"smarmy" poems
Past altered states tests postive and subtle
******* So and so's teeter Paleolithic après time puddles
And submit terrible philosphies
Ashy stubble ticks politics
and sacrafice to peer approval sacralige
Test probably appears stable
Top patriarch's able suddenly to
Pop above submerged tables possibly
After, something tests patience awkwardly
Stumps tarot practioners and *** testers poor application sterily
Topology plain, astrology scorpio
Torpedo power aptly strikes to pedal antlers sour
Take particular appointments
Stop testing please apply sorted
Terror power and sexless torn pigs
afterhours pen and store tips, plow.
Alter simians testosterone, pow!
As scientists type papers about sexing tasteless past alligator snouts
testing partly after science takes party alliance south to pawn army
subtle tipped passion. artsy.
Start these.
pick atoms smarmy
Tally past all sentences take pride
As stencils test pestilence. And sigh.
The previous alterations simply tried.
And didn't work, hence the present
Path lit incandescent.
I'm looking towards the east waiting for positivity to peak
You're turned backwards nostalgic for something that'll never come repeat.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
Some are shrill and some whiny,
Some are deep and hoarse or smarmy.
Some sing, and others scream,
Some are lazy, some are keen.
Some are there to comfort and to reassure. Or there to ridicule and to exacerbate an emotional sore.
Mine are, mostly, the latter type.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
She was our first grandchild
And naturally
We loved her dearly
And I adored her
As only grand-dads can
And she latched onto me
She used to come to us every Tuesday
At a time when kids are most interesting
She was fully conversational
(Didn't we all know it)
Her personality was emerging
And she was still young enough
To have her originality and imagination
My little gold mine of joy
And this is how it would go
"Grand-dad, you be the shop keeper
And I'll bring my dollies in for clothes."
So she would lay out her doll's outfits
And bring her dolls forward to buy clothes
She would haggle over the price (and win)
And pay me in cardboard coins
"Let's watch a video, Grand-dad!
Let's watch Barny!" (Again)
I hate that ****** purple dinosaur
And Katie thinks he's wonderful
That smarmy voice of his
"I love you and you love me,"
I bleeding don't you know
I wouldn't let him within a hundred miles
Of any kids of mine.
In the course of the day
I would be called upon
To play multiple parts in
Everything from The Three Bears
To Little Red Riding Hood
In which I memorably became
Big Bad Wolf and Grandma
And presumably ate myself
But the highlight of the day
Was the last thing before she went home
The weekly show
"Introduce me, Grand-dad!"
In my best showman's voice
"Ladies and gentlemen...!"
To my wife and dog
"...The moment you've been waiting for.
Fresh from her recent tour
Of our back garden.....
Miss Katie......."
"Katie Spice, Grand-dad."
"Miss Katie SPICE!"
Into some popular ditty of the day
Issuing from her at full volume
Then she would stop mid-line
While she did a little dance step
All greeted by thunderous applause
In her head it was Carnegie Hall
Rather than my wife, my dog and me
So, a happy end to a happy day
Then Katie went home
And I slipped into an exhausted coma
By Phil Roberts
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
Teetles tuppled storpidly, along the clurby path
Her toes gribbed at the plirky sand
When she lumbled swanuously round the ragthall pebbly wrath
Her stlilting head tipped back as she breathed the roopled frand
She trippered toinulously pausing at the gurgil streef
To drink slaverously from a Burbore skinned flask
Sea shells stolen plumberlingly from the Briley Heef
Dripped from her pockets as she svointered on the shubbled crask
And in her furling hand she snatched a Stoodle,
Feathered little spine smuffled from the wind so grabbily,
Its beak produced a little snawdoodle
And she laughed so jorbid and trabbily
“Little one, a seashell for you”
She exclaimed and stooped to pluck a sleemish one
And in the Stoodle horpled with a gentle twoo
And she set it in the blurkish sea, spinning loorfilly in the sun
With a sudden shloop
both shell and Stoodle were ****** under
so she stood waiting peering into the gloop
as the Stoodle sunk into the murky punder
Then up the Stoodle popped with sloopish swriss
But Stoodle it was no more, instead a brilly Havergrath
With grey silk back and wuverbul muscles twriss
A smarmy smile upon its jarby grath
And she smiled back at him
A korky, vubblious thing
And he flipped through the air with krim
As one only a Havergrath can bring
--Lily
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
Should I call you "Supreme Leader" little man?
Smarmy narcissist, frightened one, I have found you out
Holding court in the lunch room we are all supposed to lick your boots
as your partner does
follow your example
as you do evil things, behind our backs
You order your little partner about, hither and thither, although she is supposed to be an equal
You played a role in eliminating me because I think for myself
As you lean back in your chair, directing the conversation
cutting people off in mid sentence, if it doesn't please you
Rudeness is not something you know of
nothing is sweeter than the sound of your own voice
you can learn from dissent, but this you don't understand.
That is how you make a better product.
You can value diversity and learn how people from different points of view
see things through a different lens, and maybe they see more clearly
But all you want is to listen, to that sound of your own voice
to dominate and shut out, and shut down, until there is no one left but you,
the Supreme Leader and no one to challenge you
and I hope someday, you will be left, all alone
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
“Suppliants of the Hearth”
~AESCHYLUS
With suppliant olive branch, to what kinder land could Man return?
Whose cities and earth of brightened water
Olympian lords, ye ancient gods below
Whose end possessed the tomb, though Savior Zeus
Keeps pious souls and yet receives
(respectful in the airy lands of men)
Those suppliants of the Hearth, rehearsed!
Though for the smarmy scorn of ****** men
Before the draught tastes the dregs of waste
Return their ships upon the brothing seas
And wintry stings of hurricanes the braved
Pressed on by lightnings, thunders, cast upon
More wild of winds, by facing life to death
Undo what wrong the law forbids
Cousins of pain who lie in strain upon unwilling beds!
Who shows the faithful witness
Still unknown by natives here
As unexpected to the false
Unknown upon who know and last at length!
Meloncoly more of song than Ionian strings
My heart unused to tears on Nile’s cheek
We gather bloom of sorrow
Anxious friends
Someone in search of strength
As exiles, far away on an empty mist!
Hear then, ancestral gods
And kindly look upon the tears of justice lost
With hating people, nothing left to lawlessness undecreed-
Our union justly met!
Behold the Heavens
Invincible in bulwark
Touring always the lasting weary
Among men, respect of gods!
Now will be done
Traced easy in the Earth
Uncompromised of fortune
And blackness through the hearts of men!
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:47 AM UTC
start at four
unlock the doors
wash the floors
wash the tables
cleaning up whats left over
from yesterdays fun and games
then start again
12 hours more
of back and forth
and back and forth
and back and forth
and back and forth
and scorn
and whispered words of harm
from smarmy englands home grown army
braver now
since the bigots charter
britains best
at the bar rat arsed again
better than the rest
at spending their hard earned girocheque
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Sitting in my red Lambo
the wind breathing down our backs like a perve
I look to my right after working up the nerve
She's sipping that malt like nobody's business
Her hellcat smile barely containing a playful tongue
Funny, I never thought I'd be jealous of a straw
My Ray Bans refract the setting Sun's spit onto her shades
We play tag with it before tossing the light through the windshield
Doctor Dusk gave us the full dosage
The tires grind on the gravel of our asphalt Neverland
I Peter Panic when she sheds her masquerade
She's got stunning mocha eyes frosted with truthful lies
I see her spirit phasing into my chest
A pair of luscious lips giving my heart a crimson kiss
She tells me I carry the scent of leather and sorrow on my sin
On hers, I discern daddy issues and untapped sin
The girl's as broken as I am
Sure, I might occasionally be smarmy and sick
by no means, though, a consistent ****
Her giggles wash all the bad days away
so my Lucifer impressions melts her ears with a
"Baby, wanna play?"
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
I have trouble coping you.
I really struggle to handle what you manifest.
It's only through sheer force of will
and a glaring lack of skill
that I manage this...overload.
Every kiss is of trepidation.
Leaving the sweet taste of elation.
A fascination with every breath your taking.
So lost I am in this love infused awakening.
Like watching a million roses bloom red hot,
with whatever passion fuels love.
In this ethereal field I'm held caught.
With only the ability to spew such smarmy adoration.
Almost completely lacking of thought, sense, or annunciation.
No less heartfelt or without the weight of sincerity.
In every word, oath, emotion, thought or change you make in me.
Changes that come unwilling but not unwanted.
Now dreams are the stuff of life and by life I am haunted.
This is the discovery of real love,
a desperate thirst and need that you can never sate.
The medium through which you can dream of loftier things like fate.
This and all that is beyond surpasses all its worth.
Because for a moment, we are greater than all the earth.
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 5:19 AM UTC
A crowded café, bustling, boisterous, filled with jocular
talk and the ardent gossip of young men and women,
a salesman’s smarmy sincerity, and the deft, placid
intonations of desire over two cappuccinos with skim milk,
and she is there, in the corner, against the brick wall, sipping
unadorned Earl Grey, and then a zoom focus, her presence
enhanced, the room falls away, and the chatter quiets into a
cushioning white noise, background to the film he has constructed,
and with the leads filled, the location set, the supporting cast in place,
now, the script.
May 2, 2021
May 2, 2021 at 3:40 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel like a walking calamity.
sort of unfinished-
like a painting missing just that last daub.
Like a sketch instead of a snapshot.
I'm clothes that don't totally fit.
I feel ungrateful- often.
Smarmy and altruistic.
A vain liar.
the princess ideal is not for me
nor is the martyr
but lately I feel I wear both the dress, the cross and the crown.
Invisible stigmatas staining my palms.
Bearing everyone's burdens but my own.
When did I decide that was my job?
Who chose to put me in this role?
If I am in charge of my own destiny, why did I choose such a lousy one?
in the final fight,
I won't walk to the light. I'll brandish my umbrella for the storm cloud.
I've painted on the silver lining for others. They've eaten my words.
But this is something I cannot swallow.
Oh life- you bitter pill.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
It’s too comfortable to write
In light so bright my sarcasm wont bite
So I’d rather wax intellectual in the freezing cold
Let my icy lungs ****
In some tar and I’ll
Hold everything I say
As
True
If only we could compile clues
We’d see
All the bodies we buried to be moderately happy
But still I’ve done worse things
While eye’s rolled in the back of their heads
Averting your vision
Can be the only tactic in your book
Of smarmy one liners
That all seem to be blunt remarks about my size
Which is fine
Worse things have been said
During diner conversations
We counted off the ways in music how we’d be a bonnie and Clyde
And if the220 razor wires grins sewed of mouths off cheating friends
88 sharp teeth gleaming, of devilish plots we were scheming
52 white knuckles clenched over getaway cars, or benches in parks watching false stars
36 black stares something about face mauling and bears, but I didn’t care that we only had
7 seconds to make it out with the money
5 eye’s wide open to ceiling fans or a lack their of
1 reason to wake up
And in such a way we could be writing pings on sound recorders put it just goes silent with the senseless bashing of fists on porcelain/.
but in the end we can only hope it means nothing
or as empty as air
or as simple as breathing
-Kevin T
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 10:19 PM UTC
My brain doesn’t fire
Synapses the way I want it to
Anymore.
It just shorts out
Causes a commotion
Leaving me on the floor.
I got a few to no tricks up my sleeve.
But these idiots keep putting faith in me
Like filling a plastic bag with more plastic bags.
I can’t see any reason to the way I’ve been living.
I’m fighting myself by instinct.
If you build a multitude of clever one liners
On being “Angsty and smarmy”.
Then when you run out angst and smarm
Your basically ******
So I’ve been trying to reinvent myself
For the kids.
The little bastards with the confidence to keep stars from falling.
But I haven’t seen a gleam in ages.
All I see is an empty sky reflecting in my hollow head.
I try to sleep it off
But I just wake up feeling dead.
I could go find a firing squad,
But that’s not what I want to say at all.
My brain isn’t working the way I want it to.
If this is growing up, we’re ******
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 4:30 AM UTC
(with apologies to Elizabeth Barret Browning)
Arrogant
Book Soldier
Conceited
Con Artist
Covetous
Cunning
Deceitful
Disingenuous
Egoist
Egregious
Envious
Entitled
Evil
Haughty
Hypocritical
Ignominious
Immoral
Jealous
Jumped Up
Machiavellian
Martinet
Mendacious
Nit Picky
Obsessed
Peck Sniff
Perfidious
Persnickety
Pompous
Popinjay
Predatory
****
Rapacious
Regimental
Sanctimonious
Self Important
Shylock
Smarmy
Sophist
Supercilious
Unctuous
Unethical
Vile
Vicious
Zealot
ljm
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
*there is a place
in fetish land
where breathing idols
live below the belt
their busy mouths unveiled
soiled shimmering lips yielding
warm spit
thick and wet
the crimson flood
is the flood of love
Dark Hazel
plays
legs spread
like a baby in a bathtub
wiggling her toes
and circulating flesh
in vaporous waters
with scarlet rings through her nose
and smarmy Gods command
neoprene priestesses
***** with a switch blade
and an ***** to die for
color me on my knees
grateful
**** lovin derrière kisser
reading comics
from
the book of *****
while she queen's glare
through ***** party masks
jitterbug arcane rituals glitter
hellions in love
you can smell the volcanoes
malleable baby dolls
with tiger skin bindings
evoke eager spires
through tribal unga bunga
shimmy **** and ***
drenched in yearning
night fires and sacrificial rants
vulva's like fat plums weeping pink milk
mouthed terrorized ******* drooling
tarnished yoga's
of dancing feet scorched
inferno's of pleasure
vanquishing the temples of normalcy
the sky is red with rituals
souls set free
in a **** for all
like a cluster of stars spooling a galaxy*
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
Under the celestial heavens,
The sceptic, is so small, slight—
In a dull room, filled with gloss, vacant,
Unbelievers, hayseeds, who unbeknownst
To themselves, are all in an incestuous love cult,
A construct so vain, vacuous, of spineless comfort
And smarmy snugness, a tribe of loose, yawning tripe,
A spew of runny phlegms, a scheme of useless blue things,
Festering. What rational and clear clods, of beheadedness,
Cluelessness, in clefts of lobotomy, plain and clearly sightless,
Without seeing, they proclaim, all that their dull drivels, the dear
Elders had once spoon fed to them, preached, said— now, how,
They are sad, righteous and solemn in their preordained, oldness,
Incongruous, indifferences and prejudices. To have completely lost
Any warm, decent, actual feelings for emotion is foreign— the stars,
Do not align, the waters will not part, yet they are blind to the lies
In themselves. To have experienced— any real, beating, ******
Thing is beside the point, is beyond their ken, is not knowable,
Yet, kowtow-able, quantifiable, not actual, but unbelievable
They—the smug, slugs, under rugs, are dead, as dust,
Under celestial skies, deep, darkness inside . . .
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
That roach, that roach
If only I could ****
Would that convoke?
Or I receive revoke?
Or I simply choke?
How I wish to elope
As I head down this slope
However, the roach won't go
It comes out every now and then
Shows its face only to want more
Hiding after satisfaction
My care for the roach can only be measured by my subtraction
Of health, of love
Why couldn't you be a dove?
