"wasters" poems
In every “Poetry Place”
There is a Copycat Corner.
We know it’s a disgrace
So here’s another “Warner”.
Why they do it I’ll never know,
Those Copier and Pasters.
Their words they seem to glow,
But they’re a bunch of Wasters.
Taking all that praise,
For stuff they haven’t written,
It seems to be a craze,
And many do get bitten.
Just Google their “fine words” or use those plagiarism sites,
And you will find the original poems
Bedecked with copyrights.
I’m sure this place just isn’t free
Of people like this,
Just look and see!!!
The Admins must get their fingers out,
And give these villainous rogues a massive clout.
Me, I will show all due diligence,
But my job here,
Is to show My brilliance.
(NOT someone else’s!).
Paul Butters
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
Margy shouts her advice from outside Greggs
unsolicited, but often needed
usually it concerns fashion
- the choice of a scarf
- inappropriate shoes for the weather
- or the state of a pair of trousers, hanging and baring a cleavage
(“No one wants to see that, dear.”)
Margy can be relied upon to wear the same distinct socks
– draped around her stocking feet, their multi-coloured design now greyed
by wear and the Uxbridge Road.
Margy is more reliable than her friends and she tells them as much
(“You’re all a bunch of time wasters.”)
demanding more loyalty and demands from me enough for a cup of tea
- a very expensive one apparently.
And on a Sunday, she’ll kneel and pray throughout the early Eucharist,
declining the bread and wine
(”On, no dear. It’s not a habit I want to cultivate.”)
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 3:26 PM UTC
The Rent-a-Mob loonies, the gangsters and the Racists
damaged scums of society and contemporary politics
Ignorant arrogant sociopaths who want it all for nothing
Indulgent wasters in nation awashed with opportunities
In idle union they scream, feed us poor and **** the Rich
Strangers come Poland, Bulgaria, India and all over
to work in farms, hospitals, hotels and Constructions
Building futures and faring in endeavours with sweat
Crimson gangs and Renta Mobs states we serve nobody
**** the wealth makers, **** the parasites and let's drink
Our shyster gangs of Revo-comrades and malcontents
See killing fields, whereas strangers toil and find rich pickings
Our Revos Distract, confuse, sow seeds of dissent, make strife
Blame all others, lie and decieve, fling indulgent political turds
Rent brainwashed Mobs,into ***** bridgard to do their ***** work
We all know life is unfair and even roses have imperfections
Some are born to riches in spades and some born to beggars in dusts
Those with time, sit and ask God why, just a fact of life to accept
But from dust has risen billionaires, whilst riches have made duds
Insane Crimson sits in spurious guise and odious fallacy playing God
Yeh, **** the Rich and feed the poor, why hide and use Rent a mob
Why not air your case in broad daylight and stand your conviction
The coward you are knows it hold no sanity for those with sense
Except for thieves, the workshy and wasters who cheat to survive
In your city of merits aplenty, Revo-crimson is beneath contempt
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
Procrastinate to irritate
Aggravate to agitate
Treading on thin ice
Are these malingering time wasters of life
Festering in ignorance
Frolicking in abstinence
Wading in their excrement are these malingering time wasters of life.
Arrogance in abundance
Subtlety null and void
Unwittingly self confident are these malingering time wasters of life
Belligerent in the face of peace
Weary to face their fears
Blasé about things that matter are these malingering time wasters of life
Malingering becomes
Mal'ignorance
Mal'ignorance becomes M'alone
Therefore the malingering time wasters shall forever this earth roam.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
He had been on the road for a while
trekking from city unknown to city unknown
in a cloud of dust kicked up
by a Greyhound bus
he used a different name in every city
he wasn't a criminal,
but he was on the run,
he simply enjoyed anonymity
enjoyed being everybody's imaginary friend
He took magic mushrooms in Richmond
and rode the image of his grand spiritual quest
like a drug induced steed,
rode it straight to San Jose
where he met some migrant workers
who drank cheap mescal
beneath the stars of the dead pan landscape
wasters of the great American wasteland
and in New Mexico city
he was given a tab of acid
which dissolved under his tongue
in an explosion of hypnotic torture
his life reflected as a visage
as hallucinogenic as the walls which rippled all around him,
Portland was ******* and oxy pills
his humanity stretched tight like a drum
ready to snap at any given stimuli
he made it to California
dreams of LA
he became addicted to the limelight,
pretty hipster chicks who were foolish enough
to sleep with him,
simply because he introduced himself as a writer,
simply because he could work the word,
and he settled in San Diego
where the whiskey poured freely
and the *** was enough to blow your ******* head off,
in a small one room apartment
where the rent was cheap,
he drank and smoked himself in a stupor
with the windows open -
enjoying the soft pacific breeze which washed him of his sins
he had been all over his forced continent
looking for a place to call home,
but he never found what he was looking for,
and with grit and determination
and a hunger for the freedom of the American dream
he packed up again,
and left for the road,
a thief in the all encompassing night
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
I came, and I went there.
I went there and came.
I furnished my money, my loving and fame.
I drank and I piddled, I piddled and sang,
a song for Bukowski, for Bukowski I sang.
The low-lifes and hustlers,
the ****** and the cops.
The ***** in the bottle,
the dives and the flops.
The racers and wasters,
living on luck.
For all of the chasers,
I now raise a cup.
A song for Bukowski, for Bukowski a song.
A song for Bukowski, Bukowski so long.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 3:23 PM UTC
greatness once stood here
drinking the spilled blood
of the winos and dope fiends
as they crashed
wings useless
from voyaging too close
to Apollo's fury
this vast wasteland
endless concrete
and stores which stay in business
for months
before being replaced
with the next Mongolian themed restaurant
the streetlights flicker
before burning out
like the candles of so many
extinguished too soon
this wasteland is all encompassing
be wary of the passer-by
they have a grin where their mouth should be
and a purse with a hole in the bottom
they salivate greed
and scream
at anybody who will listen
*These are my beliefs,
they may not be right,
but **** it you'd better follow them*
the wolves are hungry
out to get you in every drunken
way too high dark alley
that runs rank with beer ****
the elders feed on the young
spiders on their world wide web
******* the life out of the youth
until they themselves
are free of this
free of anger and drive
determination
but best of all
free from the endless torment
of untouched dreams
lock your mind, heart, and soul
in a cage made of razor blades
and swallow they key
because times are hard
in the wasteland
and if you want to make it
you're in for a hell of a journey
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Who are we? we ask, always asking ourselves the same questions...
We are the world.
We are brothers and sisters. Sons and daughters.
We are friends, cousins, acquaintances...
We are lovers and enemies, and also, strangers.
We are anyone and everyone, all at once.
We are, despite all else, connected.
That must mean something to us. Shouldn't it?
We are 7.5 billion bodies, each alike in enough ways that might make our differences invisible. (But are they?)
We are the same, in so many ways. Enough that our similarities should outweigh our inevitable differences. Our similarities should be enough to prove that our differences are not worth fighting about. Yet, somehow, they aren't. Because we do fight. We fight without any known rhyme or reason, and without genuine purpose. Without empathy. We fight over our differences with enough audacity to claim that they should be ranked. With the belief that each of our differences should be sorted, allowing some of us to be valued as less than others, and also, some of us valued so much more. So, we fight. Like siblings or old lovers. Every single day. Probably have since the beginning of time, or, rather, when we created the concept of time. Perhaps the fighting began when we became a we. And since, the fighting has been constant. It's the only thing that really brings us together. And the one thing tearing us apart.
We find any excuse we can that will bring us closer to division rather than unity. Somehow, we are still far too concerned with the qualities that make us different rather than with those that which we share. And for so many of us, it seems easier to choose not to share. We are selfish and we rarely share. We are all in this together however we behave as though we are unaware the other exists. Mindlessly we share similar DNA but we act like we don't care. It must be easier to behave as though we are unaware. We do whatever it takes to ignore the facts that lie right before our eyes and we build walls around them. We look the other way, in any direction that might lead us into misdirection. We pretend we don't see, that we don't know, that we don't care.
We the people, of the world. We the hopeless, the reckless, the desperate... We the lost.
*We are time-wasters, dream-chasers and we are all ******* fakers.* We are figments of our own imaginations. We are alternate versions of ourselves living in realities of our own creation. Realities that aren't real at all, just like us. We hide beneath our fake faces and our fake words. Our fabricated worlds are all we have to show for. We live in pretty, little bubbles as an escape from our invisible reality, in an effort to shield ourselves from the dangers of the world. We're supposed to be in this together, though somehow we'd all rather be alone. We've forgotten the meaning of we, and we've doomed ourselves to eternal loneliness. We are, if nothing else at all, inherently lonely.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
I hate it when my biscuit commits suicide
in my cup of tea.
I hate that TV is about celebrity, banality
and reality.
I hate that even though I have a job, money
still alludes me.
I hate being woken up and going to
bed in a bad mood.
I hate adverts on the radio.
I hate stupidity
facebook debates and vanity.
I hate people who think I'm a traffic light
and those oblivious to where they're going.
People who can't stop relentlessly moaning!
I hate that learning's on the decline
I hate shopping , boredom
and "being dolled up to the nines."
I hate that everybody just waits for
things to get better.
I hate that a 'good' hair day depends
on the weather.
I hate assumptions, non-conclusions
and skin ablutions that don't work.
I hate that the art of conversation is
adrift in this technological generation
I hate time-wasters, calories and kid with
no respects for elders.
I hate that journalism's no longer 'cutting edge'
or about the truth.
I hate profound sayings about too many cooks
and spoiled broth.
That I'm incapable of telling people with clipboards
to **** OFF!
I hate martyrs , can't be arse-ters,
ignorance, arrogance and man-made disasters
The non-stickiness of plasters!
I hate public transport, rush hour
and being stuck inside.
I hate people who wear tracksuits but
never exercise.
I hate queuing and clichés
I hate opinions on mental health
and those who just can't help them-self.
I hate people who relentlessly moan
who can't stop trying to sell stuff over the phone.
But most of all I hate it when
....
Ah! Forget it .
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
Down with the religious zealots
The junk eaters
The polluters
The mistreaters
The mainstreamers
Down with the life wasters
Wasting life and breath every second
A holocaust not aimed at groups of people
But instead to those that truly deserve it
(Then the question becomes
Who deserves it?
And who decides
Voting doesn’t work
So that option is out…)
Vigilantes do the best work
When they’re allowed to prosper
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
I'm a daredevil with the wordplay
I'm the father nature of words
I cause metaphorical earthquakes
I create verbal distortions
real-time gravitational pulls
My words create wormholes
for you fools
I'm never one to get caught up
With those three-lined time wasters
Small words are for felines, not dog chasers
Now watch me enter your ear like q-tips
Whether you recite this mentally or with two lips
Watch my words blossom then spring like tulips
My tools are to equip, I do this
For the sake of being an artist
We are now in the future
You can be a man that is heartless
I swear his organic heart was replaced with turbines
YouTube it, google it!
We are now in those times
Enough about those lives
Let's embrace my current state of mind
This current age, only a fragment in the stain of time
Minimum wage has me working over time
Maximum rage could be the case if I let go of my
Elusive state, I'm in a place where my conscious mind
Has embraced all of my thoughts upon these words of mine
I hoping that these words can turn to wine so that all can drink, then have high spirits
We are all passengers upon our own body's can't you feel it?
lag and latency upon your current actions
tell your brain to move a finger, then see what happens
It's crazy that only 10% of our brain can be accessed
Is this a myth or a fact?
I have yet to fathom
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
Bring down Jesus Christ
the Son of God Himself
and our Socialist Anarchist Brigade
would start spewing their toxic biles
The would write He is an Anti-Semite
they would accuse our Blessed Lord of being gay
fancy going around with twelve other robed men
they would say he is cruel to animals for wearing leather sandals
they would say He is a cross-dresser for wearing robes
Our Toxic obsessives would call Him an Alcoholic,
oh yes, remember Him Drinking wine - all that turning water to wine
Ah, the nutcases will write that he was a con-man and a magician
all that rising people from the dead and making cripples walk
restoring sights and all that Penn and Teller stuff
His Love or all would have them brainless oafs call Him a stalker
off-course they'll say he was megalomaniac asking all to serve Him
He loves His Mother so to them, He has an Oedipus Complex
And when he heard God stating 'This is My Beloved Son'
the nutters of doom would scream Our Lord was schizophrenic
By not sinning and partying, they would say, He was boring
a po-faced preacher who thinks He is better than us
Fasting and going off into the wilderness means He's a Loner
just ripe for bullying by the weak simpleton cowards
and being crucified serves Him right for calling out all the robbers, thieves and wrongdoers
Yes, we're brainless, blind, dumb, confused, jealous and frustrated
just pond lives, wasters and pointless mediocre s
our job is to disfigure, destroy, lie, fabricate, twist and smear
we're shameless and pathetic but we don't care and why should we
we are only human, not God...........
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC
those that bore us with tales of drunken nights
cheap wine and what she said to him
who send you pictures of their pets
and watch TV because "everyone is watching it"
those time-wasters, those narcissistic fools
who call you 'friend'
who open their hollow heart
and what flutters out?
"my ex-boyfriend said..."
"when I was in Thailand..."
"Isn't that just like me?"
those reflections, they are not worth your time
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
Time wasters
Talk circles around my rolling eyes,
Nothing escapes them
But the point
Which is now ground duller than their wit.
Once proud pinnacles of though
Cannot be distinguished from
Littered words crusading for air.
Sunken cities subsist on stale ideas
And move feebly into tomorrow
As they shake the claws of yesterday
Only to suffer today.
But new ideas breathe resurrection
As chaos polishes the rusted ring
And births a dancing star.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
It pains my fingers
to write something I know I
have to write,
rather than the carefree bliss spent
over hours of
e n d l e s s
scrolling on time wasters.
Like this one, I know…
Almost everyday there is
regret
and remorse about
the things
should have done and that
should have been.
And
there has very little
been done about it.
So my days remain forgotten like the dusty old cloth bookmark hidden between a crevice on a vast bamboo bookshelf.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 6:47 AM UTC
The entrepreneurs of the Casinos sits in luxuries
reeking in the readies
be it not for them to judge
if the mugs want to gamble who are we to talk
The talentless Wasters join inadequate and retards
hiding in rampages
be it not for them to judge
the proclivities of moronism are attestations to status
The innocent sits in truth amid thieves and mudslingers
conscience untroubled
be it not for who to judge
virtue is its own reward and vengeance is of the Almighty
The fools will sizzle and cavort in foolish this and that
legacies of mindlessness
be it not for them to judge
Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish for blinds sees not
Wisdom cannot be imparted
be it not for me to judge
The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.
Oct 11, 2021
Oct 11, 2021 at 6:51 PM UTC
*you have too many laws biased unto you woman,
for it to be economic to enter
a relationship with you.*
when drinking i've learned that
people can ruin a man's
drunken self quite quickly,
one rude word and you can turn sober,
otherwise on that turbine
it's better to be left in a state of
the "lonesome" self: less sightseeing,
less humoristic tourism
that would otherwise thrill
any other habit other than the one
that might calorie you up...
like fake art in the hands of an arthritis "artist"
smoking dope when disengaged from
his work wasting it all on computer games.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
Peps, here listen, hear me out
yeah I know you're all really doing your best
trouble is, your best isn't good enough
You're making us look like Keystone cops
all this haphazard stasis-cating around like drunk Ruskies
staying up late back early morning, obsessive yet incompetent
Yes, persistent is the key
thing is though, you're just too dumb
some of you think eggs grow on trees
after all there are egg plants, so surely eggs come from trees
yes! and we all live in a yellow submarine!
Now listen to me, you plebs
Don't you know what 'Royalty' means
do you think its some wishy washy label from Primark
or some honor you can buy at a Car boot sale
No, you pumpkins, it's not and don't mention 1066
or that opinionated zealous fool, Oliver Cromwell
If you don't know it yet, better know now
our Royal Adversary is Simply The Best
this man is as good as you can get
we are talking Exceptional here
we are talking, top drawer, creme de la creme
we are talking, One of a Kind, the Real Deal, yes!
We are the majority, yes..fat lot of good, that has done
you're all as common as muck, ****** ******** twerps
that's all you are.
yadda yadda this, yadda yadda that we are attacking his psyche
it's psychological warfare, it's mental and emotional assaults
it's your mother's *** you dumdum, the man is laughing at you
Christ! what's with you people, how useless are you!
I know half of you are demented psychos
and the other halves just plain simpletons and sheeps
now the blasted public are beginning to see that,
they are fed up, already!
I tell you now what your ******* problem is
you think we humans are all the same, you think he is on your level
you ***** think he thinks like you, sees like you, reacts like you.
You, yes you, are stupid, does he look stupid to you?
If you say yes, then you're even more stupid than I know
Just be ****** honest with yourselves and face facts
you are just common muck, oiks chewing straws
and the man is Class, quality, top grade, the business
gifted, talented, brave, courageous, exceptional and a ****** 'One of'
The Man is simply ROYAL, that's nobility for you
and say or write any **** you want, that's the ******* TRUTH
Now, get lost and go continue your nonsense
and don't steal anything on you way out, that's all you're good for!
jingoistic trash, time wasters full of dog's crap.
And you men, if one can call you men, with your floppy tiddlers,
put aside your prick-envy complexes and engage your brains.
( What brains, actually? )
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
Love is
when things turn black, you're always there
Love is
when somethings different you don't stand and stare
Love is
making that special someone some coffee, a cake or maybe their favourite food
It's pretending to laugh when you're just not in the mood
Love is
tending to the sick, to the poor, to the wasters and users
Love is
realising in life that we're surrounded by takers and choosers
Love is
waiting for another at the bus stop in the pouring down rain
It's the beautiful gift that just gives again and again
Love is
not sharing on Facebook hoping millions in other countries will care
Love is
focusing not on the fictional but the ones who are actually there
Love is
knowing who are your friends and who are parasites
it's watching out for your brother, even if it keeps you up all night
So pack up your worries, your selfish needs and excuses
reality's both exquisite and ferociously abusive -
when you're lay dying, will your tweets or wealth keep you alive?
No, for love is the drug that keeps living alive.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of Snap -
Because we're all too stupid to play chess.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 5:05 AM UTC
Dear Whoever You're Really
Like
(Not That You Aren't Yourself Of
Course),
Do you ever worry that
what if someone thinks
you only got where
you've got (so far)
because
of the timing chances
made in starlight making
easier orbits to you like a
tilted pinball and then call it
cheating..... .............
............as if....they
..never shook. ........
.............. ..well,
I would and I'm not
even middle upper class,
I mean I wasn't brought up
like that tell me did you want-
did you ever meet those
vaunted tabloid energy
keepers and wasters
is that why you were
self-styled
like that when
you started and
did you ever
see the film
Strawberries
with Ingrid
because I
think you
might
like
it
and i
want to
say thank
you for liking
Mr. O'Hara. i bought
one of his poem collections
with my little tip money from
Sunday in the markets selling good
produce. Bought it in a bookstore with
The owner a nice old lady bearing years;
knitted prints on her black bordered tartan;
Your passion made me think to tell
her i liked that faded **** on her
really i did
she called
me dearie
anyways
Frankie
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////
the guy could've been a pal but I don't know if my framed support kept chance.
Would it have been able to burn brightly or varied enough for as long as he did?
Maybe that's a good thing a good thing indeed not knowing. Are you wanting to do
that? Not "not knowing" but to give beams like raising barns. Final query but its rhetorical.
After all:
What does the world ask of stars but to shine a little night?
Sincerely,
Whoever I Am
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
Who's the ****
Reynard asks
as Yiska
walks away
her bottom
cool swaying
her grey skirt
a girl friend
I tell him
another one?
who's counting?
what's she like?
innocent
as flowers
(she wasn't
but said so
to no one)
time wasters
Reynard says
watching her
join her friends
on the grass
of the field
by the school
I watch her
different
year younger
than I was
football then?
he asks me
turning round
while there's time?
I smell her
still near me
OK then
I reply
walking on
to the game
just started
blow a kiss
back to her
she catches
with both hands
to her heart
here Benny
someone calls
throws a ball
I take part.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
Sometimes people will come into your life
you shed yourself and overcome limits
shelter their fears and unleash your tenders
they will still put you in a deep fire
then simmer your spirit in unjust tears
coming back to and fro with destruction
for their unwise words are not entitled
neither reserved in their sweetened terms
the days where beguiled cages trapped are gone
so far away on the concealed shores of the untold
upon the seams of the dainty sandy grains
carried by the western eroding wind
one that weeds and seeds the self-love
I have no time for wasters and losers
for it is best to be alone and enjoy life
embrace its glories and foretold chances
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC