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Ahoy hoy, all. I wanted to separate these particular poems from my other thread because these are all part of a small series of poems that I wrote.
Most of them are rather profane and very crude, taking a very cynical and satirical look at the world around me. They're all meant to be almost humerous, but usually, I'm the only one who sees that lol. I'm not looking to offend or piss off anyone. I'm just hoping that people will take something from these to think about.

You may not like the content, and if you get offended, by all means, you don't have to read them all. I'd like opinions and comments, however, so if you can give me a constructive criticism, then please, go ahead. Really, it all means something. If you want, just skip ahead to the last poem. My thoughts are pretty much summed up in that one...

I'm hoping you enjoy these.


When Not to Wear Your Balls As Earrings
Please let me introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste -
But just like that first line, my ideas all come from another place.
I'm gonna tell you a story, the main character? Well, it's me,
And it all starts way back when I was in grade three.
I had the block's biggest marble collection; no, that's a lie -
My neighbor Johnny had swapped three Jumbos for my one cat's eye,
Then he told me Jumbos were no longer the rage;
Which shows I was a fashion victim even back at that age.
Anyway, I remember, it was the second week of term two,
And just like normal I brought my marble bag to school;
But imagine the shock and horror! for, behind my back,
Everyone else in the playground had brought along click-clacks!
How was it? By some mysterious mutual chemistry
They all knew click-clacks were in! No one ever told me!
How was it that, in the space of one otherwise normal night,
Everyone came to school the next day, not a marble bag in sight!

And now I'm a shitty poet, and everything's the same;
Just when I'm honing my line in tortured artistic pain
You find out tortured poetry ain't no longer the thing -
Now everyone's playing Cajun - Zydico - whatever you call that thing.
I go off and buy the records, learn how to cook Jumbulya -
Then everyone's dropping Ecstacy; the dance clubs are on fire -
I start talking about Louisiana, everyone tells me to stop:
Just like the coming of click-clacks comes something called Hip-Hop.

Shakespearean plays are the quitessential expression of human tragedy -
Can't understand them myself, but that's what my friends tell me -
Anyway, the only genuine thought I've ever been able to expound
Is that the world ain't a stage, it's a primary school play ground,
And that some people are like kids who knew when to stop
Playing games like Ker-Plunk, and get into Battling Tops;
Then there's people like me, who always seem to find
That after we've bought our baseball jackets, we've been left behind.
I've come to understand that it's just like musical chairs,
When it's groovy to say 'groovy' and O.K. to wear flares:
So the final piece of advice I give is that you should all beware,
'Cause when you're in the jungle, watch it; it's a playground out there.

I'm A Rockstar (Pity Me, Adore Me, Just Don't Ignore Me)
So my hair is sorta thinning and a color's been applied;
And, yeah, O.K, about the paunch - I guess I sorta lied;
But you won't hear me whining like those ******** teeny stars
When I'm standing at the mirror and I'm playing air guitar.
Rock and Roll is music for the angry and depraved -
So you can't really rock and roll till you're middle aged.

Moaning, between head jobs, rock stars say they're so depressed -
They should try out a real job and a boss that's not impressed;
If it's so ******** hard being young, beautiful and rich
Come on down the office, cockhead, I'd be glad for us to switch:
The Prodigy despise normal men; Keith studded his own tongue;
But the pain of that doesn't compare to being one.

Oooh, it must be so ******** hard for all the Trainspotting crew
To have to live an alienated life in the proletariat milieu,
While all us normal middle class wanker types are trying
Not to have such a great time working 40 years then dying;
Every ******** adolescent moans about how they're so deprived -
What do you ******** think it's like turning forty five?

"Oh no!" I say to the wife, "another album's due;
Another tour of the world - oh, what am I going to do?
Oh, it's such a hassle - the fans just won't leave me alone -
Remember those great old days with three kids and a loan?
Can't go to Safeways, got a photo shoot, and I'm stoned.
By the way, nearly forgot - Madonna phoned."

Hey, who doesn't wanna rock all day and party every night?
Every adult's a boring turd - that's exactly ******** right.
You'll never join the normal world, says your anguished teenage voice:
Well I don't remember someone giving me the choice.
So you can sing about rebellion and experiment with drug bingeing
But you won't really get angry till your teenage kids start whining.

Let's Just call A Spade a ******** Shovel (An Interlude)
I'm such a turd that I wouldn't sell Elle MacPherson's dad a franger;
I'm such a loser I'll be one of the few not to bang her;
I've got a worse job than a sweating Metallica roadie; ah,
I'm more ******** than a guy stuck in Cambodia;
I've left my kids in the Casino carpark, and my car in the creche there too:
But if I'm such a dickhead, what does that make you?

I was checking the seals on the Space Shuttle - until it exploded;
I told Brandon Lee, "Don't be a fool: the gun's not really loaded."
I got ten years for showing some shithead the banana in my pajamas;
I'm such a stiff I've applied for the job of lead singer of Nirvana;
I think winning a Commonwealth gold medal is a worthwhile thing to do;
But if I'm such a dickhead, what does that make you?

I grew up in a suburb where the tram lines refuse to go;
I went to a school that you ain't likely to know;
I'm for the old fashioned doctrine that a pratt is a pratt is a pratt
Even when he's got in-line skates and wears a baseball cap;
So who's the joke finally on? It's easy enough to see -
'Cause if you're all such dickheads, what does that make me?

Tripping on Normality. (Just Say (K)No(w))
Talk to anyone these days and, you know, it seems
Eventually they'll tell you about some heavy scenes
When they were living with this druggie friend -
You gotta look real serious, or at least pretend,

As with revenant awe, like they're reading a psalm,
They tell you about some jerk poking a needle in his arm,
And dramatically conclude with, "The guy was a freak":
But that's the eighth drug story you've heard this week.

Well, I knew a guy that tops the lot;
He wasn't on heroin, crack or pot -
But it was worse than anything out of Monkey Grip.
He did the "Happy Marriage in Suburbia" trip.

I still don't know how this guy never got busted
For being so incredibly well adjusted.
While we were all snorting chemicals up our nose
He was out in the garden with a watering hose.

At first only small things began to go wrong -
He wouldn't come round when we were having a bong;
But before our eyes he began to fall apart -
He'd take his girl out for walks in the park;

He looked healthy and happy - it was like an alarm -
He was collapsing like the veins in my arm -
I'll never forget that night - oh, God above -
When he told me he was very much in love.

So they both bought a house - there was no turning back -
They got it the week I got into smack.
His face was never so ravaged with addiction
As when he proudly showed me his brand new kitchen.

I'd sometimes go round with a cap or two of horse,
Tell him to kick the habit, get a divorce;
"You're wife's pregnant", I'd plead, "this'll make three -
If you have another kid you're sure to O.D."

But he's not even listening, he's in some delerium:
His wife's doing the dishes and he's begun clearing 'em!
"I love my kids, I'm happy", he'd say, satisfied.
But on the nappy he was crucified:

He's dead now, of course - needless to say -
Family wiped off by a drunk going the wrong way;
Oh, how many times has it been written, said or sung? -
If you live monogamous, expect to die young.

So you can get into smack, crack, dope or speed,
But don't try marriage, 'cause this is where it will lead:
You experience real happiness, both physical and mental;
And when you die, it'll be purely accidental.

Cancer Cancer Cancer! Hooray Hooray Hooray!
I know that the Romans came after the Greeks;
I went to a lecture to hear Robert Hughes speak -
I am honoured, cultured, literate -and yet
All of my life I've had one main regret.

I wish I'd slept with more girls;
I wish I'd had more sex;
I wish my wife had'a sucked my... thumb!

They told me the yobbos would turn out no good -
I did my homework, they turned into hoods -
I have a family. I am happy and proud.
I said no to anything I wasn't allowed.

I wish I'd done more drugs;
I wish I'd snorted coke;
I wish I had taken the risk.

The Angel of Death hovers overhead.
My family, come, gather 'round the bed;
Come my colleagues, come literate friends.
Here is my last wish, as my life ends.

I wish you'd written my books;
I wish you'd married my wife;
I wish you owned my home;

I wish my thoughts were yours;
I wish my life weren't mine;
I wish you'd never known me at all;

I wish you'd take my place;
I wish it were you lying here;
I wish you'd all get ******** Kills
Why worry about the lives we're trying to save
When we're born astride a grave?
Being healthy is carcinogenic -
Life's a game show called It's Epidemic.

Why aren't crocodiles vegetarian?
How come Atilla wasn't a hunny?
Why didn't Hitler stay a librarian?
Why don't people find rock bands funny?

Who invented the businessman?
Who told bankers the meaning of loan?
Who gave us writer, critic, fan?
Who told teenagers they've got a mind of their own?

I'm going down to the Waterside Workers Hotel
I'll wear women's clothing, and I'll yell:
"Here's a broken bottle, boys - send me to hell."
With life as an alternative, I might as well.

I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!
You're dying the moment the sperm hits the ovum;
You're dying as a fetus, breathing through gills;
You're dying at birth; there ain't no supposin' -

You die all your life, and even Blind Freddy
Knows your children will die - true perspective! -
Your parents will die (if they're not dead already);
Life is just death, made retrospective.

You're trapped all your life, from the very first moment,
By your mother and father, who must have been mad
When they decided to add to their own entombment
By having a child, like their own Mums and Dads

Mum and Dad's Mum and Dad's Mum and Dad's Mum and Dad.
Philip Larkin described it in a poem; I cried:
Families, he said, in Home Is So Sad,
"Are a joyous shot at how things ought to be... fallen wide."

It stays with you forever; you'll never lose it;
Your family has got you in a grip-like vice -
It's entrapment so effective you always choose it;
Put an ad in the paper: "Lost - Paradise."

You're always a daughter or always a son,
Even when your mother's a loser and dad wants to bolt;
Do what you like, you can hide - but you can't run.
If your parents have split up, it must be your fault.

Guilt clings to you like s**t in a nappy,
Don't listen to what the counselors say -
Without you, your parents may just have been happy:
It's war, and you're not escaping - you're running away.

Be a lawyer! Be a doctor! You're still putrid;
It's still true that your parents are rooted;
There's divorce in the air - at least, it's muted -
If they took my advice they'd both get neutered.

It's the same in all homes, be it penthouse or pavement,
Every house is so economically run:
Your parents give credit, and you give repayment -
You want asylum - instead, you end up in one.

There's no such thing as forgiveness; forget absolution;
Your life will be frittered away with worry and bills -
And your crowning achievment? Reproduction!
I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!

You're gonna have children; you know it, you ******** -
You and your wife just don't know how many;
Part of me sorta wishes you luck,
'Cause I love children - and that's why I'm not having any.

And your family will fail; and your life will be torture;
Your wife will turn ugly; and your children be dills;
'Cause you haven't forgotten the lessons mum and dad taught ya -
I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!

I can see you with cancer both in and around you,
The internal expression of external ills;
I can see you dying with your family around you -
I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!

I can see you look petulantly around you
At all the things you've never had,
I can see the paramedics pound you
As you die a child, just like your dad.

Then your body is all that's left of what's been you -
The chest stops jerking and the movement stills,
The pus of the dead is coming up within you -
I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!

Hold on a second, I wanna come with you!
I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!
You're like a father; now you're gone, I'll miss you -
I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!

Pain only stops when mothers kiss you -
I'm dying; I'm dying; I'm dying; life kills!

The Moral, Romance is Dead (And Not In A Good Way)
Forgive me, gentle readers, I'd like to take the chance,
To ask of you, Gothic poets, what has happened to Romance?
My eyes find nothing, nearly, but tales of angst and woe,
I beg of you, eldritch scribers, swim against the flow!
Sing of lost chance, pain, and love unrequited;
Of pleasure renewed, hope, and quicken'd hearts delighted.
Classical Gothic prose, to me, has undercurrents of the Romantic;
I could be wrong, it may be so, I might just be pedantic.
The griever whom the Raven torment'd, cried out for lost Lenore;
The mighty Shelley, Shylock to some, ashes spread along the shore;
Would quiver righteously, perchance indignantly, if he so perused,
The writings of today, put forth, the words abused.
So hearken to me, listen well, take note of my pleading;
Write the prose, and write it well, or acquiesce to simple reading.

Don't be so scared about other people being offended, those are really good! I could especially relate to the first one, that's the story of my life, right there. keep writing, you have important things to say that the world needs to hear.