"runts" poems
Every couple 'a years or so
Our family reunites
It takes a couple 'a years or so
To recover from the fights
A family like our'n
Doesn't party like most do
Ours gets a little out of hand
That's why we have so few
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's daisy dukes and forty Lukes
They're racing trucks and burning rubber
There's jugs of moonshine everywhere
And at least a hundred bubbas
There's a smoker fired for the food
the size of two large trucks
It hold 4 cows, and fourteen pigs
And at least a hundred ducks
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's pickled this and pickled that
And things you just can't swallow
That used to live down in the swamp
Way back there in the hollow
There's at least ten shotgun weddings there
And the groom might be rail roaded
But, the wedding isn't legal
If the shotgun isn't loaded
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's greased up pigs and muddy runts
And at least ten bobby sues
and when they all get greased up
You can't tell which is who
There's horseshoe pits for tossing shoes
And games of every sort
Most of them aren't legal
And would get you into court
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
But, it's the way we like it
Drinking shine and acting out
Tossing things that aren't tied down
And wrassling about
There's music there of just one kind
It's country and that matters
Any other sort of sound
Sets the crowd off like mad hatters
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's always someone who's so drunk
And it's normally the preacher
Last year we married him off
To the back up first grade teacher
There's Chevy trucks of every kind
And one covered in sod
Mary Lou showed her tattoo
"Jeff Foxworthy is my God"
It's the best time of the year for us
And it's sad when it must end
but, you gotta haul your *** away
When the cops come round that bend
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
The sun bled infection
Mother Nature wept at all this mess.
they was all runts made of litter
& was done away with each other
before they seent they was
one with each other &
it bothered Father Time so
he shot Big Brother &
Little Sister down with his nine
& god daughter blind saw
the whole slaughter but
thought the whole thing was
pretty much black and white.
Do away with em all, Charlotte.
doused in scarlet charlatan-
lifted inhibition
her golden hearted
harlot trickery
speaks of defeat in victories;
he lived in his liquor
to prevent from feelin
too sick with himself
same reason
he sticks himself with needles
treating diseases
no one but them can see &
feeding to the need of the queen
to keep the screams quiet for the night
& keep the hive alive alright
& thriving vibrant
lest the fiends get violent
& riot inside their minds.
then there's a problem.
but problems is made for solvin.
zoom out, island of lost babies
where they got Wilbur's head on a stake
speaking zen
the monster live within &
we're just seeing in others
a reflection of ourselves.
breathe in, buddha.
burn slow.
move steady or
lose your head.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
The knife of life carves indiscriminately without warning
said the runts of the pumpkin patch now lined in mourning.
A farmer plucked biggest one, cutting vine, as the runts cried
a black harvest, Mama being carted off, as she died.
Sad black crows circle the day and night sky abreast and stressed
as the winds of fate wielded its teeth at the oppressed.
A blur of orange is all the crows saw amongst the quivering patch
as the farmer tiptoed the pasture wide-eyed on getting his ******
Now at the hour of her death angels play harps of fruition
in wake of the wide-eyed farmer's wayward act of abscission.
Billows of black smoke followed, taking to the ominous skies
as the incinerator took matters in its own hands as she lies.
Then all that was left were the ashes and whispers of the past,
a eulogy, as her quivering kin sat in the storybook downcast.
Pages cried out, tears filled the chapters of a great pumpkin patch
her roots holding each on the vines with love that's hard to match.
No day came off, of a jack-o-lantern smiling in a window frame
for in this family house cancer snatched mothers life just the same.
Logan Robertson
8/4/2018
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
We have seen the magic bullet
Cure all disease.
Cows won't go extinct.
Lush, green pastures run to the waters' edges.
Twisted ankles in gopher holes are passe.
Trees are well-placed for shade beneath a relentless sky.
The lands are full, plush and crowded
With work-a-day leather. Wool is everywhere.
The barren creeks are clear of poison.
The grunts and runts of the stead
Blissfully graze, munching towards our tables.
Brown eggs thrive in computerized out buildings.
We are idle. No wars, disease or poverty.
It is either life or death by choice.
We implant, are implanted, removeable,
And sustainable as any Victorian.
In place of the Immaculate Heart,
I hang a picture of my old pet, Sophie,
Walking on a balance beam,
With a strange black V high in the sky.
And with all this, we grow fat.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
All sin begins
with ********
leading to ***
birth and life on
earth, but somehow
(if we believe the pew)
all but a single Jew
are born in sin while
forgiveness is reserved
for the picks of the herd
trampling slothful runts
beneath ***** and sweaty
***** on their way up the
Holy ladder to salvation's
elusive shore where matter
and spirit become one in
the Son's immaculate vision
of the united division of
imperfect man.
Meanwhile, we lesser beasts
are cursed with damnation
eternal both on earth and the
infernal regions until the season
of the Jew's expected return.
Burn it all...
It's ********
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 11:41 PM UTC
*** slave workers
Bent over stained beds
In forgotten brothels
Far from country and home
Have more joy than you
Or I.
Skeleton thin children
With skin stretched
Over illness bloated bellies
In poverty ridden streets
Under a relentless sun
And equally relentless culture
Kick a worn ball around
And feel more hope than you
Or I.
Flea ridden mutts
Runts of the brood
Feasting on garbage
Shying from the kicks
Of rotten teens
And sour drunks
Reciprocate more love
From the hand of a kind stranger
Than you
To I.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
do you think
cloaks of normalcy
societal smiles
wash away reality -
that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn
means all is well -
that children next door
from 'respectable' homes
aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish
to the highest bidder -
what tales do you keep
to sleep at night
in perfumed air -
'it's far away
some hapless child
not where I drive
with tinted glass
they're lower class
don't know the Lord
mere runts down town
where father drinks
can't pay their rent
make decent wage
so sell the kid
for sordid nights -
- n - o -
it happens
to tender buds
in wealthy
suites
and poorer shacks
in any
place
and every age
from dot to
grown
they stay unseen
stare at their
sums
are ***** this night
sob off to
sleep
as mother too
walks right on
by
deaf to the screams
he wants his
due
so he will take
her brother
too
'now be a man'
says worm to
prince
he lies to all
most to his
face
and no one sees
and no one
hears
the silent screams
with veil drawn
close
they look askance
and walk on
by
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
The monkey on my back is just a cigarette under the crack
Where your fingertips can not, anymore, the nicotine pursue...
A stain in my Egyptians, the painful intermissions
And nevertheless a violent ingestion, the cavalry consumed.
Dogs don't eat dogs unless they're the runts of the group,
And when they come out crooked, the casualties ensue.
Ribs on my shoulders, eyes in my aorta
And just as I guessed, from out of my chest, a ghost not unlike you.
Ive been here 666 years and the irony is insane
The only voices Ive had in my head were dripping off the brain
A zombie could knock down a wall or take 3 in the chest
But a dog with the head of a worm is quicker than the rest.
Uninvited your spine comes crashing into my field of view
Negatives of your face fading into non-photo blue
The tree canopy becomes a face that looks a bit like yours
But when it blinks my heart sinks, and you walk out the door.
Signals running every which way! Scream me, baby! Do it!
Lose my caller I.D. witch ***** slow
Drag
Drug
Love.
Eat it all under a vacuum heart and say the words!
Gooba gabba gooba gabba! We accept you, one of us!
Shoreline, waistline, eyeliner, center divider
Crash into the sea and settle underneath!
The bubbles quit rising! A man is inside!
He looks like your and my hatechild!
You wanted art!! Ill give you art!
As soon as my head stops circling around.
One of us!
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:00 PM UTC
It’s inherent, a ritual passed through ages, fashions change but the outcomes the same. We make ourselves desirable, attractive. We plump out our manes and puff our collars, rouge our cheeks and lips, blood pumping to all our organs. It’s our tribal wear. We soak up sweet alcoholic nectar, loosening our inhibitions and bringing out our inner basic urges.
We hit a club called the watering hole, gorillas on the door filtering out the runts. My paws stick to the floor and the walls drip with sweat. The disco lights burn down on me with a heat like the desert. You can’t move without making eye contact with someone. Single men lean against the walls, and lurk in the shallows like alligators. Waiting for a young philly to wonder past a little worse for wear. Snap. Men dance with their tops off, sweat making their skin glisten like a serpent. The first thing you have to do is get to the bar, its packed and the bodies push against you as all trying to get to the front. The first few drinks numb you and make you confident, you begin to be seduced by the music and dance floor. The air is humid and the smell of smoke has faded away, just leaving the smell of body odour coming from the hippo taking up most of the dance floor. The main smell overpowering all this is *** pure unfiltered *** the place reeks of it. This place is a meat market, but there’s all kinds of animal on show. You’ve got your flamingos who stand there beautiful, looked at but not touch, you’ve also got your warthogs content rolling in their filth, you’ve got your grizzly bears sniffing out the honey. Me I’m a hyena, (laugh) a pack animal, we hunt in small groups, dotted around the stage, causing mischief among the herd, we’re jokers, entertainers, it might all look like a laugh but cross one of us and feel our bite which is certainly worse than our bark.
There’s one though, he’s a lion, king of the beasts, everything else is just meat, he locks onto his target, he stealthy crosses the dance floor to prey on it, there’s plenty of meat around but that’s the one he wants, it’s a game, we lock eyes, I can’t move, it’s survival of the species, and he’s top of the food chain. Once he has me he takes his fill and leaves me to the vultures.
I lick my wounds to start again. And then I realise the hunter has become the hunted.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
Where is the terror please in a blameless mind
Show me the pain and fears in a brimful loving heart
Find me the nightmares 'n demons in blessed slumber
Wish me the tears in pious gratitudes real and plenty
Produce a charge sheet of dark deeds and secrets hidden
Bring witnesses of a stained criminal past and stolen items
Front me a past lover with tales of **** or ****** misdeeds
Show me anybody truly implicating me in any foul deeds
Ask my betrothed of ever knowing me drunk and disabled
Dig out any associations of me with friends of ill-repute
Point a day I conducted myself disgracefully 'n disrespectfully
Stand out a neighbour I went begging and borrowing from
Twirling taunting is nowt but delusions of ****** fantasists
Nothing to do with one devoid of fears and guilt of the neurotics
Show us the happy contented one who gives time to mudslinging
Even the most basic of intelligence tells us this is an impossibility
There are nasties out there kicking a poor policewoman in the head
There are repugnant foreign Taxi-drivers prostituting teen girls about
There are hate filled Terrorist willing to **** innocents unflinching
While our deranged think school playground antics is all they're worth
These are the ones that salivate in front of computer screens
Unwashed Keyboard cowards parading malfunctioning brains
Attention and ambition lacking deficits sad subhumans waiting to be fed
How can wasted western fodders impact on my consciousness or even my subconscious
Those by their evident actions already show they lack rationality, intelligence or understanding
Inadequates whose only recourse is to showcase their inferiority in pained envy and jealousy by trying to bully
Insignificant runts who can't better themselves despite opportunities abound
Dr Livingstone come see what your children from your Great Empire has become
You told our forefathers you came from the very cradle of Civilisation
A land of freedom and great knowledge
How come now your childrens are pathetic ignorant irrational insecure deluded cowards
What to do with morons other than to pitifully toss them a morsel of our talents once a while and laugh as they feed hungrily
You gotta laugh!
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
It’s like crying in the rain
Being drowned out by the rest of the world’s woes.
A voice yearning to be heard
But can’t utter a single word . . . it’s too young.
Too young for a world so old.
Facing the brunt beginning of our future
We’re just the runts of the pack.
Aware of the all the deluded foolishness
Amidst this crazy circus
Trying to put a stop to the ruthlessness
And erase the selfishness
We only have a “futile” esophagus.
Old beliefs, but new fashion
Knowledge is dangerous to those who have it,
And all the youth who have it
Are shunned . . . because youthful thoughts are unformed views.
“Useful” thoughts come from a view
That is so high up and extremely corrupt
It makes the change seem distant.
And discouragement from the encouragement
Is the exact thing that’s sought.
Take a stand and make all the old beliefs rot
It’s time for the new fashion:
A youthful mind and fruitful esophagus.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 2:02 PM UTC
I went everywhere in my dream.
I went to the past and saw the future
Took pictures of my old house,
Realized how haunted the neighborhood that I grew up in was.
I took your best friend to my old back yard. Just to dance with her again
I confessed my undying love like it wasn't a problem. And when I turned
She was wind, and I had to cut the air with a blade just for Satans protection.
I ran back inside and packed my old books and kept deciding on which ones to leave behind.
The way the new owners rushed me out
Like time was a decision not worth noting
We drove to a new state, with new faces
And I used my phone to communicate
With my first unrequited love.
How i still want her , but no longer care for her. The way i used to want to hold her sensually ,when i was a ******
Now a primal urge to answer her proposition with the most careless of
"Sure"s
I asked her if it was a dream and the way she said it "could be" made it feel more real.
And after one of the mamma cats died
Leaving all the babies for one tabby to feed
I realized that life is ...
And all i can do is love the runts
Untill they are burried , and then the love changes to a past tense
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
You can only divide yourself so many times
You spread yourself thin over too many lines
The war you've been waging must be fought on all fronts
You have to look strong when you're the king of the runts
And when the war ends you'll go home to find
The life you left waiting has left you behind
Old friends will have forgotten that you ever left
And you wont find a single woman with who you have slept
All the people you knew wont recognize the man who's come home
At least on the battlefield you were never so cold or alone
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
Daughters, sons of Adam and Eve
you’re intelligent being who believe
in peace, harmonious profound love
and this fabric of existence, you weave
There is one race
on the face of Earth
dubbed human race
in a regional dearth
two eyes, a nose, one face
or Buddha like in girth
why do some hate
though not in their genes
organs, hormones, or gait
the color of shirt, short, or jeans
something that they ate
be it rice, fruit or beans
it’s taught by parents
not in blood, or heart
an act, played by runts
not in the realm of any art
so, stop being blunts
and listen to this old ****
07/14/2016
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
After high school,
you'll forget me
and continue
doing those
delinquent
things that
my mother
and
father
would never approve of.
In ten years,
I'll have little
runts running
around.
Pitter-patter sounds
coming from the floor.
Cries
and smiles and blonde
little curly haired
kids.
I'll remember back to
the days
you drove me
wild
and wonder
where you are now.
Maybe you'll have a family of your own.
Or maybe
you'll still be
doing those
delinquent things
that never truly
distracted me
from the person
I was insane for.
Because-
in ten years,
you'll have forgotten me
and I'll
remember you
with my family in the
other room.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Part I
Those car rides with you on Saturdays
were all I really remember of my youth with you.
There was little talking done because it was understood;
You had me when you weren't ready,
but you couldn't hide from me.
You knew everything I couldn't see.
I chewed on my big chew and watched you.
I had a father on this day.
You weren't a black snake wandering and squirming away.
Years later you apologized for what you didn't understand.
Vampires ****** my compassion out of me long ago.
I said It was okay when I should have yelled no.
No more.
No more.
Go! Go! Go!
Part II
Now I always call you in my mind
if I'm not hiding behind blue walls.
The words are always hidden behind black shawls.
I have pieces of you in me
and I don't mean the physical traits.
I know I have your hate.
Men with less of them stayed
for their little runts.
At least your denial was perfectly blunt.
At this age the cycle is complete.
I'm here and I will never understand
why you never stayed to be a DAD.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
God gives me tests
By sending me pests
Without a chance to rest
Or equip a bulletproof vest
The idiots around me
Tell me I shouldn’t care
That advice I’m doubting
Because it seems unfair
I don’t want the blank stare
Those same idiots share
On this planet where
Everyone’s scared
Hiding in lairs
God sends the worst
Until I’m about to burst
Feeling cursed
In the steely hearse
Of this universe
They poke and ****
In a barrage
Saying I’m flawed
Based on their laws
Using their claws
I can’t pause
Like their applause
For a malicious cause
Their lives are purposeless
They’re obstacles to navigate
I’ve become a hurtful mess
Trapped in all their hate
They change a chipmunk
Into a nasty miffed skunk
Placed in my swim trunks
These senseless dim stunts
They actually call slam dunks
Though they’re ****** runts
I get so angry
No one can tame me
They just provide training
On aiming
At the blaming
Pests so draining
These tests I fail
Surely as Jesus’ hands were nailed
My heart goes stale
Searching for my white whale
I’m impaled
By my own harpoon
Because guards loom
With a marred broom
Sweeping dark doom
Into my heart’s tomb
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 10:20 AM UTC
Like water flowing down a drain
I stand by and watch as
My time spins round and round again
Chest heavy and eyes weary
I reach for it only to slip
I sigh, this doesn't happen rarely
Aimlessly staring at nothing and everything at once
I only wish I wasn't viewed as one of the runts
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 2:09 AM UTC