"smurf" poems
Nilimot ng ulirat ang sarili
Nakaligtaan akong dalawin
Ng antok na pinangungulilaan.
Pinihit ko ang imahe
Nitong bughaw at dwendeng bida.
Bagsak ang panga
Ayan, pabaya ako sa pananim
Patawad Papa Smurf!
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
A beautiful cover of silk and sky
I could almost die
It reminds me of the sea
And a tiny flea
It reminds me of a bee
Which fills me with glee
It reminds me of the blue bonnet
Just like the glue gonnet
I think of a blue smurf
Which likes to surf
I know a blue emoji
Just like a goji
The color of magic
Which is created by hagic
It is the color of a kitty's eye
And a fly
It is the color of the cowboys sign
But not the color line
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
If I could be a cartoon character
Which one would I be
I thought about being Fred Flinstone
But he's too old-fashioned for me
And then there's maybe George Jetson
A man who knew electronics
Nothing like Yosemite Sam
Who needed to be hooked on phonics
And what about Shaggy and Scooby
You gotta love those scooby snacks
I've never really considered a Smurf
And their tiny little mushroom shacks
Or maybe I'd become a super hero
Who comes to save the day
Batman , Green Hornet or Underdog
Who puts the bad guys away
Maybe I'd live in Jellystone Park
Where Yogi is still the king
For "Hello Mr Ranger Sir"
Is just the funniest thing
© All Rights Reserved
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 2:11 AM UTC
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
I remember running to first, faster then a scream
Now that kind of speed is just a foolish dream.
Age is such a vicious foe, slower by the day
My anger yells at speed of light with nothing real to say.
I still dream of hitting first against the burning sun
Each Saturday was just a game, a war that must be won.
The ball was hit just like my soul soaring in the air
Its always true life is foul or sometimes it is fair.
I loved to hear my father’s yell when the play was on my turf
The yells from distant fans of mine screaming for the smurf.
Even munchkins have to age according to the word of Oz
But baseball dreams have no rules and it's sons they have no laws.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
Wand'ring
Lost and alone
Through a dense and murky wood
Far from familiar shores
A damp, deep weariness
Pervades my soul
As I search
For the tell-tale signs of passage
My quarry has evaded me thus far
The path weaving
Between the roots
Of ancient, gnarled oaks
I pause and wonder
At the futility of my quest
Might he have slipped from my grasp
For good and all
Ne'er to be seen again
I laugh derisively
The cynic rears its ugly head
I must keep up hope
Else why go on
Steeling myself
I begin to move once more
I turn my thoughts
To years past
And a wave of bitter nostalgia
Washes over me
I can almost hear the faint echo
Of their singing
The high pitched
Tra-la-la
As they went gaily on their way
I can hear his voice in the lead
See his blue skin
And white beard
A tear rolls down my cheek
I sink to my knees
I cry out
Papa Smurf!
Where are you?
But, alas, there is no reply
And so I journey on
In search of all I've lost
Knowing deep inside
That it can never be again.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
Once upon a time in an alternate universe not too long ago
I met the cheekiest babe from the other side of the world.
She went by Smurfette, she loved to call me Papa Smurf
and Vanity wasn’t gay, the ******* just loved himself too much.
She always sat by the window, detoxicating herself of verses
cranking out a few lyrics, scoping the city in the trenches.
Of the love we waged never wavering and waving a white flag
“I’m gonna put you to bed” were all our wars went to die.
But I was more than alive, inside the land from down under
called her Daphne the Nymph, the voluptuous Greek Goddess.
Wanted to raise little Koalas together in our Kangaroo farm
in every kiss we traded souls, in every breath we lost our lives.
And we gained them again back when the Jitneys were blue
our sweat-drenched bodies overtaken by some strange voodoo.
Every ship we embarked on was lost in the Atlantic without return
James Bean captained our vessel, holding it together with crazy glue.
In New York City locked lips inside a phone booth, it was euphoria
she was already born a Queen since she hailed from Astoria.
Our Bohemian Rhapsody blended like Cheech & Chong on a ******
her pouty lips, ****** smile, five years later how can I forget her?
