Ronald stole my soul.
That damn Monopoly game.
And, Christ, it was rigged!

Ronald McDonald
is, I am sure, the Devil.
Or the antichrist.

Still, that's better than
what Jarred had stole from you,
underage hooker.

Ronald McDonald
Stole your soul decades ago
Can't have it your way

Poem McNuggets.
Will they taste better if you
dip them in my sauce?

The poet(s) in here
Anonymously leave behind
Nuggets of pure art

vhs is darth
starkitten is someone else
anonymous who

Packed holiday fudge
For the priest and postman,
UPS Go Brown

Twenty chickens have got loose inside my head and have shat all over the place and now matter how hard you try the stains won't come off the tile and now the Devil and all his friends are having a rave in there and the fucking awful techno music won't stop and the strobe lights and lasers make me want to gouge out my own eyes and it wouldn't be so bad if only they'd share just one little hit of acid those greedy fuckers!

Thanks for asking.

Nothing's hidden here.
Bare as a porn star on set.
Solo performance.

Just one poet here
Just arguing with himself
Hiding behind poems

Devouring souls,
writhing and screaming in pain,
like birds eating worms.

I know you're thinking
"Gummies are so bad for you."
High fructose demon.

The Savage Sword of
Conan the Barbarian.
Do you remember?

I've had many names.
Symphony for the Devil.
Or something like that.

I'm not vhs.
And I'm sure not "Starkitten".
That's too gay for me.

But does it matter?
Could be all the same poet.
Remember Sybil?

You just might be me.
And you wouldn't even know.
You sexy beast, you!

It must be one person
Because lowercase df
Is Darth Figpucker

Vhs or Darth
One of them is Starkitten
Almost positive

Get off this website.
Find someone to have sex with.
I bet you cannot.

And that's why you're here.
Trade insults like playing cards.
Lonely little troll.

I can't help the fact
that shit comes out of my mouth;
I eat it all day.

Oddball question here
Tips for removing grease stains
From walls and sofa

oddball question here
Do robots ejaculate?
If so, is it grease?

Free food and cold drinks
We have a few more prizes
To giveaway too

The prizes are farts
Spin the wheel of Bad Haiku
Don

Are they all the same one
The poets who submit here
It's just one person?

Starkitten funny
Decades of celibacy
Should have been a nun

Now Anglican hymns.
Now transcendence of Christmas.
Darth can dwell in shit.

Starkitten Haiku:
Sex on the brain and then some
Wet librarian

Back End Breeze Blowing
Bad Ass Volcano Flowing
Brown Lava, Showing

That Darth Figpucker
Conditioner Connoisseur
Slippery Fellow

My friend Fickpucker
Skateboarding through life's manure
Sowing poem seeds

In brown italics
The poetry discharge hole
Self cleaning stink duct

Darth opens his mouth:
Fart. Steaming cascade of shit.
Same thing when Darth types.

Wrapped in swaddling clothes
Born with a full grown penis
Baby bono vox

Have poets always
been so confrontational?
Like fools to their king.

Asking for a friend
questioning an enema.
Fleet bisacodyl.

So it all comes out,
as the proctologists say,
in the bitter end.

"Looks like he's had his
grande latte enema."
A great movie quote.

You say "shit no wit"
as if that is a bad thing.
Someone shat you out.

Shitting is hard work.
Be respectful to your mom.
She loves you, I'm sure.

She could have flushed you.
But she kept and nurtured you.
Like U2's Bono.

So I shit haiku.
Hey, I'm not shooting up schools.
Be thankful, wee turd.

Push suck push suck push
Push suck push Glunk flush glug swirl
Unclogged your terlit

Darth school of Haiku:
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, no wit.
Just shit upon shit.

Spa time with my boo
Stinking up the joint right now
Gonna get trespassed

A beautiful mind
And he

Haiku proportion:
Penis poems to "others"
is one over pi.

Theoretically.
The proof is hard to work out.
But you know it's true.

Tune in next week, kids.
I'll derive God's phone number.
He doesn't like text.

Sloppy cursive job
Illegible bachelor
Penis fountain pen

Take zinc for your dink.
I think. In pill form or drink.
Live life on the brink.

Cuntabulated.
For those busy prostitutes.
Vaginal spread sheets.

Zink

Think pink mink dink stink?
Pink dink slink. Pink stink dink. think.
Slink mink. Stink mink fink

Think pink dink stink sink.
Slink mink fink rink brink ink wink.
Sync drink kink link blink.

This life will kill us
It seems like a waste of time
But just wait it out

you just laugh at me
When I show you my small dink
And then we both cry

extra small penis
Trying not to get noticed
jerkin the gherkins

https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-ancient-greek-sculptures-small-penises

Statue of David
Ever notice his small dink?
X husband was his twin

without the cuss words,
or mention of genitals,
it's not a poem.

That was kinda fun
Really decent poetry
You can write one too

Please submit poems
One poem a day, at least
Recite them out loud
Kuntfart Kuntfart Kunt!!

Please read my poem
I worked on it all day long
Get it just right, man

Didn't use cuss words
Or mention genitalia
Needs an extra line
G Rated Poem

Zip zip zip zip zip
Zip zip zip zip zip zip zip
Dink caught in fly

Rock rock rock crack smush
Rock smush rock smush rock smush smush
Sticky werthers gramps?