I'm not attracted to doves
I don't want pretty and stupid
I want smarmy and witty
Oh how I love pity
That roach doesn't pity
It only wants
And all I do is give
In hopes that the roach will care
A reoccurring strategy
Maybe this time it will see me
Oh that roach, that roach
If only I could ****
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
The Shaktic Yonied con-i-cative chronicle
Receptive magical majesty
Why do I insist to refuse the image
Which given to all for a being
I must, I must. but lust for sustenance
Greed gleamed gem, imaginative benefits
Illustrious acceptances held in receptacles
Analogous referrals for smarmy mastication
She: What a Be. The present of this presence
Shaking her out, letting go of these pretense
And obligative fashions
Of latching ons, to momentary ideals
Peeling them down, because permanence is the illusion
The banana tastes better without the Denial
Whittling woodwork
The sawdust agrees
We push, we push forth.. Hesitant to be forceful
Yet sometimes that's the force in it's own manifestation
When's the plan the being, and the being the plan?
Over exhausting contemplative complications
Isn't just a bean plant To eat the seed
And relish in her nourishment
But that want can be that active fault-line
Tectonically rupturing this productive structure
Impatience of the anticipating ambition
Crumbling foundation of her imaged experience
Perception is the adversary of all this malarkey
Projecting the doubt filter on how perceiving this reality
Realization of creation, the constant remembrance to strive
What's the precidence and where's my mind to?
Blind me! Blind Me!
To forget the exhaustive duty
Her beauty is so suiting
Long to fruit.
To be swooned so soothingly
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 11:12 PM UTC
I know my friends here would
Never go behind my back...
But someone is...
There's a breed of HP troll
They are wicked
They are bold.
They are smarmy but they attack
They go for the throat
Behind the BACK.
I KNOW they do. You may agree.
I know cuz it's happening to me.
I know the signs. I know the drill.
It's old news now. I've had my fill!!!
Hello Poetry's my home for good
But the termites try to eat the wood!
Here's my solution.
Here's my plan.
I'm bringin' in the Orkin Man!!!
When I hear someone go and try
To put someone down, try to LIE
I won't LISTEN!!! I WON'T PLAY!
I won't diss someone... I'LL PRAY!
My ol' granny had a brain
She was wise as people claim.
She said to watch
for 'sharing' people.
Especially those UNDER A STEEPLE.
What they preach ain't what they do
If they talk.about me
They'll talk about you!
Believe NONE of what you HEAR
And HALF OF WHAT YOU SEE...
It's EASY to lie these days... agreed?
The company of foes
The company of fools
The hackers hack
and use other tools.
SO WHY DO YOU LISTEN?!!
It's a cinch
They'll take a mile
Given one inch!
I've lost readers. That's all I see.
I know how to smell duplicity.
I don't want this.
This game they play.
But I'm stuck with the mess.
It's still their way.
I tried to warn.
Folks... IT'S ALL LIES.
It's simply a TROLL IN DISGUISE.
Now. I am tired. I've called the bluff.
Can you blame me?
I'VE HAD ENOUGH.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
.
The unholy *****
//
I read the love poems & I think
WHY WOULD ANYONE LOVE THIS GIRL ?
& you read
Poem after poem
And it's all the same
//
The girl saying
YOU SHOULD LOVE ME CAUSE
I LOVE YOU !
then you get the most disgusting
Thing ever written
ITS JUST YOU AND ME BABY
AGAINST THE WORLD !!
as the puny poets of hello poetry
Swoon with ignorance & stupidity
& feel safe cause they've rendered reality
Unto perpetual kindergarten interaction
//
Yeah
Ya **** up and get hooked up with
Some girl like this some time
//
So
ya dump her at the truck stop
And drive on
and hear her smarmy babbling
In your mind
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
Now that you’ve been sold, what thing
will bring you back to us?
Arches of waver-lust, departuregrams
inform those on the freeway lam
and send us crashing gates and exit maps
as transit days dump rain
and what we know we’re in for gets too big.
Hurry to racing pits,
a bit of shelter huddled under heatlamps
pecked with pigeon dust & and odd late chills
that cracked the April. Plucky in
the clothing bone, we shiver, bide,
relent from marking make-up time
on coldwire sheets
We fold
and put work in our purse all wrong.
Some smarmy song New Yorks us, whinging on
where rent wars rage. Code-shifting blocks
of solace to the kept while crushing
others under debt - a glacial chill,
a respite, magnet phones left smartless,
calling on our wits
to ride those twists
through money-makers’ gauntlet.
Out of harm’s way, donning gowns
and Never’s hand-me-downs from
Stalling Leisure, Merry Ways - cinch up
and see what stays, what juice
the cosmic strain can free
when anger walls re-tighten down
to shape, or **** without a sound.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC
In a moment, the news.
Until then, we'll turn to the nation's capitol and have a word with...
Condescending self-important motormouths
Narcissistic bloviating gas bags
Useless over-coiffed talking heads
Disingenuous glad-handing power seekers
Smarmy bootlicking Ivy League backstabbers
Government funded flatulating wind turbines
Spit shined Armani wearing handout seekers
Grudge holding influential bureaucratic petty tyrants
Overworked browbeaten ladder climbers
And, if we can find them, a few nonpolitical working Americans.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Reasonsonal
You had to see it to believe it in the call centre
How you had to queue up twice in the lines
To hand in your bag and phone
Mard **** f*cking security guards thinking they're God
Elevated to a lofty status beyond you and me
Who the f*ck do these twoddles think they are?
Donald **** F*cking Trump?
At least he's a really rich ********
The fake guards bellow and strut and act all important
'Put your cellphones, ifones, laptops, computers and TVs here!'
Another plastic guard joins the litany:
'And form a separate line and place your bags here!'
Well f*ck me six times with three hookers
I don't wanna queue up two f*cking times!
I wanna go home and drink my warm ****** English beer!
'You there! Don't put your gadget in your bag. You must queue up twice. You can't buck the system. We're smart and know all the tricks!'
Off to the back of the second flaming line
I will never ever queue up here again
Nor ever give the smarmy guards another chance to feel like God
Bossing me about and being **** wannabes
They're manning the desk in Reasons Call Centre and are all plonkers
***** their little mind games and rules
I'm resigning from my crap job to be a tank driver
Then I'll ****** show them who's boss...
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 12:50 PM UTC
The angst, the bile…
the true confessions, the lies
Hey this’ll make you smile…
“We have been working night & day
to keep the evil pox at bay”…
“No!”…You didn’t & you don’t,
you brief a learned stooge
who’s too polite to contradict
and he too sidesteps the truth - huge
apologies… but in fact I know
a source, a whistle blower
a real grafter of course - he’ll tell ya’
He sees beneath the radar,
sees what’s really going on… and
spills the beans at a crucial time
to expose the ****** the excess
the subterfuge, the slime, demi-crime
and BAM! he’s out - because, although
you’re the guilty one...
You’ve also got the clout,
the power to contradict and flout
the rules, the under-funded crawl-out
you scurry metaphorically to
dodge the fall-out. There will be more…
you whinge - but later… I promise.
Hide behind some positive PR
some smarmy spin to cover
your tracks, hide the mess you’re in.
Paper over the cracks…A new Royal Yacht,
a wedding… more cake anyone?…
Smile for the camera darling…
But time will catch you…
Tick tock… watch the clock.
Choose your time when dice should roll
to call the poll…while you’re
up they’ll be down, whilst the good
outweighs the bad… now, quick - SPIN!
Am I too near the truth?
Do you seriously think
we’re all taken in?
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 11:19 AM UTC