Her voice, beautiful sparrow, vocal chords stone carved like no other
and yet normally speaking she sounded like the Crocodile Hunter
Soaked the landscape of her essence, remembrance without a beat
the song she wrote about us, plays in my heart eternally on repeat.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Shasha: If you like then u should’ve put a ring on it.
Emily: A.) not the right song b.) not singing time yet C.) What’s your name?
Shasha:BUT I WANT TO SING !!! And I’m Natasha
Emily: Sorry about that folks I’m Emily. We are the Purple People Peepers
Shasha: Purple is the color peeping is the uhm.... Dollar??
Emily: Well who here knows about the smurfs?
Shasha: Smurfs??
Emily: Yup.
Audience hoots and hollers
Emily:Well sometimes if I embarrass Natasha enough she looks like a smurf.
ShaSha: You weren’t supposed to tell people.
Emily: Sorry.
ShaSha: Emily shush its my turn.
Emily: Well alright.
Shasha: We’re gonna be singing!
Emily: Yeah... What song?
Shasha: We Wish You A Merry Christmas!
Emily: (Gives Shasha a sarcastic look) And A Happy New Year?
Shasha: What song is that?
Emily: (Gives Shasha a confused look) Or, we can sing the song we planned on singing.
Shasha: (Smiling) Okay! (Turns and looks at Emily, very confused) What song is that?
Emily: I Want You Back by
Shasha: Cher Llyod!
Emily: No, The Jackson 5.
Shasha: The band?
Emily: (Gives her another sarcastic look) Yes, Natasha, the band. The group, Sweetie, The Jackson 5 is a group.
Shasha: I know, when are we gonna start singing?
Emily: Right now.
Shasha: Great! Who’s singing first?
Emily: I don’t know!!! How about Hermes??Maybe Jesus??
Shasha: \What does that have to do with the song?
Emily: Really? I hadn’t thought about that *sarcasticalIy
’
Shasha: Because you’re not smart like me. (smiles and points at herself proudly)
Emily: Yeah.....thats why.....
Shasha: Tehe
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
"I should," just sounds off,
like dentures biting into a bar of toffee.
Daydreams as sipping some froth,
out of your morning coffee.
Flying otters and mechanical beasts,
welcome to the rejection hotline over imaginary vibration.
Ice cream sandwiches and mushroom burger feasts,
a day does try some patience.
Red and blue smurf battles,
on blank and empty computer vision screens.
Nerves like snake rattles,
and nothing but imaginings.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
On some mornings
mom would ask
if Kyle and I wanted waffles
these were no ordinary syrup catchers
marbled by deep purple
stuffed with blueberries
When I was born
I was born a blueberry
due to the blue pigmentation
resulting from lack of oxygen
because of my mother’s smaller stature
that day a screaming smurf was brought into the world
and I’ve been getting redder ever since
Above the sink in my dad’s home
is a small purple bowl
handmade with a ceramic stem that broke off years ago
on the inside bottom is an engraving
that simply reads
‘Blue Berries’
but no longer carries fruit
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
I make
stupid decisions
when I'm drunk.
I drink whiskey without food
and puke up yellow bile.
I put my hands on girl's *****
who have protective boyfriends
and get into shouting
and physical
matches
with dudes I can't remember.
I talk about love
and stupidity
in the same
sentence.
And I yell
like a ************
Sometimes I yell some incoherent
********
while Josh drives back to the crib,
****
about how
I love the girls I can never ****
**** the girls I could never love,
and don't know ****
about love
in the first place.
That's what I mean by stupid.
I'm a smurf that doesn't know it's blue
when I'm drunk.
Blue smurf.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
All Yvonne asked for was Superman,
Ice cream style
with more blue than yellow
all her friends would think she ate a Smurf.
Maybe some sprinkles
to hide and seek in sugar log cabins.
But that’s never what she got.
Instead you left her lost at sea.
She got too much love;
if that’s what you call it.
Too many nights hoping you would rescue a drowning corpse.
If she could go back in time,
protect herself,
she’d chop off his **** and shove it up your ***
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 1:24 AM UTC
I'VE COME TO MY KIDS CHRISTMAS PLAY
JUST LIKE I DID LAST YEAR
THIS YEAR THOUGH, I'VE COME PREPARED
I'VE BROUGHT ALONG SOME BEER
I FIGURE THAT I'LL NEED IT
TO HELP ME THROUGH THE NIGHT
'CAUSE WHEN THOSE **** KIDS
TAKE THE STAGE...IT REALLY IS A SIGHT
INSTEAD OF USING THE SAME DOLL
THEY'VE GOT ONE THAT IS NEW
THE ONLY THING THAT'S WRONG WITH IT
IS THIS **** DOLL IS BLUE
THIS YEAR THEY'VE ADDED DONKEYS
IN COSTUMES MADE FROM NERF
THEY HELP TO KEEP YOUR MIND OFF,
THEIR JESUS IS A SMURF
THIS YEAR THE WISE MEN GOT IT RIGHT
AND THEY'RE ALL WEARING THONGS
YOU CANNOT HEAR THE CHOIR
THEY'RE FLIP-FLOPPING THROUGH THE SONGS
THEIR ROBES TOO, ARE MUCH BETTER
THEY DON'T WEAR DRESSING GOWNS
THEY DON'T LOOK LIKE A GROUP OF ROCKS
NOW, THEYRE DRESSED UP RIGHT IN BROWN
LAST YEAR MY SON, HE PLAYED A ROCK
HE WAS A BIG SUCCESS
THIS YEAR HE'S MARY'S STAND-IN
AND HE HAS TO WEAR A DRESS
I HOPE THAT HE DOES NOT GO ON
CAUSE, GOD FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH
I'M NOT QUITE SURE THE F/X CREW
CAN MAKE A BOY GIVE BIRTH
THIS PLAY WAS BETTER THAN THE LAST
WE DIDN'T LAUGH AS MUCH
POOR JOSEPH USED A POGO STICK
TO REPRESENT A CRUTCH
IT WAS ARTISTIC LICENSE
TO HAVE THE CRUTCH OUT THERE
HE TRIPPPED UPON THE MAGII
AND WENT FIVE FEET IN THE AIR
I'VE COME TO MY KID'S CHRISTMAS PLAY
FOR THREE YEARS IN A ROW
IT ONLY COSTS TWO FIFTY
AND THEY PUT ON QUITE A SHOW
I SAID THE SAME THING LAST YEAR
AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN
I'LL BE BACK NEXT CHRISTMAS TIME
ONE NIGHT FROM EIGHT TILL TEN.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 11:57 AM UTC
My friend the Smurf is sometimes blue
From holding breath for an hour or two
Please let it out and breathe once more
Lest you be passed out on the floor!
I say breathe out and love you'll find
You're strong of heart and pure of mind,
in youth and beauty you reside
as love stands firmly by your side.
So now I write these words so true,
sent out from my own heart to you
my aged muscles have all but carked it
I cannot lift you off the carpet!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
Anti-gravity, rivers, streams
flowin high above the grounds.
Powered by giant speakers that
pulse propulsion sounds.
Information waves in stealth
conveying, like particles: cars,
from their backyard "bye bye" gates
to the store, the moon, venus, the stars.
So small they nest on cell towers
tweet, tweeting their "special effects"
and form a web, grid, around the whole thing
a mulit-port, self guiding, blue cloud matrix.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
This is
The best poem ever.
Spread the word.
Tell the masses.
Just like you did with
that book,
that movie,
that game,
that series.
Just like all those,
You know this poem is
Empty.
Pretty words,
Like pretty 'vampires',
Like pretty smurf-people,
Like pretty-boys with swords,
Like pretty pictures;
Devoid of genuine meaning.
Or is this poem empty?
I suppose time will tell.
Empty things
Are lauded
By the empty-minded.
And don't you know,
Society's head is hollow?
Bleat on, sheep.
This is the best poem ever.
Sheep go 'baa', one by one.
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC
Take a puff
smurf it up as it snuggles
the free air, it baffles
when smokes thick
blur grey, illusion its depicts
Surp it up
the wrath they scare you with
because life is a myth
are you living, or are breathing
are you awake or still sleeping
and in sober slumber
is this someone else's dream
are you the sum of a banter
of the inner war unseen?
Throw it out
and it goes so slow
and vanishes as it goes
and meets the air
everyone breathes
pain is shared, and none shall heed
that to your lifespan, there is no greed
you breath it,
you feel underneath it,
the canopy
is yet a mystery
Smoke it up
and see
the decree
and the flow
goes down so low
and dont tell them to stop
unless and until
you have smoked it all up
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
A cat was found on the street
A man had left him lifeless ,beaten
Black and blue literally
It had some scars to show up for the persons artistry
Now a cat is called mean
Well never heard a cat dying a man green
And man is a social animal
But sometimes animal part comes out at the scene
But the fact is man has a bigger animal in him that any lil blue dyed cat named smurf can bring on the scene
And I m not being gender specific each time I write a man there is a man along with a woman ,fact was I just wanted to write human but each time I guess the animal in me came on the scene.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
*talking to ritchie (a scaffolder on the Whitechapel project of the cross-rail) and his girlfriend nicholle, the smurf who i told about gargamel... while almost begged the sri lankans to buy a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of diet pepsi, past the allowance for the shop's opening hours and catching the last bus from chasing the cross... me and ritchie got talking randomly... hugged and shook hands by the end of the encounter, i don't know why; ritchie was a scaffolder... i told him i was once a roofer... i don't know why i have a healthy affiliation with scaffolders;
nicholle the chihuahua walking in front of us reminded us of drug testing on the building site, i said a day off, she said a day without pay and randomised crap like curtains... now i remember why i didn't join the crew with girlfriends, i'd be in a mental asylum by now, should they exist, otherwise with the failure of community care projects... maybe that's why women look amazing in ***** but cats look better in real life; i'm not even trying to be sexist, it's just too much reality.*
i have only a few words
for her:
why won't she touch me?
why am i to resolve
my objections like this,
ah, i see, because they are
objections to that
subjections that are of man
succumbing to woman
and the ordeal of chore;
that are, man objectifies woman
with all that ***********
while woman makes countless
subjects from him to appease her,
while the world around sees no
appeasement...
indeed in the crusader's song to
later show, as a psychosis
(elevation of soul via the body's
non-existence, a funny atheism)
i'll show you a levitated stone,
that doesn't require stones or loafs of
bread for proof of alchemy;
cup my hands in tears to capture
tears like rainwater...
make my eyes a convent....
i say a convent not a covenant!
da pacem domine -
and i see the mother nuns ushering the flock
into carcass of obedience,
a volume of body as tall as the pyramids;
why are we the defending?
what pleading would craft an altar
if not to compare
idle prayer crafted as a larger spectacle
to allow marriage in its eyes
permitted...
when i'm the sparrow of sorrow
i sound like my mother, because of you,
it's what i see that's to come
that makes me disbelieve the magic of
the advert, and embrace the advent of the saints
in petulant prayer.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
No buttons
Grrh I screech
Frustration
Auto spell dam
This is madness
Someone save me
Before I smash it
Change the settings
Big keyboard
Sweating
If I were a smurf
It would be perfect
But I'm not
Crazy
Get with the game
Yes I'm insane
You won't beat me
You are a machine
I rule you
I will get this
You will learn
My speak
My language
I persist
Yes I think
I got it ...
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
[they say the meek shall inherit the earth]
those ********
no one tells me anything
so no one owes me nuthin'
when living means dying
when dying means I told you so
when a letter arrives (too late)
when a boy no longer fits in his grave
when someone dies
and still wants love
defending myself
by yawning (as if shouting who me?)
afraid of people
or fighting for myself
or smoking grass
but having hatred
baring teeth
biting my thumb (and looking at the marks after)
striking my brother (with a hockey stick)
running off a neighbor's lawn
its slope - too fast down and breaking a collar bone
proof gone.
still biting my thumb (and looking at the marks later)
yelling **** the the rich
and bury them with those who live outside themselves
who wear me out
who wet in commercials
transmitting their cleanliness
into our homes
they can no longer stand their filth
they smile as they **** on us
the little people
turning to face me
he dares me
to make eye contact
clenching his fist
grinding his teeth
he sputters
you middle class smurf
I don't owe you jack!
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
i dare say, silent movie in the genre of horror?
Sven and me, no, not Geoffrey or Norbert,
Sven, the coconut,
donned a red woollen glove on his coconut
scalp and told him: you're a cockerel alarm
clock from now on; Sven liked it,
i told him: you're not a bowling ball,
you've just chewed cashews
in your mouth socket, and now the
undigested pulp; if not then off to the
bowling alley with you - ah my sweet
tropical island smurf / cannibal necklace
skull of a little monkey of imitated kindred
physiognomy, oh pooh bear, pooh.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
.*it's not like i couldn't pay my bills at Edinburgh university, we didn't have internet access in our third year at home, but we had it, when visiting the library... so what? paying the gas and electricity bills is rocket science these days? the two of us paid them... so now it's supposedly, "hard"? mobile phone... what?! roaming internet access.... what?! car... what?! not a pair of legs?! oh yeah, i have a choice... either where i'm at... or the roof of star constellations in a forest... BIG LOSER... biggest loser of them all... the one that manages to fix up his grandparents' kitchen, and doesn't "think" his parents are lepers, or something to be ashamed of, basically a non-sperm-bank donor's... attache of ******* egoism; your turn.*
such a random array of people,
abstracting themselves
on the grounds of love...
or whatever love is...
i said once:
buy a dog first, before having
a child...
you can pet a dog for five years,
and then you can father / mother
a child...
love... seems everyone's
love is just dandy, oh so pristine...
i drink...
you probably watch t.v.,
match-made in heaven,
or Cerberus' ****
i make sandwiches that do not
resemble napkins...
i drink... **** i said that already...
so basically as perfect as
an avocado on toast...
who does this sort of ********
is that crap even edible?!
i don't want to know...
i go to a bar,
i turn into a pseudo-Santa...
some smurf, some elf sits on my lap...
'is this the part where i get
a hard on?'
obviously i don't say
those words, i just insinuate
the Christmas metaphor...
what the hell am i writing...
it's not even like i want
to look my best,
like i want to lie "hoping"
for a date...
i did speed dating once,
back in Edinburgh...
let's just say...
stroking a cat's head
amounts to the classification
of the more...
fruitful endeavors...
dating... is that a western
"thing"? you know,
when people find thinking claustrophobic?
is that the point they start dating?
when a blank space is no longer
a redeemable "friend"?
that time?
what other time?
let me guess...
never walked a cemetery alone
at night...
that's one of them, right?
can't help you there...
you're supposed to be on your
own at those crux coordinates.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:48 PM UTC
Tupac Shakur in my opinion was the greatest poet of our time,
nursed from his calling a real rap star...
He left our world far too soon yet he is never forgotten
he lives in the hearts of his adoring fans
to sleep to dream through steel unawares
the chosen vessel pressed through the ****** of time
a vestibule toward a couple left long ago
barbed wire fences latent refusal of meager defenses
there's glory in the escape
hearken the minutes the hours set in tone
embrace the water gone alone,
in certain begotten place we may steal
take a look at the twilight upon the hill
there tormented cause to regain
an instant tight injury minus the flame
embark on a revolution so very plain
mark the man willing to explore
the plains of the dunes on the Cape rejoice
laughter the panther rest its nearly gruesome head
blood forsaken blood the chamber torn to death
deep onto deep the pages have turned
you are the final nail until my coffin
look long in the garden Johnny Rotten
nature knows what's embraced every single day
crushed cement with a red rose
stand the flight of pain
Tupac's final flame
heavy is the light left to St. Peter gone in flight,
Tupac witness to, "Keep Your Head Up"....
march of the wooden soldiers
rap invades first into the intellectual embraces the day
with words given into a sought after hemp learn to relax
The Smurf's and Strawberry short cake kids
in the company of the cabbage patch kids
boil royal thirst is done,
memories of the coast that screams
fry doe and everyone screams
in the company of a heightened remedy
boxed in the light of eggs and potatoes
Momma dearest momma show forth your flame
into eager desire was Tupac's drill
meet the marching orders from a blast from the past
Shug got his in prison with a good reason
Tupac was my hero so here we go
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC