"stunk" poems
Three Minute Warning
A messenger delivers
A three minute warning
As I lay in bed at 10:30 am
(Resting in preparation for,
not from, our oops, early morning hike).
Breakfast will be ready in 3,
Get your **** in gear or else
It will be cold, I'll be mad,
And you will answer to a
Higher Authority.
No problem cause I already know
All I need is two.
Splash water on my face
Now I'm presentable
enough to the human race,
current company probably won't be happy,
But I ain't telling her, are you?
Shave! You crazed?
It is a three day weekend,
Every day a July Fourth,
Celebrating freedom from the European tyranny,
Of shaving smooth every day!
Splash water on my head, count with me,
Five brush strokes as you can plainly see
Is a classic case of overcompensating
In my geling n' hair stylin'
Brush my teeth, well,
I hope 2 full minutes of rinsing with CVS
Green stuff, mouthwash, will have to suffice.
Blast my deodorant both sides,
Long and strong, wearin' now
My bold blue *** husk of musk,
Cause I am a very considerate fellow
Who happens to really have stunk.
Clean T- shirt and shorts,
Yes, clean underwear too,
Leaves me a whole minute to write this scribble.
My flip flop noises coming down the hallway,
Are the butler announcing our joint arrival,
Me and my poem.
Lest you think this is paean to men
Another grand male boast,
Be advised this ditty be writty
By a man who, while no longer gritty,
Just put jelly on his scrambled eggs
And ketchup on his toast!
Mmmmmmm there might be a poem
Lurking in that too...
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
me truck
me truck is where i get my luck
good luck, bad luck, nice luck
me truck stunk like a skunk
that seems like bad luck
but it was the good skunk
the wan that gets u bunked
me cat has a bad case of lice
no more chasing ***** mice
the stupid thing only eats rice
the ganga it smokes is so nice
it somkes great out of me pipe
my truck makes me lots of money
me honey likes me money
me brain aint very funny
i also aint a big smarty
so me truck is me only option
i like it, its so very nice
almost as good as mariwawa
otherwise known as de ganga
good bye
tank u truck
for me money and me food
to feed me fam
and me ganga addiction
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot,
…stirred her iron ***
Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot,
…home of death and rot,
Abigail Primpot sewed and stitched a lot.
She produced a sweater that shined like treasure,
…and no one else has ever seen much better!
Abigail Primpot learned to cook from old wives’ tales in an old dusty book.
Frog legs, bird gizzard, wolf’s bane, small lizard, one rotten apple and one sharp tooth, …cup of mead, some spices and a bottle of vermouth, a chant and a song and a wizard’s spell, …and a whirlpool in the cauldron that went to Hell! Abigail Primpot likes to stitch ‘cause she is a witch and though she was quite young; she lived with snakes, bees and scorpions and things that stung!
*Abigail Primpot would become a Beast when she wrapped herself in her shining fleece!*
Abigail Primpot,
...her home stunk of death and rot,
Abigail Primpot,
...sewed and stitched a lot,
Abigail Primpot,
...she had an iron ***
Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
Part I
The house is as haunted as its name,
The house really isn’t the same!
The people in it are dead and gone,
The trees and bushes are not cut;
There is a graveyard past the woodshed hut.
The graveyard is covered with leaves and moss,
Leaves that the wind has tossed,
To be tossed again no more;
One day like them in the sky I’ll soar;
Only to be known as them no more.
The rain is streaming down,
And there they are lying safe and sound,
While the rain beside them pours all around.
Low! A car pulls up to the house,
Yet there they are still lying as quiet as a mouse,
The lightning flashes and hits the ground;
With a loud and bellowing sound;
Yet the still it do not hear;
Even though it is loud and clear.
Why can’t you it hear?
Don’t you know its loud and clear?
We are the dead do you expect us to hear,
The things that to you sound loud and clear?
We are the dead and you are alive and you can hear things we can’t,
Don’t you know you’re waking the dead? Go away you little scant.
The rain is coming down in torrents,
Yet there they are lying dormant;
I thought this house would look better in Spring,
But no, not even when the birds begin to sing.
Part II
There is darkness everywhere,
There is lightning in the air;
There the lady ghost sits in her chair,
Look at the car sitting by the house over there.
The skeleton in the locked trunk,
By now hath stunk,
Until he could stink no more. . .
In that trunk sitting by the attic door.
Is he the dead that must be respected like the others,
Fathers, daughters, husbands, wives, and Mothers?
Must we be so quiet as a mouse,
That we aren’t heard in that dark old house?
Must we so soon go away?
And never again here we stay?
There is an air of creepiness about the place,
And they that are buried there do not run the humane race.
They were cold ever since that night,
When their family saw and told the sight.
Yet they so alive alive seem,
To me it is but a dream,
While I sit beside the clogged up stream
This place is haunted, I could scream!
Yet I keep it all in,
I can hear that dead old hen,
Still clucking her evening song,
Almost all the night long.
And while she’s dead I know she’s not,
It was her I loved a lot!
The big old rooster isn’t here though to scare her anymore,
Perching up on his perch behind the door,
He was a Rode Island Red,
And he isn’t here because the butcher cut his head
"I am so sorry," now I said.
*** _________Marian_________***
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
Roosevelt was worth 6, 7 million dollars
He was Tight
Frog waits
Till poor fly
Flies by
And then they got him
The pool of clear rocks
Covered with vegetable ****
Covered the rocks
Clear the pool
Covered the warm surface
Covered the lotus
Dusted the watermelon flower
Aerial the Pad
Clean queer the clear
blue water
AND THEN THEY GOT HIM
The Oil of the Olive
Bittersweet taffies
Bittersweet cabbage
Cabbage soup made right
A hunk a grass
Sauerkraut let work
in a big barrel
Stunk but Good
4.3k
By Arcassin Burnham
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
Not enough room in this attic , wouldn't mind if we just
Shrunk,
Just like Alice entering wonderland through a rabbit hole,
I have no intentions of touching your body or your soul,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
Everything we did was asinine, but dying of boredem stunk,
Delighted as I am to call my own , it's personal,
Writing love , and pain , and sweat and shame in 72 journals,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk and intoxicated out of our minds with a bit of grime
And old creepy dolls on the floor,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
the garbage truck didn't turn up to-day
and the neighborhood trash stunk all day
a gross smell drifted across the street
it was akin to a rotting pile of peat
the council have heard the odd gripe
they've been told that the ******* is ripe
the residential area is no perfumery
our quarter acre blocks are so stinky
we'll be forced to vacate the neighborhood
as uncollected garbage is far from good
the air is heady with stale fish and curry
vegetable matter and an assortment of slurry
it is hoped that a truck can soon be found
as we'll be decamping the area's bounds
our noses have had a harrowing time
inhaling a stench which isn't sublime
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
The light of the television
dimly lit two
lovers,
but not really.
He stunk of wine
from the lips and
mauve teeth,
she stunk of wine
by proxy.
her legs, only slightly
unshaven, he stroked
gently, which they
both enjoyed, but
not really.
***** pots, plates, and
cutlery lay placid
in the sink.
They'll be washed
sometime soon,
and put away in
cabinets of wasted
white wood, very soon,
but not really.
The floor, like them,
began growing clothing
like wild moss or ivy,
and claimed the room
& claimed them too.
The movie, he'd recall,
but, then, she would
not.
He watched the blood,
and conflict,
and at times laughed,
and she saw him,
and conflict,
and didn't laugh at all,
which he knew was strange,
but not really.
On the dim, small, screen,
The lean and hungry man had his
Nemesis on the
sepia-tone ground,
and finished it all,
with rage and mercy,
with a stomp
to the
heart.
They watched, her eyes wide,
for she knew this was
them, her on the ground,
and him in the air, and she gripped
him a bit tighter,
which he noticed,
but not really,
which she noticed,
but not really.
In the dimly lit room,
they could not see
they were alone,
and it was true,
only Bruce Lee & He,
and She.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC
*He was such a sweet talker,
Met him at a real nice bar
He didn't have a ring on
I didn't know it would go so far*
Yes, he is a charming *******
That sounds like his M O
Always getting drunk in a bar
Looking for his next ***
*That's not how it was
He wasn't even that drunk
I see it all clearly now
His lies all stunk*
The first thing I thought
as I saw you two together
Is not what a lady should say
So I think that I had better
Keep my mouth shut
And rise above the situation
Calling you a ****
Would just start a confrontation.
*Listen here, "wife"
I didn't know he was married,
Thats not my type.
Throw away this hatchet you carried
I'm not the one you should be mad at,
He's been doing this behind BOTH our backs!*
That is fine "mistress"
I think we can both agree
He is the one to blame and
it shouldn't be taken out on you or me
Now the hatchet that you talk of
The one that I have carried
I know what we should do
And where it should be buried
*Who knows how many times
He's sweet talked an innocent girl
We could do something real nice
To rock his fantasy world
What do you say, you and me?
I think this could be destiny.....*
To Be Continued.....
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
The smell of stale french fries
and E.coli coated beef
the raw onions and garlic cloves
stunk up the kitchen and watered my eyes
no ice in the drink machines...
but plenty of warm pop
Chicken nuggets with 16 new herbs
and spices and hot fudge Sundays, without the hot fudge
banana splits with rotten bananas
and the tomatoes weren't that fresh either
the cheese was moldy and the buns, moldier
The advertisements claimed "Have it your way"
it wasn't my way, it was their way
I paid a dollar fifty ordering off the dollar menu
it was a ripoff....
I spoke to the manager
and the manager spit in my face
and said "Have a nice day"
it wasn't a nice day, it wasn't a nice day at all....
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
The fingertips upon my neck stunk of stale cigarettes
the breath upon my face of smoke. I handed over my
dreams with such disdain. My mind was elsewhere, was
I to blame? The moon above me soothed my mind as the
tears rolled down my face, hurt I could not hide. Now I'm
such a mean girl, he took my life, ruined my world.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
Cigarette smoking
Took a drag and blew it out
Stunk up my clothing
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
driving along in my auto mobilemy baby beside me at the wheeleverything right, nothing seemed wrongrevealing her thigh, a glimpse of her thongteasing and pleasing, live action pornparty in pants, one wheel and two hornscrash, wallop, bang, cos i did'nt seepolice car in front, but he felt mea fine, six points, coppers new bumperthump her? or dump her, but wanted to **** hershouting mad rages, the constable rantswho stunk like a sewer.......he'd **** in his pants
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
My skin left pierced;
From the gripping bite of your cold voice
Over top your cigarette breath you words still stunk
A lion-heart with a lying heart
You promised the waves of our love would never reach shore;
Instead you dumped me into shallow waters
Lying face down and still not standing...
My feet can't lock onto the drifting sands of your comfortability
so I stay there, trying to swim to my next lover
trying over and over;
...but drownings much easier
The more I turn blue, I cant seem to tell if my emotions are bursting through my skin
or the hypothermia from within.
My mind starts ticking;
My insanity seeps through but I believe it true
That once this clock strikes 12 that you'll be attached by another mouth
The boat we were once on together is drifting away
a simple memorial of true lovers lost
can't find the directions to each others heart
but hope for the best while were apart
*One day, I pray you'll float back here in my dieing last breath
and save me from my misery that you cause since.*
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
My name is Murmur. I have a Funk.
My Funk is bright purple. My Funk smells like skunk.
And sometimes my Funk can act like a PUNK.
(And I'll have you know now, those days really stunk)
You see, your Funk always knows when you feel sad.
When you lose a job, or when things go BAD.
This is the stuff that makes Funks glad.
But since your Funk follows you when things go all wrong
Maybe you should just invite him along.
Make a new pal, sing a Funky Funk song?
Embrace your Funk, he can sometimes be wise.
He's usually honest even when in disguise.
He might even help you fight monsters round the bend.
By the end you may just have a new Funky Friend!
It's okay to have a Funk. And sometimes you will.
Sometimes your Funk will hoist you over a hill.
Sometimes Funks will help you. And sometimes not.
Sometimes they remind you of the good things you've got.
Sometimes they will take. And sometimes they will give.
And sometimes Funks remind you to just get up and LIVE.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
trunks filled with junk and the crunk juice flows
flunked out pill popping junkies with no cash go
drunkenly to the shrunken head show
knowing they stunk.
The monks dunked funky mumps victims
on bunk beds and licked them
instead of fixing lunk-headed situations
with linkin-log technologic advances
drinking dogs retrofitted with dance moves
groove on the wooden floor while ****** bore
the Moors with tales of divorce and random ***********
on all fours in doorways
during bad plays on the interstate…
demonstrators, unregulated, on roller skates
wait at the gates of the ingrates filled with hate
and throw pie plates with fated accuracy
and the belated bureaucratic picnic
nitwits in knickers knuckle bump
and plump debutants snicker
the wicker croquet mallets
perform ballet in the chalet
and I have to valet the cars –
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
i woke up this morning ****** off from the night
before about something petty
my ***** itched from sweating all night
forgot to turn the heater off
passed out drunk, didn’t really forget
work called me in early
so i missed my morning **** off and ****
coffee was cold; who am i kidding the coffee was old
******* in korea with more threats, government bans
something else, electric is due and i’m tired as ****
work sent me home early
said i stunk from last night, who are they kidding
i’m still drunk
bomb went off in boston, who ******* knows who
did it, bunch of ******* wack jobs living in this country,
gun lovers, gun haters, baby lovers, baby haters, *** lovers,
*** haters, very few lovers of love but even they fight at
night when the shower runs out of hot water
all i know is my ***** are blue and stink with pain
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
I'll start breathing again
& release this exhale
From the hell that it came from
Like swallowing nails
I inhaled every smell
And like fire it stunk
I was a tree
You were mean
How you burned down my trunk
But it's done
It's all done
I'm not worried about you
& the noise that you made
drilling holes in your truth
I'm not stressed out or cold
I'm not bitter or sad
What we had was an accident
Now it's gone & I'm glad
I can stand up with excellence
I got you off of my back
Like I lost 1000 pounds
That I never want back
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Yellow-tinted-noxious-lung-warf-stunk-salty-oysters-stolen-rotten.
Where am I? but the driftwood castle promenade, fish market gardens.
Congo jungle, steam ship sunken in crying river, village elder persists at warning.
Hear the fiddle burning, drug sullen quarter note steadily, it's veracious creak reverberates through me, the loveliness reveals me, and yet I cannot behold the.
Negligent narcissus subdue me, hurry up and ***** me.
Here is the birthplace of living curse, whats bottles up by living thirst, awakening face down in a black-bellied hearse.
Driven hard line through desert ambit , throttle locked at 85, no control, levers, nobs, or nodes.
Half a Cuban snuffed out poorly, sleeping in gaping jowls, I could not believe this thing even had an ash tray.
Death had bailed and locked the doors, filled the tank, and whipped the devils horse.
I worn the blinders and found my pockets stuffed with carrots and a lighter.
Then i smoked what was left without protest, I was not about to ask what came next.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
I came face to face with God
His breath stunk with alcohol
He just kept staring at his hands
And apologizing.
Volcanoes erupted
Every time he cleared his throat.
I didn't ask
Why
I just stared.
He never met my eye
And that's when
I knew
There are
mountains
Even He can't move.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
Beauty decomposing,
Like Mozart unraveling;
A symphony from his grave,
She no longer would behave;
Slowly she rotted,
Her I's no longer dotted;
No more makeup,
Hair tied in a knot was her dressed up;
She stunk like a corpse,
Driven to the end of her ropes;
Because not even an overdose,
Would make her come alive a dead rose;
She'd been mistreated,
Her will to survive depleted;
She no longer held her composure,
Her life needed no closure;
She was broken down,
Wore on her face a constant frown;
No more a bright light,
This beauty caused fright;
From the inside out,
She was barren a drought;
No longer could she be saved,
All roads that led to her had been unpaved;
Beauty she was no more,
Just a long ago told fairy tale lore...
© okpoet
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Booted
The boss was a real fecking ****** who abused his position
Now he’s got the golden boot and is no longer there
But he goes to the company cark park to see his lieutenant
Who is just the same as him an equal seller more arrogant!
The original boss was quite a nice guy not a *******
It was his elite selling unit he set up that stunk of elitism
You’re not fecking fighter pilots so why the fake Godliness
It all stinks of ******** and **** licking all the way
Tong that far up the **** it comes outa their **** mouth
Who will fill the original boss’ boots will it be his lieutenant?
Who went to the same skool and was trained the same way
Instructions and orders are sent via messenger do this and that
Keep at it run the account my way this way I’m still there
My influence is like Uncle Joe Stalin always present and seeing
Give them Hell drove them to break to leave hire and fire ‘em
Still give me some wanga it’s my account even if I’m booted
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC
I slumped to the type-writer on a foggy December morning,
tired,
recently broken up with a pretty girl, Allison.
She was 32, older than me and
had long dark hair, pale skin and a habit to chew her fingernails.
Outside, the trees were bleak and jagged, raw from the latter-year chill.
My TV had been left on from last night, displaying re-runs.
Re - “I’m sorry about last night”
re - “It’s fine, look. I’m coming back to pick up my stuff later today, don’t go anywhere”
Re - “Okay”
re-runs.
Previous girl, Wendy, she was nice, worked at a grocery store in town. She could play the flute, though not very well. Sometimes she’d make horrible noises and call those sounds what we were, messy and all over the place, but that’s what made us “work” eventually she moved to Arizona to get back together with her ex from high-school.
“Explain what it is I’m doing wrong?”
“Excuse after excuse you’re always away, off in your own mind. Yet here you are, in the same ******* house all the ******* time”
ex.
Girl before that was Emma, she had a great singing voice, taught yoga and owned two dogs, one was named Oliver and the other Pam.
Pam died very young, nobody figured out why.
Emma cared about her dogs a lot, said she needed some space so she ended things.
Time to sort through life.
“Sort through these boxes, would you? There’s one of Pam with my mum, she looks so cute in this one”
“I met all sorts of people at class today, this one girl, Tracy, wants me to go out with a few friends later, is that alright?”
“Yeah.. yeah sure that’s fine”
fine.
I think I was sitting in front of that type-writer to begin something,
something passionate,
fresh and new to spice up the mornings..
Maybe I’d go for a walk.
I had some boxes of Allison’s things beside the door, it stunk of her perfume and was full of clothes and shampoo, some pictures, too.
Staring at the type-writer was a blank page, Jesus, five minutes I hadn't written anything.
I began with
“Chapter One”
Before getting distracted by those re-runs on TV.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
On my first Christmas,
I learned that the city of
towering cardboard boxes
and the crunchy ocean
of kaleidoscopic paper were
destined for the trash bag,
but the complicated toys
I could not yet understand
were mine to keep.
Just before my second birthday,
my parents came home
with a pink, wrinkled
bundle of flesh, and said,
This is your new sister.
Though, at first, I found her
beautiful, with those pill-
sized fingernails and the
soft coos she kept pushing
out, I was horrified to
learn that my grandparents
were not taking this baby
with them, that she was
not here for my entertainment.
But the envy soon faded,
and I kept a lifelong friend.
At eight,
I decided not to keep
the magenta cast after
the stoic doctor sawed it
loose. It was caked with
doodles and kind notes, but
it stunk of sour milk, and
the boy with the copper
hair had not signed it.
I could not forget his
taunting laugh as I fell
that day, nor the fiery flush
that shaded my cheeks as he
snatched his hat from my
hand, already numb and
quickly swelling with
humiliation.
By eleven,
I had spent so much of a
childhood tripping over
sentences and paragraphs
and essays that when
my book report bloated
slowly from two pages to
five to eight to ten to thirteen,
I unknowingly conquered my
fear, stumbling over a
voice begging to be kept.
When I reached fourteen,
I had seen two corpses
in one year—one painted
as though in the height of
Expressionism and resting
in a casket so cheap it could
have been cardboard, one fat
and covered in smooth
fur, collapsed onto the cool,
indifferent metal of the
vet’s table—and I learned
that breath is in short supply.
But I also learned that
the destination matters less
than the odyssey, so I
tucked my grandmother
and my beagle into my
front pocket like two crisp
hundred dollar bills, kept them
with me wherever I traveled.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
and you ran away to zibalee
and put two hands in the runic puddle of the daylight
and you threw away Athena's kisses
and spent them instead on his touches
and on three spasms of obscene romance
and he loved a sweet lily who rotted when she found out
she rotted at the sight of you
and she stunk up the room with her holy perfumes of miserable purity
and you are left in the dust, filthy and used by him
and then you watched his heart break
and you realized you were in love with his eyes and hands and mouth
and you never hated yourself more than when he said "you're too high, you don't even care"
and you threw up from the stress
and he wouldn't hold your hair
and he pushed you into the wall and screamed that he hated you
and you can't fix it anymore so you walked to the bridge
and you quietly fixed everything with a soft
splash
and he didn't cry because you helped break his heart in two
and you just look up from the waves, blue and beautiful
and you remember the way he laughed
and you can't help but sink down and let it all go.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC