"twit" poems
I sat with a cat in my lap.
This cat is having a nap.
I wish she'd get off me,
I have to go ***
This cat in my lap should ****
This kitty is itty & bitty.
She jumped up to where I was sitting.
She needs to get down,
I'm wearing a frown.
My bladder is making me giddy.
So here I sit like a twit.
My lap must be made of catnip.
My need is so great
But she just won't vacate.
This cat in my lap should get.
Apr 5, 2011
Apr 5, 2011 at 1:51 AM UTC
Ben Kowalewicz (spoken): Hi, my name is Ben Kowalewicz and this is Billy Talent.
Well I tripped, I fell down naked
I drank from a cup of lead
I hugged a skunk, it peed on me
Yesterday I joined Scientology
Steal a Camaro, then **** Jack Sparrow
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
Jump in a dump truck, smell **** and get stuck
I cannot read, I cannot read
**** on computers, then drink some pewter
Die sanity, die sanity
Marry a cheapskate, gain ninety pounds weight
I'm really dumb, I'm really dumb
I'm stupid, it's my fault, so daft
I like to play in the garbage shaft
The best sport is Parkour, **** straight
I arrive at work five hours late
Drink a deep fryer, eat some barbed wire
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
Sleep in a fireplace, burn your entire face
I cannot read, I cannot read
Cinnamon challenge, go on a chalk binge
Die sanity, Die sanity
Bike into traffic, pose pornographic
I'm a ******* I'm a *******
I ate some poo!
I'm stupid, it's my fault
Try
I'm stupid, it's my fault
Lie
This bad song don't make sense
Pie
Get a Prince Albert, snake blood for dessert now?
Drink some Everclear, cut off your own ear now?
Go back in time to, forties as a Jew
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
Do *** and rip off your right knee
I cannot read, I cannot read
Find the KKK, put on some blackface
Die sanity, die sanity
Locate a pervert, then take off your shirt
I am a twit, I am a twit
I am a twit, I am a twit
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
I am a twit, I am a twit
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
"You call this good service!? Why you little twit, let me speak to your manager! No, I don't want anything deducted from the bill, I want to speak to your manager RIGHT NOW! So, you're the manager? Well, your daft, twit of a waiter messed up our order THREE TIMES! I DON'T CARE if it's his first day! I WANT YOU TO FIRE HIM!"
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
Though I never shagged you at all
You ****** the rhythm to ******* yourself
While those around you ate crow
They schlepped out of the cleavage
And they ********** into your crumpet
They ******* you on the rowing machine
And they copulated you **** your three *****
And it seems to me you tasted your *****
Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea
Never knowing who to stick it out to
When the ooze congeal from the top drawer
And I would have liked to have had carnal knowledge of you
But I was just a twit
Your cigarette lighter exploded spew out long before
Your whiff never blewout
Stiffness was sticky
The gristliest fat part you ever nibbled
Hollywood cobbled together a wizzofrog
And ******** was the corkage you greased
Even when you conked out
Oh the lubricator still molested you
All the skeletons had to jabber
Was that Marilyn was ***** flashy the starkers
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
from the virginal wombat in the twenty—second ghetto
Who smells you as meat as above par than scatological
Olé! than frank our Marilyn Monroe
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
To wit to woo, or not to wit to woo,
Would wooing suit a suitor shy on wit?
Or would a witty suitor suit poor Sue,
For Sue aint one to want a witless twit!
If Sue is wooed by witty repartee,
Then Sue and suitor could be well suited,
But he who woo's poor Sue with lethargy,
Is like to like not how he gets booted!
So if you want to woo, and to woo Sue,
Then deign to don a suit and do your bit,
To shoot for Sue, your wit should shoot straight thru',
Or wooing Sue aint worth a sack of spit;
Poor Sue just wants a witty suitor, see?
So if your wit is wanting, leave her be!
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
I remember quite distinctly
The night the Angel came
Hovering above my field
And calling me by name
Fred, the Angel yelled to me
Waking all my sheep
I yelled "you stupid ****** twit"
I've just got them to sleep
He said a king was born to man
And I must go to see
I said, "I've got these bleating sheep"
I don't do this for free
The angel said follow the star
All the way to Bethlehem
I told him, you must be ****** daft
My next shift starts at ten
I've been around the world a bit
And I've seen a lot of stunts
But this angel hung right in the air
And his wings did not flap once
He said there is a child
And he will be the King of Kings
I didn't really listen much
I was still watching those **** wings
The sheep were going batty
The field was bight as bright could be
I said, of all the shepherds round here
Why did you come wake me?
He said to travel swiftly
And to follow yonder star
I said, I'm off to bed mate
I'm not going on that far
Then there came a bolt of lightning
He had barbecued a ewe
I thought this bird means business
I mean just what could I do?
I left my flock with Charlie
The shepherd two fields over one
And I said I'll be back soon mate
I'm off to see the holy son
I met up with some others
All of us had the same tale
Of an angel flinging lightning
So we all felt we best bail....
I got there in December
I'd been travelling for months
The only thing I thought of
Those wings...did not move once
There inside a manger
behind an inn...full up each day
Was where I saw a vision
I'll remember to my last day
Three wise men dressed in robements
A little kid, and his tin drum
Some donkeys and a camel
The baby Jesus and his mum
Dad, was in the corner
All alone hanging his head
He said "How could this have happened"
"I never left the bed"
I looked upon the baby
And I looked down upon that face
He looked at me and smiled
You could feel a state of grace
I really didn't know then
What I was here to do
But, now I know my task was
To tell everyone I knew
So, I started out on homeward
To tell old Charlie of the kid
I picked him up a present
Yep..that's exactly what I did
I guess the world must owe me
and this I 'll stand and shout
You could consider my gift to Charlie
Was the first true gift given out
Now, I sit and watch the sheep here
People come up just to see
The shepherd who started gifting
The shepherd...that is me!!!
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Standing tall among men was he,
Very humbly he called himself a 'refugee'.
He was the Queen's Consort, oft full of wit;
Yet in humour, he pretended to be a twit.
Some thought he stood among the gods,
Busy with so much he had no time for the Land of Nod.
In life steps behind the Queen he would always be;
At death carried high before the Queen and for all to see.
All the many good works he had done,
The world only knew at the set of his sun.
Apr 29, 2021
Apr 29, 2021 at 6:02 AM UTC
I love you more than Holden loves Allie's glove
I love you more than the Doctor loved Rose
I love you more than Cosmo loved Wanda
I love you more than Squidward wanted to be alone
I love you more than Mr. Krabs loves money
I love you more than Gerard loves Lindsey
I could go on, but there's no point
Nothing can compare to how much you mean to me
You stupid twit.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
I set a paper rocket flyin', and it hurtled into space
breaking off gravity - all the way to Mars orbity!
Now everyone's surprised, coz a mere paper rag
flew up high and reached that rarefied lile where
only the costliest of junkets lounge leisurely by.
They said you're stupid, you got a paper twit to beg
and you've wampered even that away: how dares
a hungry haggard send missives down the skies?
I stand staring, starry eyed. This is an old squint,
that I got learning to look the other way as
my brothers starved and pottered on the streets
when cotton and coal funneled to Manchester leets.
But last heard, papa John's makin' paper boats
to swim by them snooty stars and there's a scramble
at my yards to get some ******* to the Moon.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
Well, I've written two . . . sonnets . .
first ones from the point of view of a typical twit youngish bloke . when he realises his latest conquests a bit keen like . . . He writes a poem . . . Leaves it lying around carelessly
So I'm to meet .your mum and dad ? . . .
But I thought this . a one time **** . . .
Not children planned or Sunday roasts
I dreamt no champagne wedding toasts . . . !
They're coming round for tea . . tonight ?. . .
This ***** no longer feeling right . . !
In epic terms this now's a fail . !
I think . it's time for me to bail !!
Though . . something sparkled in your kiss,
A luscious tingling of lips . .
Add alcoholic lust fuelled hips
Whose groovy moves I know I'd miss . .
So . . . If I meet your mum and dad .
Then that gets me . . another ****
She finds the poem . . And replies . . .
Dear silly boy . who left behind
His hopeful sentimental rhyme . . .
Who fancies meeting mum and dad
Just to secure another **** . . .
Well pretty boy . . KEEP DREAMING ON . . .
Since any chance you had . . has gone,
I found your rhyme upon the floor . .
Now ******* closed . . as is my door
It's such a shame . . you'll never know
How far down I can really go . .
Nor that my naughty little hand
Is worth your golden wedding band
My poet lad . . you've well derailed
All future chance . . of getting nailed
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
I had a feeling.
And so far it proves true.
Ever since the time you said
you didn't want to live together next year,
I knew
you had had your fill of me.
A nuisance and delusional twit;
I would abandon me too
if I weren't so attached physically.
My heart,
shattered, strewn across the fresh carpeted floor;
I desperately swept the shards into my hands.
Plucking the larger pieces,
I manipulated them as though working
a jigsaw puzzle.
I cringed and the
tears
began
to
drop,
like the bass flowing from your headphones.
The pieces fell from my fingertips;
I realized the effort equates to
a person's ability to repair a broken mirror.
I,
however,
refuse to discard the shards
into the nearby waste bin.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
Are you as surprised as I to find
That Kim Kardashian is a international spy
But don't worry she's on the side of right
Working this time for the good guys
The pics that this twit tweets
Is spinning turbans around in the Middle East
Corrupting the minds of the men and their youth
As they google eye over what she let's loose
Though Miss K. is not the one to blame
It's mainly the fault of Uncle Sam
She's just doing her civic duty
In the posting of selfies in her birthday suity
I've had suspensions for years believe you me
The Kim isn't as dumb as she appears to be
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
So,
I see you're back from a little trip,
using daddy's AMEX out at Abby&Fitch.;
You're a slave to fashion and intolerable twit.
That blouse would look better
on a bag of ****
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
I am the vessel of my ship,
I am to wrestle a little twit.
Will you help me find my virginity?
I think I've lost it somewhere,
Or someone borrowed it.
I am a farmer of black beans,
I am the Tarmac at the airport,
Will you join me for coffee?
I think I'm seeding the soil,
I found purchase in this toil.
I hate traffic and sputnik,
I love triptychs and music,
Is it you, me and everyone we know?
I guess we can play monopoly,
Just lay down your weapons, I'm fun you see.
Of course you can trust me,
I'm not a wet black bean,
Can I sing the national anthem?
I speak ****** and some other lingo,
I read French and women undress.
On second thought I'll be a stallion,
And yes I'm part French-Italian.
How far does it go?
I'll tell you what, do you know the muffin man?
The one that lives on Drury Lane?
If you do open up, let Thomas the train do his run.
A hippopotamus would laugh at this,
These lines said with such a clever lisp.
It'd have to be high as a koala bear,
Eating eucalyptus leafs at the fair.
I couldn't be more assured of this,
I wouldn't be reimbursed to read miss.
Doesn't it hurt? Aren't you choking yourself?
No me feel no pain,
Cookies are like nova cane.
Last but not least,
It feels better than summer heat,
The question everyone is a critic for,
Are you happy?
If Lois Lane was a *****
Cookie Monster a compulsive eater.
Then of course I'm sure.
May 20, 2011
May 20, 2011 at 8:53 PM UTC
to contemplate your beauty
is this poets' guilty pleasure,
but, as we're taking separate trains,
this joy won't last forever.
The play of light upon your face
as you read some Lovers' twit
gives you an aspect of Kabuki
in the station's dark abyss.
Your perfect, doll-like, features
painted porcelain by the light
An oasis of sheer beauty
amidst the station's urban blight.
Too quick, the moment passes.
I board and you remain.
For, you see, I'm headed Westbound
aboard the downtown train.
You reminded me of one I loved
in another place and time.
The girl who is forever young
and never far from mind.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 8:40 AM UTC
And the beat goes on
Child's play, adult themes
Concepts that twit da script
Life's test to escape the past
Destiny's will unfulfilled
Principles see unwanted excuses
Chances show a failed pattern
What is seen not often heard
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 1:49 PM UTC
You said I miss you.
You hang in my head.
Missed me beside you in your empty bed
In front of my eyes like a carrot.
With love he teased.
She teased too.
Now he's deceased.
Totally dead.
Probably not.
For forgot.
So sorry,
But he is not.
Truly sadly madly dead.
Can't make his spirit leave my head.
Hits me between my eyes.
Smarting flirting.
He lies and dies.
In my hell.
You are not dead.
In my heaven.
You'd still be there.
You scratched my surface with your wit.
You my love.
The drunken twit.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:18 AM UTC
the blatant frustrations of live feed editing.
enter the tablet, joystick free, one touch games,
quiet interesting that it’s so hard
to get a gaming addiction with such games
as candy crush soda, family farm,
bubble witch 2...
you will not see an adrenaline tornado on these
platitudes, no movie like involvement,
no plot... just time contraints, money constraints,
the adequate reflection of life: hey mort! when you coming?
hey forthnight debility cheque! when you coming?
(i too thought tetris originated in japan,
but it was actually of soviet design!
so in conclusion: games designed to be as reflected
by someone doing a crossword - i'm crap at
those, being bilingual is obstructive -
i'm in constant translation mode looking
for picturesque synonymity - or doing sūdoku -
which i'm not too bad at.)
a bit like that jesus debacle, so gott insisted on giving
proof of his existence to a baby... bad move...
the kid grew up in a bubble and thought he could do anything...
elijah just said to the priests: but if your god doesn’t exist,
what’s the point of having you? later he repented
on mt. sinai where god was but a whisper...
like the whisper of the dream of what rome was at first:
a republic. i believe in republicanism, i don’t believe
in that shamble that’s known as democracy, and is currently
the biggest export from america... exported to usurp
other nation’s republicanism - the elders of afghanistan
will never be modern family mr. jason wordsmith and
mr. jack wordsmith, raising an adopted / surrogate mother’s
kid... not in a million years... nor will revised buddhism
in western europe ever be original shinto of japan...
not in a million years... we’re not a monochromatic people.
back to jesus: there’s not one shred of christianity in
jurisprudence (philosophy of law /
etymology: prudence of having a jury) - but when you’re faced
with an enemy who’s a lawyer, and has connections...
and you’re a poor idiot who was forced into a paranoid schizophrenia
simulation for 7 years... you don’t set out to attack
and get compensation like that woman schopenhauer pushed
down the stairs... you set out to prove god -
and subsequently leave the ******* in his own waiting
line for karma - i hardly think there will be an oliver twit
in him to ask for some more.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
Decisions. Decisions.
There is just too much for you to choose.
You see it,
You love it.
You get it,
You hate it.
Pick a **** side,
Enough wasting my time.
You stare at the pictures for months,
and it rusts in your closet for the next trillionth.
What was wrong with it?
Does the glove not fit?
Okay, you know what?
I quit.
I don't need your approval to feel like I'm worth it.
I gave you the Earth,
The next day you wanted mars.
When I gave you that planet,
You demanded the stars.
Go ahead and live an indecisive life you little twit.
I'm so done with you, you indecisive *****
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
Who gives a ****
so I wrote another winer, boo hoo you twit
think anyone cares, just who gives a ****
I am just a grain, of sand in the wind
my pain is nothing and the horned one just grinned
yeah so now I'm bitter, my attitude *****
I'd kick your *** for a lousy 5 bucks
its only a flesh wound I've certainly had wurse
I'm a wineing ****** I'll hit you with my purse
got pains in my arms, and I'm a pain in the ***
had Taco Bell for dinner, and now I got gas
my stomach is rumbling, think I'm sick just a bit
why don't you tell me now, just who gives a ****
the Dow is down, my pressure is high
cholesterol is big, can't eat no sweet pie
I'm a no good *** full of vinegar and spit
do you really think, anyone gives a royal ****
at least they finally plugged, the leaking of oil
that's what they claim, sing for me Susan Boyle
the problem with peaches, in the middle is a pit
if I choked on one now, just who would give a ****
yes I've had me some wine, and I'm a pathetic dude
my mouth can get foul, yes I can be crude
wonder what it would be like, to be Brad Pitt
I guess one is enough, like who gives a ****
tomorrow is Monday, so glad I don't work
in customer service or a grocery clerk
listen to ******* about the service they get
c'mon now, you think I give a shit
I could probably rant, for more than theirs time
the jaws flapping on, my hands covered in grime
this year's British Open, no Americans seemed fit
it's all over now, and really no one gives a shit...
Gomer Lepoet...
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 9:52 PM UTC
Sometimes in life,
I pause where I stand and take a breath,
Forgetting about my sorrows and strife.
For once not fearing death.
Sometimes I live,
Like the seed of a tree,
Not needing to forget, or forgive,
Just flying around; free.
Sometimes I lie,
Just to get people off my back.
I'm feeling upset because of a guy,
But it's not like many people really give a crap.
Sometimes I cry,
Because I want to let out the stress I have
Over that one guy,
Who is just a chav.
Sometimes I smile
Because once in a great while,
He makes my happy
Even though at the same time he makes me life ******
Sometimes I shake,
I can't handle what's really at stake;
Loosing someone like you,
Is something I can't live through.
Sometimes I want to scream;
You did break my heart
And I'm only happy in dreams,
Where we're not living worlds apart.
Sometimes I want to yell,
Because you feel compelled,
To keep secretes from me,
As if it'll keep from making bad memories.
Sometimes, I feel the pain
You caused with a knife,
Through my heart's vain's.
Nearly ending the meaning of my life.
And yet,
Somehow. . .
Somehow in life,
I pause where I sit,
Taking a breath, no longer feeling the knife,
Planted there by some twit.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
Why is it that some parents
Think that it's okay
To name their children Jesus
If they're born on Christmas day?
They name their children badly
Christmas names just do not fit
Imagine Frosty Watanabe
I bet he feels a twit
There's rules that must be followed
Jesus is not the name to use
No matter when your kid was born
He's not the leader of the Jews
We knew a J.C. Fitzmorris
When I was a kid in school
Said his name was Jesus Christ
To us, that wasn't cool
Poor J.C. took a beating
When he said that name of his
You see, no one did believe him
I felt so sorry for old Fitz
Holly Berry, Frosty
Snowflake and the rest
Are just not names for children
These names just aren't the best
Your child will just hate you
If you name them by the season
A friend of mine named Cupid
Is in therapy for this reason
So, please don't name them Jesus
Rudolph, Frosty, even Nick
There is only ever one of these
And your kid will feel a ****
But, if one night three months from now
The Holy Ghost pays you a visit
I think Jesus might be a good name
It's not so bad now...is it?
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
Empress, Goddess;
indulge in the excess.
Address me as no less
Than Your Highness
If you would please.
And Brethren, Sistren!
To me you will be
Chief! Sire!
Oh, I swear it,
Whatever you desire.
And Namaste as you
Walk away
And two souls kiss;
All at one
Not one amiss!
Please remember!
Please do not dismiss,
So much power
In the ether
reverberating up-throat
Out of mouth,
Into ears,
Over-the-brain coat.
Pick, and be picky;
Honey'd words
Or the tang of
Sarcasm; dryness of
Dull wit
Just don't be a twit with it,
Or spare the detail
Or talk too quick or
Mumble with snails
Indulge in the excess!
Be no less
than Empress,
oh my sun, my excellence!
All sat in
The hello,
Laid down in the goodbye
It's woven in
With the expanse of a sky
Possibility! A chance!
A face to smile
And coo with,
Hold close for a while
But there, a shut door
fallen with
An ugly salutations,
I say again,
Indulge, indulge!
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
the desperado cowboy-poet awakes
anxious, needing-ending relief,
the craving greater than great,
he begs-raggedly, with Raggedy handily Andy words,
to all and anyone in the aroused surrounded vicinity,
give please give, of something to write
the bay, soothingly plays the would-be author,
"place me, look my way,
have I not droplets endless
from which you've drunk exquisitely,
so many more to fair share"
the birds twit and flit,
raucous caucus demanding
to be seated
by the tablet's keypad
to gain entry
to one more congressional natural tribute
the sky and sun organize a
joint session, extraordinary mission;
"we are the first of your day,
thus primarily,
we win the primary,
deserving in your recording of our
nomination as the first day's
sound and light show victorious"
sorry folks,
got a better tale to tell,
natural in its way,
titillating, and quite suitable
for reputating Au Naturel humanity
and it's a quirky, say hey tale,
morning coffee fresh,
a first word report from an
untelivised convention
of a different kind of congressing
awoke to find the:
*chauffeur in bed with the cook,
the Poppy, beside the sleeping Nana,
the poet, eyeing the lying next to him, tango dancer,
the classicist eyeing the sleeping moderne,
ditty ditsy Ogden Nash astride a Shakesperian sonnet,
the thinning gray line defending his bedded half,
from an invading horde of unionizing blonde tresses,
the republican with the democrat,
the conservative with the liberal,
heated discussions, non-neutralizing negotiations
conducting and watched by
peeping tom skies, clouds, birds and waters
pretending to fly flow past*
wow
now that,
is quite interesting
deserving worthy of a
disrobing disputatious disreputation,
very newsworthy and why not,
a poem all its own?
the bay waved goodbye,
the birds disbanded in silence,
quietly disenfranchised.
the sun and the sky hung around
pretending to be UN neutrality observers
wearing cute blue and white helmets
looking every where but not,
at the line of demarcation
the beggar, by his new impoverishment, enriched,
another love poem writ,
niched and pitched
one more itch,
so very well scratched
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
Nowhere does it say
a poem must rhyme,
it helps with rhythm
but there is no need.
as I stare at the page
they run through my head
unwilling, unwanted
washed up, and overused
tattered and bruised,
it cant be helped.
While most force rhymes
into their places
to make a poem work
"like its supposed to"
I can't help but see
that just produces drivel
that can't be called poetry.
My rhymes come unbidden
as if they were hidden
inside somewhere
only to come out
into the glare
of critics who doubt
the power of the rhyme,
a poetical crime.
The rhyme is a tool
to be used as seen fit
doesn't matter if it's cool
or the poet's a twit
sometimes it's weak
sometimes it slides
but give it a tweak
and feel how it rides.
Rhyme isn't a necessity
but it works
and helps me be a poet
and always will I know it
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC