"putz" poems
Oh, no one seeks a partner with a beautiful mind.
It is all beautiful bodies and *****
A girl with no other options seems to be what I'll find,
and it really makes me sick.
I could paint a picture of serenity and love
in a vast and epic view.
I seem to have none of the above
and I want you to have mine too.
Call me bitter.
Call me jealous.
Call me what you will.
None seem to understand what I am getting at,
but hopefully soon you will.
Let me take you back a decade or so.
A young, fat, spotty faced teen
thinks one day he will sometime know
love and *** through another person instead of sticky magazines.
He wastes his time looking for another soul
for years upon years until he is no longer a boy.
His short, wide ***** finally finds a hole
and it brings him great joy.
He thought *** was great hoping to do it again,
although for a while it didn't much to his chagrin.
He caves in and spends money on ill gotten ******
sadly he he gets bored and quickly finds it to be a filthy chore.
At his wits end, suicidal and sad
wanting nothing but a woman's love,
things were looking bad
until something came out of the darkness, an angel from above.
She was young and beautiful,
he could not deny.
The good times were bountiful
and he never told a lie.
He was happy and angst free for around 8 months
but the angel was a traitor and he was a putz.
A drunken ******** with no remorse.
The end had come and run the course.
Call it sad
Call it tragic
Call it what you will
I now understand it
and I hope you do too.
Now he travels this barren sea
of bros and hos and endless stupidity
with no hope, no cares,
no *** and no love.
Wishing he could do something with another
instead of hate.
He needs a new lover.
He needs a new mate.
**** he shouts with a frog in his throat,
"Why can't I be happy while everyone gloats?"
In is defense, life isn't quite fair
to those without muscles and dye in their hair.
And now all he does is silently weep,
listen to Elliott Smith, and shout in his sleep.
Call him an emo
Call him a loser
Call him what you will.
The moral is for you to quit being arrogant and judgmental, slutty and stupid.
There are men and women out there who wish they could.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
My stand is portable, affordable and neat
Sits on the southwest corner of 42nd Street
Can't beat my delicious, nutritious, expandable frank
My dogs are divine! Now, take that to the bank!
One twenty-five for a dog loaded or bare
Mini-meals readied with caution and care
Merciful and kind, my dogs nourish the broke
Fuels children and seniors and cold 'n drunk folk
I've served sages and I've served nuts
My clients range from brilliant to putz
Usually I keep the screwballs away
But now and again I have a ****** no-good day
Like the time two thugs took off with my cart
They rammed it right into the Super Mart
Weenies went flying and relish SPLAT!
Stunned I saw my dogs were eaten by cats
Two weeks down, my new stand revamped and nice
Maybe those thugs wanted red beans and rice
But dogs are my passion and my life’s big scheme
So buy a hot dog and support someone's dream.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
The pain inside never stops it just becomes a comfort for a fool,
a a fool way down on his luck. A desensitized part of me that I get accustomed to, like a tattoo, or punching a brick wall, till the anger stops.
Sometimes it takes a day, sometimes its feels like an eternity,
I will never lose this pain that ways heavy on my heart, It has become a part of me, like a scar that still hurt me, or a demon tormenting me......
which sadly I have accepted and draw into my darkest depths of my scarred and scorned heart.
I’m not upset, but forever impartially saddened,
accepting it is a part of life that must exist,
to fulfill that which I was from higher functions;put to enlist.
At least that’s how it feels......
Why is it that this must be a part of me?
I always wanted to just have happiness and good Karma around me, but in a world where violence corruption, hate angst, vindictiveness,
negativity, depravity
and general loss of respecting another persons perspective of his own unique reality.
You have to learn to appreciate bad to be able to do the little good that you can, with the little good that’s left after you are tainted by the hate in this world,
from other people who try to make you suffer so that you seem a little more normal, like the other members of our wonderful hypocritical society.
When its not the rest of the world you generally interact with,
that’s crushing you down like a ten ton hammer on top of your naïve papier mache crown;
You have it from within, from your own ****** vessel inside!
With a whim so strong, it could lead you in a beat!, to start lamenting to a beautiful stranger your deepest - secrets, desires, wants and thoughts in a very badly written mating song.
All for what? wonders the reader of this terrible rant;
Well!, your in luck I’ll tell you and all it costs is your faith in lady luck.....
simply put – Just to know you did, rather than always wondered, even though in the end you knew way before hand that you were Fucked!....but your emotions empower you without care, and you think from your heart instead of your head, you go strong and true, to your melancholy demise into an infinite sadness……
that thing called love….
I Wish you a Bon Voyage!, you dumb struck, down on your luck, cupids tamohawk missile through your stubborn Heart; PUTZ……1 LOVE…..…..9-April-2012.
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 7:13 PM UTC
This combination
of obligation
And common sense
Has got me pacing
And wringing
My hands,
And I've been
Doing the dance
Of the permanently
Tranced
For far too long
To ever advance,
Or act like I'm strong,
So I guess
I'll swing, I'll sway,
Wave my hand,
Kick my leg,
But it won't be to music,
No,
Cuz there's just no song
For the land of the dead,
No background
Orchestration
For us here,
We just swing, and we sway,
To prevent the fear
From washing us away
From the face
Of the cosmic disarray
And down the grimy
Bathroom sink drain
In a toxic rain
Upon the roofs
Of clouds,
Where we gather
In crowds
And condense,
Like the people on the ground
But without the fences,
Who're eventually
Drowned
By the flood
Of colors and
Invigorated senses
In a sea of god's blood,
Like their religious
Romances
Explained that they would,
For if god is everything,
Including us,
Our bodies and brains,
Then god is made of water,
So when it rains
I'll give myself praise,
And the tiny drops
That fall from god's veins
Will remind me to stop
Dreaming of days
That have already gone away,
That argue "Walk this way"
"No. Walk this way,"
And I've got to say,
I can't walk at all,
My feet have somehow
Been replaced
By decades of fault
That have rooted
Me to this big blue ball
That's really not big,
But infinitely small,
And these minutes
Keep tocking
And my knees keep locking
While my feet keep ******* stalling,
And I'm mocking myself
As I feel myself falling
But I can't ******* stop
Enjoying the way
Everyone's eyes are rolling
As they watch the display
Of me falling
Flat on my face,
Where I'll lay
And grow mold
And feed bugs
And eventually decay,
All the while caught
In the gaze
Of a society
That pays
To be told
It's ok,
While lying prostrate
Next to me,
Rotting away
Just the same,
Trying to explain
By vomiting excuses
That aren't even good,
And it's to no gain
Since my face is
Buried deep in the mud
And I don't give a ****
Where society puts its blame,
I wish this putz
Could just
Stop being so lame
And rattling off names
That don't mean a thing to me
So I could be at peace
Here in the dirt
Where I'm sinking,
To emerge come spring
And bloom in
Full shame.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind but no matter where I go I see them same old hoes
BRING DA BEAT
c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
HERE WE GO
YEA! YEA! YEA!
They be warin old clothes, exposin them busted *** toez
in fishnet pantyhose
They be standin in rowz, striking that silly old pose,
workin them same two Joes
So the rumor grows, and everybody knows, that her name is Rose,
we know Rose blows
DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE,
YEA ! YEA! YEA!
She got fired from LoweZ, ’cause she stole a garden hose,
spent all the money at Moe’Z
Yea - Moe’Z ** clothes and fishnet hose, down at 52nd and StrowZ, traffic really slows when she bends to expose, she get dirt on them knees, when she blows
DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE
YEA! YEA! YEA!
AND THE COP SHOWZ
UP, UP, UP, EVER’BODY UP,
C’MON UP
C’MON UP
YEA! YEA! YEA!
She putz the powder up her nose, didn’t pay the fine she owez,
gives a discount to the bros
Ever’body froze, then the streetlight glows, that’z the way it goes,
for all them bimboz
Same for the hoes, az it is for the bros, all the way from Melrose,
to the Chicagos
And it’s still the same for the Souix and them Navahos,
UH? YEA! UH? YEA!
SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY PEEPZ IN THE POCONOS
YEA! YEA! YEA!
I’M OUT…
OUT ROLLLLLLLLLLIN’ ON THAT 8 MILE ROOOOAAAAD
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
If memory serves this was a special branch of the
Militaty U.K.
Those boys came to town to play.
Weekend rabble loose on leave.
Ready set by the truckloads.
Bully mother ******* in jungle boots.
Ready to blow a few months pay
And whip anyone's *** for looking the wrong way.
Rowdy and loud.
Imperialist ******
Long on swagger short on ****
Eh mate got any sisters about?
Asked one blatherin putz as he stimbled about.
Every now and then one strayed from the pack
Drunk and disorderly. Four sheets to the wind.
Well... he kept close after that.
I was about 8 when I became aware that
The big loud men in kilts and fatigues were men
On a mission an ill wind.
but victims of power same as we.
God save our gracious king
God save our glorious king. God save the king
Send him victorious.
Happy and glorious.
Long to reign over us.
God save the king.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
Itch in my Brain
There's an itch in my brain, and I just can't scratch it
it's been there now, for almost 14 days
went to see my doctor, he said, just can't explain it
I have looked at it now in over 50 different ways
Do you think it's a tumor, could it be it's a growth
I need to get some rest now, I'm feelin like a putz
no he said, you can eliminate them both
I'm more concerned about the swelling in you nuts
he stared at my crotch, and kind of shook his head
said it looks pretty bad, you might need a transfusion
I grabbed him by the collar, “it's my brain” I said
this whole crotch thing, leaves me in confusion
Well let me take another look, just 1 more time
I must have missed something, though I don't know why
what's that sound I hear, it sounds like a chime
no by jove, I think I've found a fly
there's a fly in my head, is that what's wrong
can you get it out, do I need an operation
sounds like the lyrics to a Todd Rundgren song
you need to call someone else, I'm going on vacation
So that's the way it is, that's the way it's going
there's a song in my brain, and my girl has left me cold
so that's the real itch, is my broken heart showing
guess I'm not crazy, just tired and old
Gomer LePoet...
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
Contains More Than Kernel Of Truthful
alienation, expulsion, ostracization
from body politick
if member of society resistant,
indifferent, adamant, et cetera
despite differentiation
(across the figurative board)
intolerance opposing ethos,
asper unspoken social graces extant
(albeit manifested amidst diverse
livingsocial variations) within
rubric of global civilizations primal,
oral, nonverbal, et cetera codas
automatically decreeing manual Kant
instilled from cradle
to grave impossible mission scant
acceptance toward recalcitrant
challenging precepts via rave and/or rant
thus when born into whatever culture,
steeped with historical paradigm
one can protest superficial nigh cities
til ivy blue in the face,
or try to concoct a feeble rhyme
but culture club richly identified, endowed,
brewed from heritage long time
ago until the cows come home to roost
hence creative pursuits one direction
can turn to swiftly tailor
if harried styled
with perceived restrictive parameters
and cuss like a sailor
with song and dance routine
(perhaps appearing on Dancing
With The Stars), or
choosing subterfuge viz
writing nefarious malware code, wheremailer
daemons spring to life, when computer code
following infinitely jesting illogic causing exhaler
(case in point - myself, hoot
ends tubby humorous) as yukon gauge
yet another Internet end user might experience
greater reason to rage
against the machine before
turning rogue gushing renegade, stage
jing anarchy against disparity
with equal pay, cuz a working wage
aint nuttin boot peanuts
so if strong willed, hook hairs
if you appear like a putz
just realize doggerel
of this pooch iz gaseous
boot utterly without guts
and hangs around the junkyard
with other nerdy mutts.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC
FriginFrazzled
I hear the sounds of a loud cymbal crash,
now my teeth, or starting to gnash,
I'm friginfrazzled, that's what I am,
my nerves are on edge, my mind is like spam,
oh I am such a tortured soul,
just wanna go, climb in a hole,
tell everyone to pissupatree,
just quit screwin with me,
I offer my heart, and get kicked in the nutz,
maybe I'm, just a stupid old putz,
I guess I just expect too much,
poor little me, add another crutch,
I see the world, but no one sees me,
maybe it's time, for me to go free,
I seriously doubt, anyone would care,
finding me lifeless, in my long underwear,
or I can return, the way I arrived,
completely naked, all alone inside
Gomer LePoet...
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 3:47 AM UTC
I wiped my mouth of blood and guts
Im so happy i just ate this putz
What a satisfying ****
It really was a thrill
Since the start of time
Ive been waiting to make his brain mine
He's smelly and cruel
and always drools
He threw me on the floor
And then walked out the door
I sat and collected dust
Completing my lack of trust
Now whose going to play with me
I think as i sit on his knee
Maybe i should have just maimed him
Instead of ripping him limb from limb
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 11:43 AM UTC
"Two dead fieldmice, rigid as boards,
"Two suppurating corpses of foot-and-mouth sheep,
"Two fat vultures, their gobs choked with putrid carrion,
"Two flea-infested, plague-ridden rats,
"Two rabid wolves, drooling jowls dripping with lethal froth,
"Two cancerous wildcats, eyes shrieking out in agony,
"Two squashed pet dogs, breed unknown,
"Two mangy, skinny, louse-covered buffalo,
"Two shit-sodden pigs rotten with unspeakable internal disorders...."
The list seemed endless as each page revealed a fresh useless horror.
Noah turned to his supplier, the swarthy Ike, and said:
"Vot for you should bring me this load of dreck already, you putz?
******* like this I don't vant for my Ark, yet!
"Better quality I can get from Rueben Rosenberg any day, already"
"Rueben's shut on Saturdays, my dear" said Ikey,
Looking a bit uncomfortable and sweating under his skullcap.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
We walk the web tonight to
trap some putz hugging light like
stars falling without expectations
and longing driveways and rivers
cement and pathogens
to someday be Home for your
occasional lost soul.
Your absense is your absinthe.
The grass chases the moon.
Begging for release, don't just
hide in the shadows - smiling
for freedom.
Go get it.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
Platitudinous, pusillanimous,
Pulchritudinous, posterior
Poseur, postulating pus bag
Posing as plenipotentatious
President POTUS, posturesome
Proudly putting paws on *******
Publicly preposterous woosie
Pretending propriety: a putz.
Eternal egregious eccentricity,
Endless empathy-less publicity,
Effectively inbalming ethnicity
Eviscerates any essential nobility
Excluding even existential energies
Of expectations of excellence
Instead enacting evolution-free
Economical inimical extortion.
Hourly horror holler hate,
Both houses holding hotheads
And hundreds of houris
Honoring honor-free hopes
Hesitation-free horrible haste
Hosing hope and helpmeets
Who have inherited helplessness
From heartless halfwit hoydens.
Boisterous ***** and boors
Beat beauty and belief badly
But beg and bawl for bounty
Bathing in bastardy and blood
But beyond bowing to betters
Banquets and bowers of berks
Badly bent beyond blessing,
They’re best boxed for burying.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 6:00 PM UTC
The uniting spirit between us
hundreds of thousands of years and
we lived as hunter-gatherers
This blip in civilization
has been the ascension of the individual
Look at all us tyrants can do by exploiting the universal potential
Spur on division amid the masses and channel any
enlightening sciences into lip service appeasements
that only serve to enhance the status quo
hum-ho, regular old exploitive system
we verify by looking back
in our teleological telescopes
Just like the Dutch East India pirates in the Spice Islands
The worst of it is the hypocrisy of it all
Saying they're for freedom and rights
and endorse the man from Galilee handing out fish to
panhandling outcasts, but no
of course the killing is worse
than the irony in between
MacDonald's dead, his tartan's in rags
We're powerless
so we became smart as kids
Putz around, find out stupid ruthlessness wins
Some folks just can't do it
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC
Friends are always with you whenever you need;
They guide you and want you to succeed.
When you are down they lend a shoulder;
And they remind you that it is fun to get older.
They are one of the most compassionate people to know;
Aside from your parents who everyday see you grow.
When your in trouble they lend a hand without no if's and's or but's;
Even though you sometimes act like a putz.
You need friends no matter the time or place;
Because they do the best to get you from making a mistake.
So get some, and know what the best feeling feels like which is love I know;
Because they are the one who will make your legacy live on when your past and gone, watching from above or below.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
Fickle little puddle
Sometimes large sometimes small
Sometimes youre not there at all
Deep in the middle maybe there's still a drop
Is it still a puddle or
Is it not enough
My glass half full
Or am I just a putz
You need the water
If it's to be a pool
But a puddle itself
Has no importance in depth
The only importance is how
Much water is left.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
You really are a putz
You beep, you crowd
Your radio’s loud
You act like such a nut
You really are a pain
You swerve, you brake
For heavens sake
You rarely use your brain
You really think your queen
You text, you read
All while you speed
And then get really mean
A bully is what you are
The swears, the rage
Not acting your age
All this while driving a car
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 11:35 PM UTC