed.
Better put it back quick.
He won't miss a trick.
To put pay to all life on this magic planet.
That would give him such fun.
Should shove it back.
It is very heavy.
The trunk made of wood.
Padlock in situ.
Wrought iron in black.
With eerie designs engraved with strange runes.
Decipher the code.
You can't understand.
Perhaps they said 'leave well alone'.
Being a hero, an intrepid explorer.
Decided he wouldn't be able.
Dragged it out left it by the old table.
No desire to open the box.
Got his caving gear out.
Searchlight on a miner's cap.
Down he went,
Down down down.
Was dark and damp smelled of mould.
Rustling in the ether.
A sound he heard.
Fear set in.
Adrenaline rush.
Rushed faster than he.
Scrambled up the side out of the pit.
A lucky escape I am sure.
Dragged the chest back under the bed.
Shaking he fled back out through the door.
Surveyed the situation.
All was quiet.
Crept back into bed.
Covers over his ears.
Still shaking a little.
Never had a dream as thus.
What it is to be brave in dreams!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 6:12 AM UTC
if everyone was nice the world would be at ease
living life with peace would simply be a breeze
lots and lots of kindness every single day
no such thing as nasty that has gone away.
the world would be so happy a better place to live
with happiness to share with lots of love to give
where everyone is nice nastiness all gone
just a world of peace where we could live as one
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
Failure
In the
9th degree
You peddle me
Everything
Lo' you tell me
That what you wanted
Was a love that you said
You would give me
For free
Then the toad
Clad in His
Heroine glands
Requested you send Him His
Absinthe neck tied and
Bland
You said
Rimbaud
And I laughed
At your Punk
Pratfalls
What an absolute
Way to tell that you've
Nothing to say and
The only way to say it
Is through what you've
Only got to say that you've
Seen
Seen
Oh' experience
What a crocodile of
Old ways
The Franzen door model through the
Way to the Chicago postal service &
Pushing through the seeds of
Terrorism Dramatics
The death through
The lost letters of
No one
Because money
PUSHES PUSHES PUSHES
THROUGH THE SOULS OF MAN
and no one
seems
to
give
a god heaping
****
yet the
prizes
are given out
and the bodies
continue
to
rot
so hip hay
hooray
to the one
with the
animal
socks
So say you
Are the one
They were
Talking about
The one
They were all
Hearing about
The most
Entertaining of
The bunch of the
Crunch
Well when
The crutch that
Is your purpose
Their reason
For their
Purses
Runs dry and
Then their
Eyes become
Dull and weary
Looking for
Another place
To place
Their curses
They will
Toss you aside
With no
Bitterness
Or
Nastiness
With only
A smile and
A sad thanks
That your time
With them was
Short lived and
"Maybe again!"
Perhaps
Again
Till the
Next
Season
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC