April PAD Challenge: Day 15

Half. Way. There. That’s where we’re at after you finish today’s prompt. Somehow we’ve made it–huffing and puffing–to the top of the hill and starting tomorrow we’ll be running downhill to the finish line. Soooo…let’s get to today’s prompt, which is a “Two for Tuesday” prompt actually.

Prompt #1: Write an insult poem. There aren’t really any rules attached to the insult poem, but it’s usually done in good fun. If you write one, you can often open yourself up to a retaliatory insult poem. And that can lead to the equivalent of an insult poetry food fight.

Prompt #2: I’ve been trying to avoid mentioning it, but today is Tax Day here in the States. So it’s time to either file them taxes or file for an extension–or just continue procrastinating, I guess (“Whatever floats your boat,” as my father would always say.). Anyway, the second prompt is to write a poem that deals with paying your taxes and/or meeting deadlines.

Here’s my poem (predictably associated with the first prompt, since I’m all about verbal food fighting):

 “Smoke and mirrors”

My mama always said,
“If you don’t have anything nice to say,
don’t say anything at all.”
And that’s been great advice,
helping me get all the friends I’ve got,
avoid petty conflicts,
and find a steady happiness through all life’s ups and downs–
but let’s make one thing clear:
My mama ain’t ever met the likes of you;
she ain’t ever seen your rain cloud prophesies,
your blame shifting two step,
or your sanded down points that lead nowhere.
You’ve got answers but no meaning;
you have an image with no identity;
and everyone who doesn’t agree with you is wrong.
Here’s my advice, boy:
Next time they all gang up on you without giving a fair shake,
save up all your money to buy the largest mirror you can find;
then, use it.


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208 thoughts on “April PAD Challenge: Day 15

  1. S.E. Ingraham

    As I play very late catch-up, I realize this isn’t a true insult poem but rather the groundwork for collecting insults. I’m posting it anyhow and will try to make it back here with a better offering.

    Tell Me

    Someone once said,
    “… if you can’t say something nice about someone, come sit by me…”
    How delicious, I thought – I wish I’d said that.
    No matter; I’d remember to say it from now on.

    Call me awful, say what you will
    But come sit beside me
    Start to gossip and spill
    Tell me lies if you want to
    Throw in rumours as well
    Anything that you say
    Trust me – I’ll never tell
    And if you believe that
    And, I know that you do
    Then huddle in closer
    Help me sharpen my claws
    Let me pour you another
    Now tell me
    What’s new?


  2. Kate Miller


    I can’t write without deadlines
    I can’t exercise without deadlines
    I can’t get my work done without deadlines
    I can’t pay my bills, not to mention taxes without deadlines
    Call me lazy, unmotivated, a three-toed sloth for all I care,
    I know I’m a sorry excuse for a human being, but hey,
    I thrive on the rush of last minute adrenaline.

  3. Sarah

    Turn your hat around
    and pull your britches up
    ‘cus your not the thug
    you pretend to be
    with your frog face
    winking at me!

  4. Laurie Kolp

    A True Friend?

    Why must you hate me because I am beautiful?
    Why must you be such a snob?
    Don’t you know that I am merciful?
    And not just a good-looking blob?

    I, too, am a child of God,
    with a heart that is tender and true.
    And under this perfect physod,
    I am seeking a friend like you.

    But you can’t seem to let go of the past,
    nor forgive and forget what took place.
    As Jesus did at the supper last,
    forgiving each one to His face.

    Remember when I told you I am sorry,
    I hoped we could begin anew.
    Now I know I have nothing to worry,
    because I would rather have a friend that is true!

  5. LindaTK

    Day 15
    Paying Taxes

    On Paying Taxes

    Predictable hassle
    Just on time
    Or late
    Shoebox filled with slips
    Possible deductions
    Emptied just prior to April 15
    Slips from January, February, March and April
    Scattered in various locations
    Covered by other issues
    Serious focus
    There must be an easier way

  6. Karen Masteller

    But hark, what presence now behind me lurks?
    Indeed, ’tis one of those tailgating jerks.

    I glare in the rearview, but he’s oblivious to it.
    He’s chatting on his cellphone, the little twit.

    In an effort to lose him, I speed up the engine.
    But his face looms still closer–I count the teeth in his grin.

    My next escape ploy in this annoying situation
    Is to downshift to third and cause him much consternation.

    Though the passing lane’s clear with no traffic in sight,
    He maintains position–man, is he impolite!

    Just when I think I’ve had all I can take,
    He hangs up his phone and takes exit 58.

  7. Sue Bench

    Insult poem:

    You told us about your new job
    and how you spent time charming
    the company’s computer tech;
    telling him how smart he is
    and piling the compliments on.
    So when you need computer help
    He’ll do whatever you want!

    You think you’re so clever,
    Charming people the way you do.
    I see right through you, though.
    When you compliment me,
    I’ll know it isn’t true,
    You just want a favor.

  8. Linda Hofke

    A Little (very little) P.C.

    When I want to express
    How much ignorance you possess
    "You’re as dumb as you look"
    Just seems to overlook
    The depth of your stupidity.

    It would be better to say
    In a politically correct way
    A compliment which disquises
    The insult that arises
    Such as "you’re as smart as Bush".

  9. priya

    There is nothing that
    smells quite as sweet,
    as the smell of your
    rotten stinking feet.
    It made me gasp and
    gawk and groap,
    for the air
    that is not there,
    must be somewhere
    who knows where

  10. jane

    Procrastinators’ Reward

    The party starts
    at 9:00 PM
    A band
    Generator powered
    Postal workers
    wear hats
    Fluorescent vests
    direct traffic
    Park and party
    or stay to the left
    for a
    tax form drop
    your envelope
    to the man
    with the big
    plastic bin
    “See you next year!”

  11. Lynn

    I suppose that I could have written an insult poem for the IRS, but this one came easily enough…

    Doing one’s taxes is such a pain!
    Every moment, wasted in vain!
    Whether you owe or get a refund
    you wish it over before it’s begun!

  12. samantha altman


    Sometimes I wonder why I
    Ever started talking to you.
    What was it in that twisted face
    That made me speak up?
    Was it fate for me to endure
    Such torture?
    I wonder that now as I look at you
    When I’m the one who’s superior.
    I have nothing nice to say to you.
    No pleasantries to send your way.
    And I’m not worried because
    You’re not even worth Karma’s time.

  13. Lin Neiswender

    Death and Taxes

    I drag it out to the last minute
    Just to keep you bloodsuckers
    Away from my money
    You nickel and dimers
    Taxing us for breathing practically
    So every April 15th
    I wait patiently in the drive through line
    At the post office with the rest of the tax rebels
    And procrastinators, chortling a little to myself
    Got you both for another year

  14. Bonnie

    I didn’t think I could write an insult poem until I thought of the following topic, and then it was very easy indeed.


    Do you have any idea just how much I hate you
    You stink, you are ugly, you are rude.
    You show up in all the wrong places
    I saw you in a car the other day
    The driver had you in his hand
    You were in his wife’s hand too
    Three children were in the back seat
    Your smoke swirling around their heads filling up their lungs.
    You think you are so cool.
    So beautiful.
    You push your way into all the best parties
    And social events.
    But I know you for what you are.
    You are a murderer.
    You took the life of my father,
    My brother and my mother in law.
    You are a thief.
    You have robbed the health of many of my family and friends.
    And now you are after my children.
    But, thank God, my daughters have broken free of your grasp.
    How can people be so fooled by your lies?
    You tell them it is cool to smoke.
    But do you tell them how cool it is to lie in a hospital bed
    Gasping for another breath?
    Do you tell them how beautiful they will be
    When they are coughing up blood?
    Or how free they will feel tethered to an oxygen tank?
    You disgust me.
    I long for the day
    When the likes of you will no longer be tolerated.
    You really make me sick.

  15. Justin M. Howe

    Morning approaches
    I’m filled with dread
    Already replaying previous words that you’ve said

    I work hard all of the night
    You tear down my achievements like you flick off a light

    Yet I’m still proud of what I’ve done.

    So who do you think you are?

    Did you buy a bed with dual bad sides?

    Judging by your troll-like figure, it must be in the genes,
    Your mother couldn’t trade you for any magic beans
    So she must have prayed to the gods to vex you
    curse you
    with a sour disposition
    so that no one could stand you
    Throw in a little gender confusion, just to be sure,
    And here you are to torment me

    My only question?

    Who did I vex that would curse me to be in your presence?

    -Justin M. Howe

  16. AlaskanRC

    Still playing catch up. So hears my Insult…

    they fly back and forth
    like a soccor ball
    across a field.
    Each ones path well laid
    theire target is another
    not of their kind.
    It’s always one group
    to another back and forth
    it never ends.
    When aimed at me
    I turn aside for I
    am not apart of any group
    no need I take part.
    Such a waste of time.

  17. M Schied

    Mine juxtaposes the two promps with an insult to the IRS, or at least, a half-hearted attempt at one

    Tax Day

    The Ides of April bring greater trauma
    than Brutus bestowed upon Caesar
    or so H&R Block would have us believe
    Where he feared celestial portents
    we fear paper and pencil
    where he consulted a soothsayer
    we employ accountants
    where he faced his doom but once
    ours returns again…and again…and again
    It Really Stinks

  18. Lydia

    Insult Poem

    I once had a boss who was a tyrant,
    happy one minute, angry the next,
    never even-tempered, and never,
    giving me any rest.
    I helped him set up his new office,
    copied information he needed to carry on.
    He did appreciate this help, its true,
    yet he treated me poorly some days too.
    When all was said and done,
    I realized that being a part of his new venture
    was not the perfect job and not any fun.
    Soon after I left this job,
    I moved on to better ones,
    Better bosses than he were out there for me.
    He moved on too when his new venture failed.
    Working alone for him is what is best,
    the boss who never gave anyone a rest.

  19. Barbara Malcolm

    15. Paying Our Taxes

    the check’s in the mail.
    With privilege comes
    responsibility, they say,
    but I want a few more
    privileges to equal out
    the crushing amount of
    "responsibility" we’ve just
    shelled out.
    I want Uncle Sam
    out there mowing my lawn,
    raking last autumn’s leaves
    that always manage to
    overwinter in sheltered spots.
    Maybe the governor will
    drop by to till the garden,
    the mayor may come to dust and vacuum,
    or our alderman might fold the wash.
    Judging by the amount of $$ I just mailed off
    and what I get out of them
    they’re all overpaid.

  20. lyn

    Insulting the Use of Taxpayer Money
    Without fair representation should be no tax
    For programs of elected representatives choosing
    Time for the people to take the government back
    From those who think purchasing elections is amusing

    To represent the people well
    Listen to and heed constituents’ wishes
    Quit posturing and accepting bribes

    Forget making promises, our collective reputation to sell
    In the name of fighting terrorists vicious
    And making laws destroying our civil rights

  21. Janice Neaveill

    Insult Poem

    You are the anti-me
    baby, your intelligence
    a show to hide the fratboy
    you are inside, all
    your philosophy dust
    working Burger King
    at the top where
    the high school girls bow to thee
    Get a clue. Or did you…was it
    the cheerleader, in the store room, with the buns?

    Win-win. Its not me anymore. That dark passion
    acid curdled, I’m curled
    into myself like ribbon
    pulled on the back of the scissors
    a pretty mess of cuts
    a cruel adornment.

  22. Mike Barzacchini

    Insult and Out the Other

    Your face not
    Only stops a clock,
    It makes it run
    In the opposite direction.
    You don’t just sit
    Around the house,
    You’ve created
    A new ZIP code.
    And I’m not saying
    You’re dumb
    But is it really a
    Good idea to ask
    Brittany Spears
    For career advice?
    Hey, don’t go away mad,
    Just go away.
    But come back
    Because you know
    I only kid
    Because I care.

  23. Sara Diane Doyle

    playing catch-up again! Enjoy–

    The Lowest Form

    I’ve tried, in vain, to find words
    to express the absolute hideousness
    of you–but language is limited,
    as is my time, and quite simply,
    you are not worth
    waxing poetic over–ever!
    So I’ll go with this–
    You are
    a stinky, baboon-faced shrimp,
    sticking to the bottom
    of my shoe.

  24. Kateri Woody

    Rodney, Sarah, and Rox,

    I think that individually your poems are astounding and far out-reach my own for this day.

    Rodney, your poem rhymed, and at just the mere fact that it made me laugh so hard I nearly choked, it was supremely well done. The parts about Nigma and Scarecrow especially made me titter, and I just loved the tone your Harley creates. Especially this:

    "My dear Joker
    clearly your sense of reality
    could not be broker "

    That is such a Harley-esque thing to say. I love it.

    Sarah, your poem is extremely dark and gloomy, a side of Harley that’s not easy to convey. And I think you did a fantastic job of it. I absolutely adore the almost diatribe feel of the way it flows. It is kind of scary, actually, that you could evoke such a strong sense of independence in a poem.

    And I hope your husband likes my poems. Heh, if he doesn’t just leave my name out of the deal.

    Rox, that actually hurt my Joker muse. He’s bleeding on the inside and I love it. No need to apologize for the title, I filched it myself. But I like your Harley here and I’m glad you responded to my own little mini-challenge. The poem is delightful and the tone, though not upbeat, is enjoyable and quirky.

    And Corrine, you give me too much credit. I could never create a character as unique as Harley. You’re a delightful person!

    Any of you should feel free to drop me an e-mail; you’re all supremely talented and I would love to correspond with you. Here ends my post of ridiculous proportions.

  25. Shirley T.

    To My Best Friend

    Sharing’s a given
    between best friends,
    whether music or books,
    or clothes and stuff,
    and always thoughts
    and hopes and dreams.
    I draw the line
    at my husband, though;
    despite your hormone laced logic:
    I love you, you said, and
    you love him. Therefore,
    I love him too and we share.
    Being your best friend,
    I can tell you this, I’m sure.
    For years I’ve watched you
    making cow eyes at every man you meet,
    swishing your tail in the breeze.
    No flies on you, eh Elsie?
    And in your bovine complacency
    you think you’ve got every bull
    by the horns. Fact is,
    just getting milked twice a day
    doesn’t make you the prize heifer.
    Your looks are plainer than
    unflavored yogurt
    and just as tasteless,
    though you could win a prize,
    probably, for most live cultures.
    (If I were to believe your bull
    of thirty men in thirty days,
    you need a therapist, or a pimp.)
    My dear, I know a lot of farmers
    have been to your dell,
    not that you’re the cream of the crop.
    "Butter ‘em up" is your motto,
    Your churn going 24/7.
    It’s right to share the bliss,
    you say. I say
    your pock-marked soul is
    holier than a Swiss cheese.
    You weren’t romping in the meadow, babe,
    Just rollin’ in the dirt.

    Deadline Two-Step

    Calendar flips,
    More page rips.
    Down to days,
    Doesn’t faze.
    Deadline looms.
    Tasting doom!
    Stripped of powers,
    Down to hours.
    Clock ticks,
    Keyboard sticks.
    Stomach queasy.
    Words not easy,
    Just won’t come.
    Feeling dumb.
    Fingers numb,
    Desk’s a slum.
    Pacing, waiting,
    nerves grating.
    Teeth gnash.
    Sudden flash!
    Thoughts shine,
    Feelin’ fine.
    How absurd!
    Was just a word.
    Ah! so sublime.
    And just in time!

    Shirley T

  26. Diane


    The term paper is due next week;
    my dreams try to help me out
    by flashing before my eyes
    every other deadline of the semester
    and convincing me I’ve missed them ALL:

    I register late, in my pajamas
    then I attend all the wrong classes.
    I discover my mistake
    one day after the withdrawal date…
    I go to the registrar to beg an exception.
    Seeing my curlers and slippers
    he shakes his head in rejection.
    I miss all my finals, arriving too late
    or by going too early to the wrong place.
    Then I am writing my paper at last
    I print it off quickly and hurry to class.
    The professor insists it is three weeks too late
    and in panicked confusion I finally awake!

  27. Crystal Cameron

    Get The Fuck Over It

    i see she lingers in the room, still,
    though she hasn’t been around for months.

    you are weak. her ghost form holds you
    like a lead weight on your shoulders.

    her treason is an echo
    fastened to every word you say.

    it’s pathetic. i stand in front of you
    like a double sided mirror, my face glass,

    my face her reflection. you are made blind
    by the glimmer that i might be just like her.

    but you know i’m not.
    then you’re warm again,

    your tan arms folded across the white of my skin.
    you are loving. it’s disgusting.

    and these are the circles we live in.
    when are going to get the fuck over it?

  28. Phyllis Elswick

    I do not like you,
    I know you are not nice
    You are so mean
    You step all over everyone
    Nobody likes you.
    You like nobody.
    You scream and yell
    And look so ugly,
    When you don’t get your way
    I would love to tell you to your face
    But in your position I cannot say.
    What I would like to say.
    Like, I don’t like you.
    Nobody likes you.

  29. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    The Insult Poem

    My first husband, Don,
    was a master of invective.
    Not once did he utter
    obscenity or blasphemy,
    no swear words at all,
    but I stood open-mouthed
    at the stream of creative insults
    pouring non-stop
    from his twisted lips.

    "You poxy, mole-faced, yellow-bellied,
    flea-bitten …" on and on it went.
    You’d think he’d run out of steam,
    his invention dwindle, but no.
    I can’t even remember half the words.
    I doubt if he could either,
    if anyone had asked later.
    It was pure, spontaneous improv.
    It was poetry!

    © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

    (A bit of a cop-out, I know. Just couldn’t do the direct thing. It came out too nasty and not funny.)

  30. Nina Berry

    There goes a piece of history
    Another bit of truth

    You’ve pruned away what happened
    While I wasted all my youth

    We never were in love
    You never held me close

    I just misunderstood you
    Sorry to impose

  31. Christiane

    I curse you!
    How dare you ask me to do this
    When you know that I would never
    Ever in this lifetime
    Do something of this
    This caliber.
    Find someone else
    who does not value
    The people she loves!

  32. Shana

    To a liar

    I cursed you
    (May your every happiness be haunted.
    May every lie you tell bring you pain.)
    I meant it

    With every
    ever (continue to)
    I curse you.

    Last night,
    I expanded it,
    released my ghost to haunt you as she wishes, each and every day you live a less than righteous life.
    (My ghost, with better things to do than spend a breath on you, delegates your haunting to lower ghosts. Second-tier haunting is more than you deserve, as you well know.)

    I can’t ply insults in any spirit of fun
    Can’t even think of colorful or interesting insults
    Rage fire burns too brightly yet.
    Soon enough, only ashes will remain
    That I will fling to the wind
    To feed the ghosts

    But, there are a few ready insults:
    Liar, naturally
    Sick, clearly
    Broken, check that
    Without conscience, indeed
    not to mention
    Inhumanly skilled in deceit

    I have cursed you, and meant it, on Chinese New Year’s, your special holiday.
    I believe the gods are just, and they will exact
    their price.

  33. Tad Richards

    Today we faced
    each other across
    the border
    I was armed to the teeth
    with invective

    I called him a swine
    a mongrel
    I mentioned several things
    all of them vile
    about his mother

    her habits
    pertaining to hygiene
    her sex partners
    her choice of footgear
    (combat boots)

    I was just warming up
    I questioned his
    racial and ethnic
    his taste in underwear

    none of it seemed
    to have an effect
    perhaps he
    speaks a different language
    or else he’s deaf

  34. Jay Sizemore

    Sorry I seem to be running a day behind, this poem was difficult for me for some reason.

    The family thief

    He always wears
    that same goddamned
    camouflage hat
    pulled down
    so the dark green bill
    casts his eyes,
    his beady eyes,
    his liquid pinball eyes
    in shadowy shadows
    that shield his intent
    from the innocent.

    Hunkered deep in the folds
    of his brown Carhartt coat
    that still stinks
    of cigarettes
    that he’s smoked,
    he slinks and he sneaks
    through these aisles,
    a weasley snake,
    a crocodile
    with clammy skin
    of dirt caked sweat
    and a smirking face
    I’ll never forget.

    I hate his mustache.
    I hate his voice.
    I hate his family.

    He makes me want to
    kill myself
    every time he smiles.

    He insults me
    by breathing.

    My least favorite cockroach:
    the one that always
    gets away.

  35. Lorien Vidal


    No man is created perfect – not even the likes of you
    Your answers are always the end-all, be-all, OF all
    Your cockiness a cover-up for a sorry upbringing
    How your perfect, pretty mother unknowingly hurt you
    While you knowingly hurt me using a for-your-own-good rationale
    Making me a better person usually does not involve 90-minute-long rants while trapped in the car with you, yanking my seatbelt to make sure I did it right while telling me I do everything wrong.
    Your sorry excuse for friendship leaves you where you are today and will always be: alone
    Looking for the perfect woman who refuses to exist for you
    For you are "too perfect"
    You unmatchable lunatic

  36. Kateri Woody

    Dear Corrine,

    I love you a lot. That honestly was just the single most amazing thing in the world; all of those nice things made my Joker muse writhe and hiss in pain. It was wonderfully done! Thank you so very much.

  37. IleanaCarmina

    I hope this one isn’t too bad for posting here. Sorry if it goes a little too far, but it kind of wrote itself. It’s from the first prompt, to insult.


    Aw, aren’t you cute
    Flouncing around
    In your tiny bathing suit

    Your voice such a high-pitched whine
    It matches the machine
    Making coffee for each drooling swine

    Poor little bikini barista
    It’s all the rage
    You’re just selling yourself sista
    In your little cage

    Sure, you get some great tips
    With a saucy smile
    And a twitch of your hips

    But you’re so dumb, you just can’t wait
    To grab the cash
    Not knowing what you perpetuate

    Poor little bikini barista
    In your little cage
    You make me wanna shake ya
    And scream in rage

    You’re just a new kind of whore

  38. Joannie Stangeland

    Taxing, 1985

    It must have been unseasonably warm
    in my small midtown room, a year
    before I met Howie on Third Street
    who wore thick glasses and didn’t blink
    at last minute taxes. Instead, I spread
    numbers out on my bed until they swam
    like fish, skittered like the cockroaches
    cha-cha-ing in the kitchen. I inflicted
    upon myself long division, multiple
    multiplications, decimal places proliferating,
    always adding up to something different,
    always the same: not enough. Hours
    after sunset, I came to some truce
    of sums, carefully wrote in the boxes,
    on the lines, and signed. Then I entered
    the evening, went down to the thirties
    where the big main branch of the Post Office
    bloomed in the darkness, gold light spilling
    from its windows and doors like exotic petals,
    like portals to some ancient paradise,
    and people streamed toward them
    from all directions. Swept along in that current,
    invited into that bright inside, I handed
    over my envelope. Released,
    I walked back down the wide stone stairs,
    lifting ever lighter with relief, the city
    opening into the April night.

  39. Sally DiUlus

    PAD Challenge Day 15, April 15, 2008 Poetic Asides
    PAD # 15

    By Sally DiUlus

    “OFF, my Bwankey, Biwee!” Suzie yells.
    “I not on it.” Billy says.
    “You ‘tupid, Biwee, MOOOOOOOVE!”
    Billy touches the corner of Suzie’s blanket and
    Yanks his hand back in a split second;
    Only Suzie sees this occur.
    Suzie yells, “Teachea, Biwee touching my bwankey.”
    Teacher looks over her horn rim glasses at Billy
    Who appears to be
    And then she looks away.
    In that split second, Billy reaches over and
    Taps Suzie’s blanket with one finger
    And then smiles a crooked smile.
    Suzie’s reacts by exploding in a shriek,
    “Thop, touching my bwankey, Biwee Poo Poo Head.”
    Teacher looks their way and quietly says,
    “Suzie, we don’t use Poo Poo Head in my classroom.”
    Suzie starts to cry.
    Billy says, “Whiminy Cwickets, Suthie, I no touch you bwankey no mo’.”
    Because Teacher didn’t come over
    And help Suzie protect her blankey,
    This tyke in between gulps of air and sniffling,
    Quietly this time so Teacher doesn’t hear,
    Leans over so her face is close to Billy’s,
    And squarely looking him in the eye, declares,
    “Biwee you are a StinkyBlubberPooPoo.”
    Billy whispers back to her,
    “I wov you, Suthie. You is my bes fwend.”
    Sally DiUlus, sdiulus@cefe.org

  40. Jacquie Wareham

    Two Minutes

    You must be precise.
    You must hold the wand
    in the stream for five seconds-
    no more, no less.
    Use a stopwatch if possible.
    Wait two minutes
    for test results.
    A bar in one window
    says it’s accurate;
    a bar in the other window
    or a cross tells the truth.
    Wait two minutes to find out.
    After ten minutes
    disregard all data.
    You must stay within the time lines
    to find out,
    when your period is late,
    if it’s change of life
    or new life.
    Futures like these open
    in just two minutes.

    April 16, 2008
    Jacquie Wareham

  41. Darla Smith

    Prompt #1: Insult Poem

    You’re Not Who I’d Want

    Your hair is too stringy,
    it’s a wild, tangled mess.
    Sometimes I wonder if,
    you’ve ever used a comb.
    Your eyes are too small,
    behind those owl frames,
    and your nose is too large,
    it totally covers your face.
    Your hands are too rough,
    with those ugly calluses.
    They feel like sandpaper,
    rubbing over my flesh.
    It should be very obvious,
    you are far from perfect.
    Just get away from me,
    You’re not who I’d want

  42. k weber

    tax you very much

    i fit
    into little
    boxes: these
    reduce me
    to simple
    made complex
    by twists
    in language

    this year
    i have
    my heart
    and donated
    all of my
    and scraped
    by on the dirt
    of change

    but i won’t
    get anything
    in return
    for all
    the love
    that burned
    and the mis-
    made from
    my wallet

  43. JL Smither

    The Barista

    Good morning! And how can I serve you today?
    Is my smile bright enough to distract
    you from your cell phone?
    Yes, I gather that you’re very important,
    so I’ll just wait while you hold up your palm to me,
    and I’ll watch your child knock over the display of mints
    on the counter. I mean, hey, I get paid to be here, right?
    And if it wasn’t for generous patrons like you,
    I wouldn’t even have a—

    VentiTripleShotTwoPumpDoubleChocolatyChipFrappuccinoBlendedCremeWithSoyMilkAndNoWhip? Calling!

    Didn’t think I was paying attention, did you?
    I’ll admit that I envy your ability to carry on
    that oh-so-important phone conversation despite
    walking into a store, ordering a drink,
    and seeing your adorable monster smear his face
    all over the baked goods case. I wish I had
    that kind of focus—
    or is it just self-absorption?

  44. Yoli


    I’m blue.
    Because of you?
    Because of me.
    I know you’re so full of yourself you can not see
    nor understand.
    While you stand there primping you do not have a hand
    in determining my emotion.
    The fact that you amble around causing a commotion
    for you think all eyes should be on you
    has nothing to do with my foul mood.
    Your disgusting attitude has no bearing
    on why I’m walking around swearing
    kicking things, mumbling and nearly crying.
    If I were to say you’d notice the way
    I’ve kept to myself today I’d be lying.
    You will just think it’s you
    because you’re so full of yourself
    you can not see
    that I can just be


    The more you make
    The more they take.
    The more they want you to spend.
    The less you get back in the end.

  45. Devon Brenner


    These days no one asks for a daily report
    to tally my accomplishments,
    and I have no targets to hit, no papers due, no deadlines to meet.
    There are no diners waiting for eggs-over-easy,
    no coffee to pour,
    no fish to fry,
    no melons on the brink of spoiling in the truck I don’t drive.
    There are no toddlers to lead through circle time, no envelopes to stuff,
    I don’t have to chair the meetings I don’t attend, and
    I am strategically planning for nothing in the coming six months.

    I can spend the morning scouting nearby neighborhoods
    for blossoming dogwoods and the first of the iris,
    or lose an afternoon watching herons return to
    their awkward roosts in the tops of tall trees.
    Whenever I want, I can learn Italian, read those books piled by the bed,
    practice the violin or take up Tai Chi.
    And I will.

    Just as soon as someone comes along and gives me a deadline.

  46. Candace Armstrong

    Prompt #1 – written yesterday, posted today. It’s an effort to deal with a very hard thing.

    The most awful kind of insult
    Dredges up much inner tumult
    It’s even ugly to admit
    One tries hard to escape from it
    But up it comes, felt not spoken
    Visceral truth, not a token
    You’d not admit, to another
    Inner slander of your mother.

  47. Jennifer Fagala

    I had a hard time with this poem. Not sure why… but this was my try. :)

    To the Witness

    Don’t you know you are going to hell
    if you don’t drink the Kool-aid
    and suck down that pill
    they say as they push
    through crack in the door
    a track
    about towers and saviors
    and eternal damnation

    and all I have to say
    as I force your foot away
    is – it will be a good day
    when the clouds open up
    and take you away
    life will be quiet
    less filled with fear
    and I can peacefully
    watch politics, with my lover,
    and drink a pint of beer.

  48. Bruce Niedt

    My insult poem for the day appears above, but I thought I’d share one older poems on the topic. It’s not terribly nasty as insult poems go, but I got satisfaction in writing it. It was previously published in the Edison Literary Review.

    Clouds in the Jaguar Window

    Natural selection on the highway –
    the Jaguar cuts in front of me at the light,
    buffed and detailed, a sleek animal
    the color of a Colt revolver,
    its occupant, suited, cellphone to skull,
    speaking to someone, no doubt,
    more important than me.

    But before the light changes,
    before he gets another five-second jump on life,
    cumulus clouds from the windy blue sky
    reflect on his rear window.
    They roll across like screen credits,
    chiaroscuro on smoky glass,
    steaming majestically to their next country.

    And when we ply the road again,
    I want to pull my unworthy minivan
    abreast of him, and mouth these words
    to his air-conditioned window:
    Thank you.

    Thank you for reminding me
    that the clouds still travel untethered
    even over you.

  49. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    Everything I’ve wanted to say

    "You’re Married!
    Let it Go!"
    "You’re no good
    for me anyway."
    "You dress
    Like a slut.
    Just put them away!"
    "You’re an ass
    The way you act."
    "You’re breaking us
    Apart, with your words,
    Demands, and prima donna
    "He can do far better
    Than you. Why you?"
    "He’s an arrogant
    Prick. He talks too
    Much crap."
    "Leave her. It’s what
    You want. Just do it.
    Stop being spineless"
    "You were never any good
    In my bed. What makes
    You think you’ll be
    better in hers?"
    "What you spout makes
    me stupider by the
    Second. So shutup!"

    OMG I loved writing this! All the insults I’ve wanted to say to different people, but would never let myself! Thank you for this prompt!

  50. Cathy Sapunor


    E-filing was the headache
    that went on and on. I tried for hours
    to get the damned tax returns filed but
    the lines (is that what you call them?)
    were jammed.
    At 11:20 p.m., I gave up, sobbing,
    and printed everything out,
    and—-already dressed for bed—-drove to the big
    post office, advertised as being open until
    midnight on April 15.
    And when I got there a radio station was giving out Payday candy bars
    and everyone in the long line of cars was honking and
    making wisecracks about the lateness of the hour.
    And at 11:48, when I opened my car door to
    drop the envelopes into the mail slot, I thought I heard something fall out but I was too much in a rush to
    look, and a charming post office guy said "Have a great night"
    and gave me a coupon for a free stack of pancakes at IHOP
    which I thoroughly enjoyed a few minutes later
    at 12:05 in my pajamas and

  51. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Insulting Poem – Prompt #1

    Stop the words or I’ll rip out your tongue
    Must they be the same
    you’ve used for years?
    Come on be daring and different
    Try looking inside the person
    you treat like a cardboard cutout.

    I forgot that only voices on the radio
    or your favorite TV program get your
    attention. Why should I expect you
    to listen to my latest poem?
    You’re too busy hurling curses
    into space
    As each petulant sound escapes
    your mouth the air reverberates
    from the stream of the string
    of garbage I’m hearing.

  52. Hope Greene

    April 15

    I speak English
    And also enough Italian
    To not get lost (at least
    Not to be lost for long-and never without a coffee).

    With English assumed,
    I can say my brother speaks Korean
    And nothing else.

    My sister has French, book Latin
    And seven years of classroom Ruskie-my other brother, a mere three-
    Our Father, on the other hand, has it both practical and Classified,
    As well as Arabic and a working bite or two of various other tongues.

    My husband’s tongue can do French,
    Grocery Store Italian, a rusty but firm German, vacation Dutch,
    Latin II, New Testament Greek and Old Testament Hebrew.

    This whole crew, schooled in fluid communication with both the living
    And the dead spent all this Tuesday mum-
    baffled by the devious wordbook of the taxman.

  53. Khara House

    :you never knew:

    i think it’s only fair you never knew

    while you dared to believe
    that as I caught a glimpse of you
    around the corner of my cheek
    i gazed at you in wondering love
    and undressed your spirit
    with my naked eye. but
    you would never dream

    the thought of your touch
    turned my tongue to ash
    and blinded my eye
    to beauty for a day
    and I think it’s only fair
    you never knew

    until just now

  54. Rox

    Prompt #1:

    Mad Love, Part Deux
    (with apologies to Kateri Woody)

    It’s not that I don’t feel the pain
    when your cackling laughter
    goes on and on and on
    every time you *think* you’re funny.

    It’s not that I don’t feel the pain
    at your pathetic double-crosses
    as if green hair and a whoopee cushion
    makes you the boss o’ me or somethin’.

    It’s not that I don’t feel the pain
    when you ignore all my propositions
    to think about how to defeat Bats
    without killin’ yourself.

    It’s not that I don’t feel the pain
    of you ignorin’ every smart thing I say,
    or how stupid you are to think
    I’ll come back to feed the hyenas.

    It’s not that I don’t feel the pain
    that you can’t stand,
    like every other typical guy,
    that I can be good as you.

    It’s not that you don’t love me,
    but bein’ great on my own’s the
    worst insult I could give.

    Prompt #2:

    Deadline Pressure

    Responsibility and play –
    I delight in both.
    How to find
    Enough time?

    Know your skills;
    Understand the dangerous whitewater rapids
    Of hurtling toward goals;
    Use your procrastination –
    The pressure!

    Dance the exquisite precision ballet of
    Focused, still concentration and
    The twirling madness of sweating action
    Not REaction.

    Reach the finish line
    Just In Time;
    Win the game or
    Finish your taxes
    And still have an hour to
    Envelope yourself in your comfy chair
    To sit
    and read
    and absently sip tea.

  55. Emily Blakely


    Two poets met at a pub
    and after a ‘few’, their words began to rub

    #1: I don’t like your assonance
    #2: Well your misuse of tropes is quite flagrant

    #1: Why don’t you take your iambic foot out of your mouth
    #2: No wonder you can’t make a rhyme, your brain went south

    The barkeep slammed down his fist and said, “I’ve heard quite enough”
    Then the poets parted wondering why he had to be so gruff

    Tax Time

    A good paying stock investment
    before April’s tax assessment
    might be: Tylenol – Advil – or Bayer

  56. Mike Padg

    It’s All On You

    I’m dying to remember,
    The things you won’t forget,
    Still, I’m the one who held my tongue
    While you claimed we’d never met.

    In anger we trade blows,
    Picking off the fears that
    No one knows, and
    We fight to keep our winning cheers,
    From a crowd that knows too well
    we’ve been dying for years.

    I don’t think I’ve ever hurt so bad before you.
    I know you’re gonna lie some more, just go,
    or else we’ll fight until we’re bruised and sore,
    Close your eyes don’t beg from me, so
    What say you?
    When I choose to rephrase,
    The false hopes you fill your voice with,
    Anger and rage,
    Yeah, there’s too much pride,
    Swelling within your fears,
    This disease was born with heartache,
    Created from our tears.

    So don’t ask me how,
    ‘Cause I don’t care,
    and don’t ask me why,
    I refuse to ever be there.

    ‘Cause we’re both desperate for a reason,
    Without any answers,
    We’ll drink ’til we’re on our knees and,
    In the end,
    We’ve both got better things to do,
    Like chasing lost dreams
    we know we must pursue,
    There’s something I think we’re missin,
    It’s in the way we give up hope and,
    Beg for mercy from one another,
    Like sister…. and brother,
    Mercy lost as our love did dissipate,
    A loss thats left us so inclined to hate,
    Tell me,
    Was it something more than fate,
    this exacted revenge,
    perpetrated by the hope we chose to end?

    You taste of a deceit so bittersweet hun,
    Show me something I’ve never seen before you,
    So all will know, I quit you on my own.

  57. Carol Brian

    April 15th

    This country so strange.

    I watch TV, so I know what to do,
    and Ace is the hardware place.

    I go to CPA with all my deceits,
    hand him the paper bag and ask,
    “Are these tacks deductible?”
    His eyebrows go funny.

    He talks on and on about
    alternative minimum tacks
    tacks extensions, tacks invasions
    and withholding tacks.
    (Oprah hasn’t covered these.)
    I excuse myself and call a taxi.

    I’m at the point of no return.

    Carol Brian

  58. ck

    (From a roast I wrote for an aunt. Sung to the tune of "Top of the World" by the Carpenters. Could’t do anything else for an insult poem, and couldn’t bear to think anymore about taxes.)

    Youngest of three sisters, oh my word;
    Flutist, tomboy, and some say a nerd.
    There were Caldwell College days,
    Wedding memories – just a haze –
    Then right onto two fine kids,
    And, whoops! – a third.

    She’s on her second Manhattan –
    Kyrie at Sunday matins –
    No, she will not be talked into women priests.
    It’s her Polish heritage:
    Kielbasa, pierogies, breaded fish.
    Jane’s a Catholic girl at heart,
    she truly is.

    She’s unbearable when we play games.
    Be it Scrabble, golf or Bridge – it’s all the same.
    If she wins in the end,
    She will rub it in, my friend.
    If she loses, though, “Not fair,” she’ll surely claim.

    Now she has her eye on Medicare,
    And she’s showing off her glamorous gray
    With her new senior discounts
    She’ll be saving large amounts.
    She’s the AARP poster girl, I swear.

    She has such tact – consternation! –
    And her style is Late Depression,
    Yes, our Janie’s fashion sense is for the birds.
    She does not strain her crepes,
    Cultivates her fine Lech shape,
    Grammar fiend, which it don’t mean her ain’t have fun.

  59. Sheryl Kay Oder

    It won’t take much imagination to figure out what tax I was working on today. I’m sure I could have written a poem about deadlines, both poetic and tax, but this was fun to do. After all, I am insulting an unknown person anyway.

    You Useless Person

    Hey you —
    you know who I mean —
    you who created the concept of the
    Useless Tax for the State of Illinois.

    OK, so you called it the Use Tax
    and, yes, I use those things in Illinois,
    but do you know how useless
    your idea is.

    How much money
    does it cost the state
    to process my $72.40 check
    from the mailroom
    to the technical clerk?

    I didn’t slink off to Indiana
    to buy a luxury Lexis. All I did
    was to order tops, slacks, and sheets
    from a catalogue.

    What schools will have new teachers
    with my dough?
    How many seniors will
    have their needed medicine
    or ride the CTA?

    Hey, you.
    Get in a room right now.
    Grab those stacks of paper.
    Add those miniscule numbers
    until you get a total.

    Don’t come out until
    You’re through.

  60. Elizabeth Keggi


    I was almost too late
    When you fell to the carpet,
    Crumpled to the floor,
    Eyes closed, mouth agape.
    If I hadn’t made that green light,
    Would I still have been there in time?
    One red light, and it could have made
    my love for you irrelevant.

    Elizabeth Keggi

  61. Judy Stewart


    Insults insults where are you?
    I need you now more than before
    If I were to be insulting
    I would have words to say
    tonight the words won’t come my way
    I know there are things I have insulted
    But at this late hour they have escaped my mind
    so I will not insult anyone this time
    and maybe that is how it really should be!

  62. Elizabeth Keggi

    Insults from the 4th grade, circa 1976

    I would trade my coffee can full of crayons for your complete set. Your mama is so ugly, the Meow Mix eats itself. My room is bigger than your room, and I have more stuffed animals. Did anyone ever tell you you are so stupid? They should. I bet you think the tornado in "The Wizard of Oz" is real, that’s how spazzy you are. We don’t let ugly people pay Kick the Can with us. Mrs. Cushing says my drawing of my family is really pretty. But you still draw people like sticks. No, I don’t want to come over and play sometime. But *you* may come to *my* birthday party next Saturday *if* you bring me a really neat present. Wanna come?

    Elizabeth Keggi

    (Girls can be terrible, nasty psychological bullies. Then they play nice without warning. Writing this prose poem was actually painful, with memories of having been bullied and of bullying others farther down the food chain.)

  63. Marcus Smith

    "Dog Eat Dog"

    So you call me elitist, or to be
    exact you said my comments
    “seemed” to be elitist
    then you run to the nearest bar
    down a shot have a brew
    oh, and talk about shooting guns
    and going to church
    (was it Easter?)
    all so you can “seem” to be
    (there’s that word again)
    a regular person
    an unsophisticated person
    Josephine Six-Pack
    just one of the gals
    well, take off that stupid mask
    and be who you are
    because people would rather be led
    than to be patronized.

  64. Jeanette J. McAdoo


    You think your cool but your not,
    Don’t know anyone who cares about you.
    Tried to be nice, was just a thought,
    What people think, if you only knew.

    Your pants are down below your crack,
    What you call hair is slime.
    When your around won’t turn my back,
    Your appearance is grease and grime.

    Your nothing but a dirty pig,
    No one could ever stand.
    There isn’t a girl who would flip her wig,
    Can’t think of a girl you could land.

  65. Nancy

    Ode to the Insult

    No one could craft an insult like the Bard:
    Swim with leeches, thou gorbellied rabbitsucker!
    He peopled his world with cankerblossoms,
    with incestuous, addlepated maggotpies.

    Early evening, Anne would glance over
    to where he dipped his quill into the inkpot
    and ask, "Why are you smiling now, Will?"

    "Oh nothing," he’d tell her, all the while
    vicarously, verbally fencing with lesser minds
    who thought themselves better men.

    "Who in the world will remember you," they’d asked,
    "playing make believe, while all around you
    better men are discovering new worlds?"

    He’d smiled his wry smile, saving his words
    until he’d dipped them in ink, crafting
    Iagos and Don Johns out of his
    codpiece-sniffing, fen-sucked foes.

  66. Ang

    i decided to combine the topics….

    Insulting Taxes

    Are an insult
    To the hard working woman
    or man
    The one who doesen’t call in sick
    The one who pays his bills
    The one who feeds her children, no matter how meager her eanings
    Are an insult
    To those who work
    To have to pay for those who don’t
    It is an insult
    To the citizen
    Who can’t afford a college education
    Because she is paying for an illegal immigrant
    To attend instead

  67. Deb Hill

    April 15, day 15 insult
    Looking at You

    Hello, come in I‘ll get my hat!
    You look like someone stole your fat
    Just look at you, you’ve dyed your hair
    No other women blue would dare

    Are those new irises in your eyes?
    Why do you look so ah oh surprised?
    Your skins so tight, and burnt sugar bright
    Even Frankenstein would run this night
    Oh my! have you looked in the mirror of late
    Your mouth’s swelling is it worth this debate?
    Your lips you molded in pouting tween fashion?
    This gain how insane, you need a good bashin!

    I‘m sorry, what was that you say?
    Your in disguise, you’ll find your way.
    A cosmetic procedure was all you planned
    Then off to locate that perfect man!

    OOPS! Lets hope perfect picks a different surgeon!

  68. M J Dills

    There’s not a lot of time to spare
    My daughter with child
    My image of this one leading her
    She follows the belly
    How was it that we came to this day?
    Moving four huge truckloads across this foreign town
    Paying the movers with foreign money
    Is this the right amount? He asks
    My son in law
    We haven’t much time
    This boy will be joining us soon
    Needs a place to lay his little head
    Back where they came from
    People panic to pay their taxes this day
    A deadline
    Pay day
    For us?
    Moving day
    She sleeps now
    Two children cuddled up with her
    One in
    One out
    My son in law putters
    Draws long on a cold beer
    Be this day done so as to go on to another
    Finding day
    Nesting day
    Resting day

  69. Laural

    Too Much Talk

    I like the kind of friend you aren’t
    One who listens to the air
    Watches the water flow
    Stares at red camellias
    Or the veins in iris petals.

    You yap and snap,
    Fill the silence
    That wants to speak to us
    Never stop to think.
    Sure of yourself for
    Some unknown reason.

    I might like you if you’d
    Listen to the flowers
    Taste the clouds
    Eat the music
    Until your mouth is too full
    To let any busy-words
    Escape to attack
    And inhibit others.

  70. Anahbird

    I love how you listen

    I love how you listen
    Head titled to the side
    Eyes shifting constantly
    Mouth cracked just slightly
    Feet alert and at attention
    -Like a hyena
    Inundating my words
    With your impatient howl.

  71. Callan Bignoli-Zale

    Tax Relief, Tax Return

    I’m an accountant’s daughter,
    so April 15th was always a holiday at my house.

    My dad would re-materialize –
    he’d stop staying out ’til six in the morning;
    he’d stop spending so much time
    with those overflowing piles of clients’ files
    and start challenging me
    to Scrabble scrimmages and Monopoly matches,
    he’d sit down to read the stories
    I typed out for him on our old IBM 386,
    and our miniature golf season
    would at long last have its opening night.

    But even now I’m grown and a hundred miles away,
    I still think of Tax Relief as Father’s Freedom Day.

  72. Nathan Everett

    I got just one nerve left
    and wouldn’t you just gotta be on it!
    You got the gall
    to waltz in here spouting holier than thou
    and Jesus says,
    tellin me how to raise my kid.
    Well, I got your stellar example already
    — you with your pregnant teen
    and son who can’t keep his pants zipped.
    I suppose Jesus got something to say about that?
    What make you think you can do a better job
    raisin my kid than you did your own?
    Your kids’re so perfect in your blind eyes.
    You got less sense than God give a jackass.
    I tell you what Jesus say:
    Take the log outn yer own eye
    before you try to take the dust outn mine.
    Next time you got advice to give
    just stick your head where the sun don’t shine —
    — where you usually keep it.

  73. Omavi

    Blah blah blah

    Do you remember when mama first
    Taught you the word
    And explained what should or should not be spit
    Into the midnight air
    I guess you forgot your lessons because
    Once again you are here, calling yourself speaking
    But all that is spewing forth from that cavernous
    Cesspool that god gave you to discourse
    Is a foul stench tinged with loss of all thought
    Caught in a whirlwind of disgust
    Trying to catch a break
    Just latching unto the rhymes that even toddlers
    Would not give a second or third thought
    And even the town fool couldn’t laugh
    Because not even silly humor could be found
    Only a mouth open wide
    Saying nothing at all

  74. Susan M. Bell

    (Kateri, this is no where near as good as Rodney Walmer’s “Harley to Joker” poem, but I thought I would put it in the pile anyway. I love your Joker poems. My husband is a huge Batman fan, and I’m going to print those out to show to him. I think he’ll get a kick out of it.)

    To the Joker, Love Harley

    Yes, I hang on your every word,
    laugh at your antics, throw myself
    at you every chance I get.
    And you think it’s all for the
    nonexistent promise of your love,
    your affection.

    You fool.

    While you spend your time trying
    unsuccessfully to get rid of your worst
    nightmare, the dark one, the one who
    haunts your world, both waking and
    dreaming, I take it all in. I watch and
    learn. I know, one day, my chance
    will come. What you think is a kiss
    of passion, will be a kiss of death. The
    death of your world, your mind, you.

    I will take over.
    It will all be mine.
    And I will be so much better,
    than you could ever hope to be.

  75. Bruce Niedt


    He’s as dumb as an Atari 2600.

    You couldn’t find your parallel port with both appendages.

    She has a sensory receptor panel that could stop a chronometer at 6.75 meters.

    The LED’s are on but there’s nothing contained in the housing.

    He’s not operating with a full hard drive.

    I wouldn’t network with you if you were the last compatible modular unit on the planet.

    Go interface yourself.

  76. Liza

    A Bush Insult

    President Bush,
    oh how I wish you weren’t,
    but I’m sure you know
    that I didn’t vote for you.

    You knew what was coming
    when the terriorists flew by.
    You ignored the warnings
    and set on playing golf.

    There are people dying
    in a war that has no end
    until you are out of office.
    It can’t get here soon enough.

    People are suffering in this country
    from lack of good healthcare
    which I admit you didn’t start,
    but you sure haven’t helped.

    You haven’t done anything
    to slow down the growing
    issue hurting our environment.
    That is likely to be worse soon.

    Dear Bush, you are a small thorn
    in the underbelly of this country.
    Thankfully though, you’ll be gone
    from its office by 2009.

    The Tax Thorn

    Why is it such a pain
    to do ones taxes
    especially if getting a refund?
    I would rejoice for the extra money.

    I can understand
    why doing taxes if you owe
    might be a deeper thorn
    in your backside.

    Why do some owe so much
    and make the same amount of money
    but one may owe
    and another get a refund?

    That sounds perplexing
    especially if they both are single,
    make the same amount,
    and have a simple return.

    Even the instruction form
    is simple enough,
    but they explain how to write your name
    which really shouldn’t be that hard.

    I think somebody out there
    in that IRS office
    might think the USA
    has a few ignorant people.

    OK, OK, maybe I do need help
    since I use the free online software
    to do my taxes though
    I could easily do it myself.

    At least I get a refund back
    for being poor and not having kids
    otherwise I might be in another boat.
    Hurrah for the soon-to-be stimulus check.

  77. Susan M. Bell

    (I originally used this person’s initials as the title, but thought I should change that, just in case. That’s OK. He knows who he is.)

    Former Employer

    Slimy, weak handshake
    Not a politician but worse,
    a politician wanna-be

    You judge those around you
    thinking you are so much better.
    All the while your own moral compass
    has no magnetic north.
    You leer at those employees
    you think are cute.
    Stand too close when you can.
    Stare when you can’t.

    We watch as you hover around our desks,
    cringe when you feel the need to
    adjust yourself in front of us.
    We sometimes wonder when those
    wandering hands will find another
    underling to reach out and touch.
    Another woman to get involved with
    who will end up transferred at some point
    in order to sweep it all under the rug.

    You fool no one.
    We all know what you are.

  78. VS Bryant

    4/15/08 –


    Why deny, who you are?
    Why deny the soul that has made you strong?
    Why deny the passion that makes you stand out?
    Why deny, who you are?

    Why deny the person that you have become?
    Why deny, the person that is already loved?
    Why deny the charisma that makes a person smile?
    Why deny, who you are?

    (sorry everybody I just couldn’t form the words to follow the prompt today…hope you like this)

  79. satia

    Insult Poem:

    Truth is, I lied when I said
    I love everything about you
    But your male ego made it
    Easy for me to appease
    Your Napoleonic doubt
    So when I gagged
    Swallowing down my
    Too obvious disgust
    Gagging at your taste
    I let you believe whatever

    freshman deadline

    date circled
    topic chosen
    followed by
    late nights
    at the library
    (insert panic attacks here)
    piles pile up
    notes piled between books
    piled between more books
    (insert lack of sleep here)
    rough draft drafted
    revised and cut
    then final finalized
    tuned in to wait
    hours of second guesses)
    for a grade
    (and wishing
    I had used
    spell check)

  80. Linda

    Dissing Me

    You slug down the hall not seeing me –
    you never do – but your cool, obsequious eyes

    flit to boss-man striding behind me,
    and simpering, you bow to him,

    and even though we sing in the same
    Christian choir, I recognize

    you operate out of fear, so I blow
    you a smile wider than your hips.

    Great poems here – a lot of purging today! I had a tough time with this prompt – neither taxes nor insults inspired the muse. But some of these… brilliant! Peace, Linda

  81. lynn rose

    Rushing, rushing everywhere making sure its on time.
    I have only had how many months to get it done.
    There’s nothing like waiting for the last few seconds
    to get it mailed.I can see people putting it off if
    they have money they owe, but come on people some of
    you are just slow. Still looking for that last deduction
    that one last receipt,like that is going to make that much
    of a difference.Come on people, you know we have to do this
    every year, lets try to do a little better next year. You
    could always do what I did this year, let the ex take care
    of it and let him deal with it all. Makes it a lot easier
    on me. I’m not sure about next year.But it will come again
    and we will do the same ole thing.That’s ok though, thats
    why we live and die, to pay taxes.

  82. Justin Evans

    I am taking my cue from the Queen of Mean herself: Dorothy Parker.


    Men who are large asses
    forget those with glasses

    * * *

    George W.Bush jr.

    This was not a President to be tossed aside lightly.
    He should be thrown away with great force.

    * * *

    Dick Cheney

    Four be the things I am wiser to know:
    I am the penguin, Darth Vader, and Satan—
    The guy I work for is a little slow.

    * * *


    Four be the things I’d have been better without:
    My President, his lackeys, his war
    His petulant, spoiled brat pout.

    * * *

  83. Tria

    Insulting Sylvia Plath

    We teenage girls all loved
    a good suicide story. Belt noose,
    waterlogged lungs, gas ovens,
    The Bell Jar was our how-to
    if we should want to push through
    and blast a grand exit, though we never
    did. We didn’t have to. What counted
    was knowing we could have, if we dared,
    this one small bit
    of self-defeating agency.

    But Plath was a poetic copout,
    my teacher insisted, playing cheap, the tired
    old trope of the lovely girl longing
    for daddylove. Enough
    with the depression, the pitymongering,
    he said, look at Diane Wakowski
    who showed us that at least
    the world still has oranges in it.

    But what teenage girl doesn’t feel
    she’s got too little, or worse, too much
    from Daddy? He’s an unreachable
    shore, and we’re swimming till we drown,
    either way. I like oranges, too, but
    their sweetness is immaterial
    when what you really want is not
    daddy’s love so much as his power,
    to grasp your tender life in your own hands.

  84. lynn rose

    You are always searching for something better,
    you’re never satisfied.
    I know you love the ladies and you think they
    love you too. But I hate to inform you that they
    do not.
    They may be beautiful and you think that’s all
    that matter’s. That’ not always true.You are not
    that handsome, I know you think you are. Some people
    only see what they think they are.
    Don’t get me wrong I don’t care what you look like,
    it doesn’t matter to me. But it really doesn’t matter’
    what I think, because you don’t see me. I am just an
    ordinary thing.

  85. Carla Cherry

    The Great Put Down

    After a long day’s work
    I come home
    kick off my too-tight shoes
    and thumb through one
    of the copies of
    my published
    poetry book.

    I have two boxes full.
    I see potential sales,
    poetry readings,
    and my presence on
    bookstore shelves.

    In my two boxes
    of my published books
    my inner critic
    sees evidence that
    my work is
    and he promises
    there’ll be a day
    when they will be covered with dust.

    This is a battle
    I intend to win.

    There used to be
    three boxes.


    When April 15
    I shrug.
    set by law
    do less
    than grief
    to tax
    my soul.

  86. Rebecca


    O the glories of IRS

    Forms with numbers this word
    Worker can never recall!
    Long before I owed I wished
    Away all income—pining
    For a land where money
    Was no more important than paper

    Instead, the computer keys
    Keep clicking and the futile
    Search for old returns
    Plummets me yet again
    To the depths of green Rubbermaids

    When will the ceaseless toil
    Find its reward in a fattened
    Billfold or Ledger?

    Only when assets are not greater
    Than expenditures
    When income and outflow
    Medicaid, Medicare and Social Security
    Have gorged themselves

    Unless I can deduct for the bib
    I gave Lucille and the wine
    Donated to the writers’ circle

  87. Lorraine Hart

    As You Like it, Villain. Take That…and That…

    Thou poetic scoundrel
    just what were ye thinkin’?
    Did thee spend last night
    in thy counting house, drinkin’?
    Must I blindly follow
    thy prompted cult…
    and add to tax misery
    a poetic insult?
    If thee insist then
    I suppose I must…
    or lose the two weeks
    already in trust!
    May thy beard curl up
    and get in the way
    for double-dutch damning
    on income tax day!

  88. Maureen


    your face is a dry river bed
    with furrows wide and deep
    your nose is warty and hairy
    you snort while others sleep
    your hair is sharp and wiry
    with barbs made out of nits
    your arms are big and saggy
    we won’t even mention your …
    your intestines growl and grunt
    you surely don’t have a heart
    your back is pimply and rounded
    and your hips are metres apart
    your stomach reaches your toes
    and your thighs could never part
    your bottom’s as big as two mountains
    you’re a very ugly old …


  89. maeve63

    How can I Insult You; Let Me Count the Ways

    When I look at your gargoyle features I hear
    Notre Dame calling your name.
    You could be perched atop gothic structures
    and readily blend in.
    Today you are the face that evil things
    find revolting
    Long snout, and I do believe, I see
    nubs crowning your head in a pathetic attempt
    to become horns.
    Lumping spine of retched silence.
    You watch the world pass and fail to protect
    like you’re not even there
    sitting above us all with your grotesque image.

  90. Leigh-Evelyn Martin

    Oops! Spelled "government" wrong in my poem. So much for my impeccable first (second… third?) impression here. At least I am not here to impress the government!

    Been enjoying the poems I have read so far. I am a bit of a late bloomer on this message board, but glad to be a part of it.

    Have a blast, folks!

    –Leigh-Evelyn Martin

  91. Maria Jacketti

    You Can’t Insult a Buddhist Monk

    I have learned from his Holiness of Llasa
    that you can call me or him anything
    but a good monk, sworn to Lord Buddha,
    will only laugh as if his stomach
    is full of oranges.

    Sticky sticks.
    And bonier bones.

    Something tells me that I flunked
    out of monk school. It hurts me when my
    young students critique the lunar
    dimensions of my derriere.
    Of course, I read their minds.
    Better to sit on you, my dears.
    Can a monk be a witch?

    Call me a spaghetti noodler,
    my kisses are oregano plumped,
    redolence of garlic crescents,
    you think?

    Tell me about grey hairs
    that may not yet emerged,
    elves spinning their silver
    in follicles of olive oil that
    hold back time,
    like Vesuvius.

    This poem is a roasted pepper salad
    like my mother would make:
    pity the cultures that don’t roast
    peppers. You could feed them sand
    and they wouldn’t know the difference.

    "I don’t want to be associated
    with grease balls," a cousin told
    me, insulted by his roots and mine,
    and the memory ringing
    in our lollapalooza-cacciatore
    of a last name.

    Ah, Your Holiness,
    he will reincarnate forty thousand
    times Italian, each time
    shorter, fatter and more troll-like,
    until he can love
    his dago/ wop/ grease ball blood.

    Maria Jacketti

  92. Connie

    My favorites for today: (besides the Belly poem)
    For Goodness’ Sake, Kimberly K.
    Insult Haiku, Patti Willias;Deadline, Ana Malaspina
    Day 15, John Maloney and
    Stupid Channels, Charlene P. Good going Charlene. Only ten!

  93. Leigh-Evelyn Martin

    April 15th

    The only thing that is certain
    is that death is taxing.

    A tariff on my hips? My lips
    are sewn shut and laughing.

    I am deep below Uncle Sam’s earth
    balancing quarters on my eyes.

    Those fifty-cents are the ones
    that got away until the law exhumes
    and post-humously consumers me.

    The governent is drunk again so sing
    a song for me, fellas. My misspent youth
    wherein I spent too much is through.

    From the grave let me remind you
    to take a penny, leave a penny for luck
    in your shoe. Then run
    like hell.

    — Leigh-Evelyn Martin

  94. Lyn Sedwick

    It’s insulting to me, really,

    That of all the poems so far
    This challenge, I can’t come up
    With an insult poem worth posting–
    I’ve tried three of them, I have,
    And as smart-mouthed as I usually
    Am, and with rapier-sharp wit, I
    Cannot find it in me to insult in
    A poem. NO WAY, my daughter
    Would say, knowing as she does
    How fast I can sling arrows and
    Barbs, and often her way (you are not
    Seriously wearing THAT to school??)
    But somehow, when other poets
    Are going to look, I don’t feel like
    Truly insulting anyone or anything.

    Lyn Sedwick

  95. Alfred J Bruey

    MY WIFE (#15)

    I often tell stories
    about my wife and the
    listeners, especially the men,
    seem to like it when
    I tell them that my wife
    has a microwave oven so
    now she can ruin a meal
    in half the time it used
    to take and that she
    knows the food is done
    when the smoke alarm
    goes off and these are
    only two of the wife
    jokes I tell but they
    aren’t really insulting
    because we all know that
    wife jokes are all done
    in good fun and although
    they sound insulting, they
    probably aren’t.

  96. SaraV

    My Way to Deal with Taxes

    When you are in business
    It’s so hard to spend
    The time to get the
    Numbers ready for
    The IRS Deadline
    So instead of using
    Weekends to file on the 15th
    I like to live more simply
    Or perhaps is procrastination
    I slap some figures together
    And file an extension

    Insultingly Pleasant

    The best insult
    That I can give
    When people are rude to me
    To smile and treat
    Them extra pleasantly
    Then watch them
    With Delight
    As they attempt
    Smashing my happy shield
    With their hiss and spite
    It’s oh so satisfying
    When they have to recognize
    That rudeness did not rule the day
    There’s still a twinkle in my eyes

  97. tim


    i do not relish you
    the waste of insidious forms
    mixed with a lackluster of filing the proper receipts
    for my part
    hand scratched worksheets
    replaced by a behind the scenes program
    answering question after question
    seeing the simple original beauty of your first form
    compared to a bog of information today
    thus this year
    i avoided the plague of endless hours
    reviewing each of your tedious boxes
    i handed you over
    to the professionals

  98. Mario Jaime

    The Deadline, the Dilemma, the Desire

    Oh, that massive AP test!
    At least that marks the start of rest
    But I’ll miss her, who I don’t detest!

    Please don’t let that monster come!
    Let it arrive! Let’s get this done!
    But three months without seeing the one?

    To stave it off, I’d murder!
    But I just can’t wait for summer!
    I want these weeks to last, to see her

    I guess I’ll have to study
    I’ll have to wait, and patiently
    Before then, I’ll tell her she’s lovely

    (Obviously, I chose the deadline poem, ’cause I can’t be mean. About deadlines, you hate them, but you sometimes want them to get here, but it might mean changing your life around. These prompts are great!)

  99. Connie

    Thanks Carol from Amherst. And I like your belly poem, too.
    And I’ll chime in wtih my appreciation to Robert and all of you. So nice to have the company of fellow poets.

  100. LBC

    Thou Shalt File

    My husband calculated the taxes
    weeks ago
    because he could never,
    in a million years,
    break a commandment;
    miss the deadline
    for anything.
    He filed jointly,
    with three exemptions,
    and itemized deductions,
    way back in January.
    That means today,
    April 15,
    is a truly wonderful day
    because I’m on spring break
    standing single file
    in the check-out line,
    a chunk of our tax return.

  101. Sara McNulty

    Insult poem

    An asylum would so suit your true personality
    You’re a Queen Bitch out of touch with reality
    Shame on you for beating down your employees
    With harsh words and curses and screams like a banshee

    Your own two children moved far, far away
    To turn deaf ears upon a donkey that brays
    A Senior VP? How many people were trampled?
    While you pounded your fists on their desks, for example

    I’ve watched grown women be reduced to tears
    As you threatened to fire them in front of their peers
    One day the axe will be poised at your head
    And the staff will cheer for the tears that you shed.


    I demand a printout, a pie chart, some numbers
    To show where my taxes have gone asunder
    You spend my money on a senseless war
    Where soldiers die and know not what for

    I wouldn’t begrudge you for spending on health care
    Or for feeding the starving and homeless right here
    But like every year, the rich will exceed
    An amount of money they don’t even need.

  102. Cheryl Wray

    Insult poem.

    "that Kind of Guy"

    hey you, there.
    yeah, I’m talking to
    who thinks it’s cool to cat-call,
    and whisper,
    make crude statements,
    and nudge that other guy.

    i’m almost forty, so i can shrug aside
    such immaturity,
    such boorishness,
    such filth
    from your sort.

    but i want you to know that’s my daughter
    you think you’re complimenting,
    but you’re really insulting.

    yeah, she came home and told me how she felt
    when you asked her old she was and
    if she had a boyfriend.

    she said she mumbled, avoided your stare,
    and sped off in her car as fast as she could.

    how old are you anyway?
    she’s just 16. you’re what? 25?
    dis. gus. ting.

    so…go hide under a rock
    better yet,
    never come out in that souped-up car again.

    (and, by the way,
    i won’t be mentioning this to my husband,
    her pop.
    who might take it more personally,
    and add injury to insult.

  103. Rodney C. Walmer

    Kateri, I hope this goes well with your poem. I am certain that the Joker would not of been as nice as you were, as you said a bit tame, but a very cool poem nonetheless. Here is my version of the response from Harlequin. Though our styles are different, I believe this will compliment your piece nicely, at least I hope it does. I tried to envision Harly, the way I remember her from the comic books.

    Harley Quinn back to Joker (Read after Kateri’s "Mad Love")

    My dear Joker
    clearly your sense of reality
    could not be broker
    Though I may need equality
    It’s quite clear
    the only person your in love with
    has a powder white face
    with green hair
    Don’t you realize
    no one will take my place
    once I am no longer there
    most would find it a disgrace
    to be seen in your presence
    Though, I may humor you
    it’s quite true
    without me,
    you’d be
    fodder for the Bat
    while we’re talking about that
    lets discuss where it’s really at
    since you want to come clean
    it’s time you stopped being so mean
    Honestly, who would be interested
    in a guy, who’s hair is green
    with your nasty disposition
    quick temper
    well, lets not talk about the feet
    you’d be spending every night
    alone just walking that lonesome beat
    And, if you don’t treat me nice
    you should know the Riddler (E. Nigma)
    well now, thrice he
    has asked me for date
    The way you treat me
    I see no reason to make him wait
    then there’s the scarecrow
    wants to see how much fear you’ll show
    while he takes me on a trip
    so, get a grip
    you jerk
    into this relationship, you need to put some work
    So, my dear Joker
    I too know, how to play this game of poker

    if you don’t want me to turn that pasty face blue
    this is what I want from you
    I want an equal partnership
    I want in on every plan
    I expect you to understand
    when I need a night out
    or you will find out what loneliness
    is all about. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 4/15/08 I felt a challenge to respond to Kateri’s challenge Harley Quinn to
    Joker, so I had to try.

  104. Renee Goularte

    In 2005

    Dick Cheney’s taxes
    came in at a rate of
    five and seven tenths percent,
    after his bill was lowered by
    one million
    ninety-three thousand
    nine-hundred thirty seven


    Gotta love those tax cuts.

  105. Heather


    I’ve been holding back
    The one word I’ve held in
    For so long

    Been scared to whisper
    The faintest hint
    Of a lifetime shackled
    To the word which best describes

    Your inability to love
    To care

    36 years aren’t nearly enough
    To forgive the miserable scars etched
    Into the core of what I’ve become

    At your hand
    I’ve died a thousand deaths
    But never have I dared
    To speak out
    To rage against this brittle shell of a life you’ve left me

    One word says it all
    It’s the word you deserve
    For all that you were
    And all that I could have been


    Heather 4/15/08

  106. Suzanne Poor

    Day 15 Insult

    Your comments earlier this morning
    took me completely by surprise.
    Consequently, since you tout yourself
    as hobnobbing with famous psychotherapists
    in your snazzy building in Princeton,
    I wonder why you would transfer to me,
    someone you’ve never met,
    your concern over a snafu
    that originated with your agency.

    Your churlish attitude in chastising me
    for a phone call one of your employees
    suggested I make
    not only upset me,
    the inaccurate accusation
    is an embarrassment.

    Moreover, your initial assessment of me as a neophyte
    to be sternly admonished
    is equally insulting.
    Perhaps you should research the people
    you so wrongly accuse
    before you make your angry calls
    and ruin your reputation.


    We have to do them
    and die.
    But before I do the latter
    I revel in the return
    of money spent on other homes
    rented so casually to folks with cash.
    Who could have predicted
    that spending money on lunches, bedding, flatware, paint,
    tools, sinks, fabric, pots and pans,
    utilities, real estate taxes
    and beach badges could
    make us rich.

    Suzanne Poor (PoorSue@aol.com. Montclair, NJ)

  107. Corinne

    For Kateri, since she asked so nicely

    No run-of-the-mill-evil taunting diatribe
    Will be enough for you, The Hustler of Horrid, for
    We all know of your unbeatable superiority in all realms nasty.

    It must be a special, customized torture rack
    That you are stretched upon, one
    Sure to make your skin crawl, innards writhe,
    Heart screech like fingernails along a blackboard,
    Hysteria claim you and send you into a raving orbit.

    I have just the thing – vivid, acidic images to poison and corrupt your imagination forever:
    The trusting, innocent eyes of a newborn, free of hatred and malice
    Fervent vows of young lovers, invincible in their love and fidelity
    A peony, almost open, kissed by dew
    Heads bent in prayer, devout, immersed
    Christmas carolers collecting for the poor
    Anonymous gifts, prodigal sons
    Paramedics, volunteer anything,
    Greeting card writers, Pollyanna,
    Mother Teresa, Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music…

    Pardon? Stop, you say? But I’m not finished.
    These and all the people across history who have shed a tear for them,
    And for you, for your walled up heart,
    May they invade your dreams nightly and pervade your daily thoughts
    Until you have nothing left of your old ways
    No memory, no desire except to serve love and mercy.

    That is the curse I cast on you.


  108. Judy Roney

    I Am Taxed
    each year at this time
    to get my signature on the line
    and the mail out today.
    I share angst this time of year
    with so many I am sure
    I go over my tax return in dread
    hoping I haven’t claimed something
    don’t let me miss something
    that will red flag my return
    Gotta run!

  109. Paige


    You are so kind to lots of folks.
    Always ready with a pat
    on the back, and a hand up
    from your bottomless pocket.
    Your only hope is
    that you are remembered
    with kindness and that all
    do silently agree to never
    rise against you.
    Without you the world
    would surely fall.
    For that reason alone
    I strive to meet your demand,
    my dear, dear uncle Sam.

    Fay L. Key

    I luckily saw
    some of your work
    A couple times, actually.
    First when the half price
    store was tossing
    them out after the
    seventy-five percent off sale.
    And then on the bottom
    of the vulture’s exhibit
    at the zoo.
    Yes, to me that says,
    The works of Fay L. Key
    is just a bunch of crappy debris.

    (The persona Fay L. Key is fictional and resemblance to any person either living or dead of the same or similar name is purely coincidental.)

  110. Barbara Tzetzo Gosch

    Tax Day Is Here

    Give a cheer!
    most people say
    What do they fund?
    Do you care?

    Maybe you simply write a check
    feeling,“what the heck.”
    Do you have enough money—
    And I’m not being funny.

    Did you borrow—
    not thinking ‘bout tomorrow
    Bet your bottom dollar on
    Best not to temp fate!
    Don’t be late!
    Tax Day is here.

  111. Terri

    God Bless You Don Rickles wherever you are!

    Did Elmer Fudd swallow a pickle?
    No, wait, that’s just ol’ Don Rickles
    The self-proclaimed Insult King
    But I think he was the Prince of Mean
    Give me Foxworthy or Lewis Black
    Those red-necked blue-collars know where it’s at
    In that great comedy castle in the sky
    I hope Rickles ugly mug meets a pie
    But for all the times that that man boasted
    Perhaps he’s in hell getting roasted!

  112. Susan Reichert

    Rude and Crude

    I wish I could find something nice to say about you
    but I will have to confess there just isn’t.
    You’re a slob in your grooming and blob of a person.
    Your manners are quite sickening especially at the table
    and I am tired of making excuses for you so here goes.
    Change your attitude, change your ways and get a life.

    Day 15

  113. Kimberly K

    For goodness sake…

    This is hard.
    I like being nice.
    I would rather regard
    your virtue, not vice.

    But you leave me no choice
    I cannot stay mute
    You must hear my voice
    The words won’t be cute

    Pick up that poop!
    Don’t leave it behind.
    It’s easy to scoop.
    Show you’re not blind

    Prove that you care
    Admit that you knew
    You know it’s not fair
    that I take it home on my shoe.


    Please stop using my
    hard earned money
    to kill.

    I don’t mind
    feeding those who can’t
    feed themselves,
    paying for doctors
    for those who can’t pay,
    building roads,
    even bridges to nowhere
    (someone earned a living
    you know, building that bridge)

    Not for killing.
    There is enough of that
    every day a little child
    doesn’t have enough
    strength to take her next

    So use my money,
    to bring good into the
    new glasses
    clean water
    a little insulin.

    There are people that
    believe in war.
    Use there money

  114. Kateri Woody

    Corrine, I just want to see if anyone else is interested in the taking on of psychotic characters… it provides good poetic fodder. If you even attempt to write one from Harley’s PoV, I commend you.

  115. TaunaLen


    make me panic
    make me freeze
    make me want
    to do my laundry
    run my dishwasher
    count the ceiling tiles
    anything but write
    deadline pressure
    delay and fret
    until the
    and then submit
    then there’s
    the whole
    word count issue
    don’t even
    get me
    started on that

    TLS, April 2008

  116. Robin Morris

    You tax man,
    you number cruncher,
    you bean counter,
    you split and tweak specialist,
    you damned statistic spouting liar,
    what do you know?
    It’s not what you know
    it’s who you know
    and the only one you know is one
    and zero because you’re stuck
    in some binary algorithm
    from which nothing escapes.
    Your brain is a black hole:
    numbers swirl in and numbers spill out.
    I look at you and the last thing I see
    is fatal error.

  117. Corinne

    Janice, it’s a small town on the Ottawa River, there’s a fault line there and the river is very very deep! But I loved your analogy.

    Kateri, thanks for throwing in the gauntlet. I’ll ruminate on it. Will be interested in what shows up.


  118. Bill Toad of Toad Pizza

    My insult poem (for the youngest among us):

    An overcoat spoke to a coat of paint.
    He said with conviction and little restraint:
    "I cover a woman who wears a nice blouse."
    "So what?" cried the paint, "I cover her house!"

    (Toad Pizza poem #246 of 1,567)

  119. Sarah

    Settling the Matter

    I think you’ll agree that it’s useless
    to argue about who is the rubber
    and who is the glue.

    People often point out
    my resilient qualities
    and my springy disposition.

    And your handshake
    that one time, if you recall,
    was quite sticky.

    I know you had just been
    kneading fresh bread dough,
    but that is beside the point.

  120. Salvatore Buttaci


    My credit cards are maxed out.
    This April I am taxed out.
    My life is in a blackout.
    I need to get a handout.
    Before too long I’ll pass out.
    Oh, that sounds good: a cookout!

    © 2008 Salvatore Buttaci


    Your mother wears combat boots
    And she’s not in the Army.
    Her moustache? I can see gray roots
    That make her look quite barmy.

    Her false teeth and her falsies:
    Hey, what’s up with that?
    I know for sure she’s got fleas.
    Look what she’s scratching at!

    And they call her “Trash Can Maggie;
    She digs for thrown-out food
    Which she takes home in a baggy.
    Now don’t you think that’s crude?

    Ah, your mother is so scary
    She shouldn’t be on the streets.
    Children wise and wary
    Refuse her doggie treats.

    Now I don’t mean to be offensive.
    Let’s say, enough is quite enough.
    Headshrinkers are expensive
    But they really know their stuff.

    © 2008 Salvatore Buttaci

  121. A.C. Leming

    (Debra Elliot, I DID write this line before I saw yours. Great minds must think alike…;)

    Tax time approaches
    A taxing time encroaches
    The tax man cometh

    I think this one sorta fits the second prompt…

    So you picked me up and threw me into
    your best friend, expecting a meek and mild
    Southern Belle to turn the other cheek.

    All unprepared, you got the vitriol I’d saved
    these many months of unrelenting picking
    and it spewed forth like foam on a rabid dog.

    This anti-Belle, this Alaskan Roughneck backed
    you up to the tail end of the bus. Wide-eyed,
    you wondered what monster just exploded all

    over you. You had it coming, you yellow-
    bellied cur. Months past due. My line in
    the sand crossed one time too many. You,

    who mistook politeness for weakness.
    You know better now, don’t cha, boy?

  122. Corinne

    Carol, my sister and her family, and my goddaughter and her family live in Kanata. I lived near Algonquin the last place I lived. Did the Toronto thing for a number of years, too, not my scene. Hope your spring is finally springing.

    Rod, the insult theme is NOT my thing, either, but I called upon an old pet peeve I had at one time and just had fun with it. I was going to insult MYSELF, since I seem to be so good at that self-talk…. but hardly needs perfecting.


  123. Rodney C. Walmer

    The Deadline

    I’m due in three hours
    why in the world did I procrastinate
    I am so dog tired,
    but, now I have to finish
    which means staying up late
    no more coffee, way to wired
    certainly, way to much on my plate

    If I don’t turn this in on time
    I will be fired
    my last excuse was clearly undermined
    Why can’t I be
    like George he’s so admired
    that kiss up
    he’s probably done already
    time to stop feeling sorry for myself
    got to focus, remain steady
    can’t blame this on anyone else
    god, I wish I could escape
    where would I go
    hear it’s nice down by the Cape

    Oh man, it’s almost due
    what happened to the time
    Jean offered to help
    almost as if she knew
    I had 2 months
    I did not even start
    man that time flew
    Wonder if he’ll have a heart
    give me more time
    no man, he’s not that kind

    Oh man, I have it half done
    Time to bring it to him
    Phew he’s with someone
    Oh no, it’s Jim
    he’s been after my job
    after this, I’m certainly gone
    well, I think it’s time
    to go to McDougal’s
    maybe just tie one on. . . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 4/15/08 My deadline poem. The above is totally fictitious. I am a very anal
    person about getting things done, and on time. I am often chided at work, for always being the
    first to turn stuff in. The poem is from the opposite point of view.

  124. Kateri Woody

    "Mad Love"

    It’s not that I don’t love the way
    that your nasally, high pitched
    caterwauling of ‘Puddin’
    greets me everytime you see me.

    It’s not that I don’t love the way
    you throw yourself at me at speeds
    the freaking Flash would appreciate
    whenever I’m not looking.

    It’s not that I don’t love the way
    you interrupt my work with propositions
    in unflattering nightwear, complete
    with ‘Harley’ sound effects to boot.

    It’s not that I don’t love the way
    you hang off of my every last word,
    or how easily convinced you are
    to do what any peon says.

    It’s not that I don’t love the way,
    you so desperately, needily, want me
    to love you back – even though
    you know that I’m just using you.

    It’s not that I don’t love you,
    I just can’t.

    (Joker to Harley Quinn… It’s a lot more tame then it could be, but alas, I am not feeling too cutthroat (literall) today. And a good suggestion to keep everyone in touch with each other after this month would be an invisionfree board.)

  125. Carol A Stephen

    Corinne: I live in Carleton Place…work in Kanata. zI am a transplanted Torontonian, but have lived in and around Ottawa since 1987…


  126. Rodney C. Walmer

    Insult Poem
    Wow, an insult poem
    that’s just not my style
    when someone offends me
    I just look at them with a face of stone
    then I simply smile

    I usually try not to let negativity
    control what I have to say
    anger clearly has no relativity
    to what’s happening in my day

    I am sure it’s well known
    that when one lets anger in control
    even just for a poem
    one loses sight of the picture as a whole
    and focuses instead on the fury
    often by doing things in a hurry

    Who to insult
    well, I just don’t know
    there are many I would not mind to offend
    it seems as the world turns, the list will grow
    would be nice to put an end
    to some of them, and their meaningless show
    guess that sounds violent
    certainly that’s not how it’s meant
    I just want some to learn the err of their ways
    so that perhaps we can all have better days. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 4/15/08 The best I could do for an insult poem. Not my thing, but I tried.

  127. Michelle H.

    Corinne – Thanks, then my poem did it’s job. I was hoping it was a mystery until the end.

    So much great stuff here today!! I’m so honored to be doing this with all of you! I can’t believe the month is half over!

    Michelle H.

  128. patti williams

    Corinne – thank you! It is to be read with a Spanish accent – pets in my house all have different voices, but that’s a different blog I think – sorry, I digress, this particular tabby cat is Spanish and he really hates the dog!

  129. Iain D. Kemp

    Insult Poem #2

    Its not that I’m angry
    I’m just mad at you
    It’s just the way you
    Always come over telling
    Me how to run my life
    Is like a knife in my back
    That has me spitting blood
    It’s not like your life is so
    Damned perfect, look at your kids
    At least I can be proud of mine
    And anyway where do you get off
    Lecturing me on parenthood
    Let’s face it you have a lot to answer for
    So why not just shut the hell up
    And let me get on with my own
    Shambles. Did you forget
    Or something? We’ve been divorced for
    Fifteen years already
    Would ya give me a break!
    Oh yeah! And don’t even get me
    Started on your mother!

  130. Iain D. Kemp

    Insult Poem (after Bob Dylan)

    Dear Moosehead,

    Yeah, I saw your sister working
    in a topless bar last night. Guess
    it’s the only place she can go where
    no-one looks at her face. They should
    hire your Mum too. If I don’t see you
    at the ball game I’ll see you in hell.
    Pick ya up at seven dumbass!

    Yours belligerently

    Ringo the Howler

  131. IleanaCarmina

    So much good stuff here, all the time!
    Carol, I also really enjoyed the tummy poem.
    Linda, you made me laugh outright – great rhyming with a nice backhand.
    Judy, thanks for sharing yours, it made me cringe and was hard to read, but I really admire how brave you were about the voice’s resonance and how it can still hurt you, even when you know it’s so untrue. Thank you.

  132. Corinne

    Patti, that’s hilarious!! It reminds me of something my mother often says (tho I don’t think it’s original to her): dogs have owners, cats have staff.


  133. Iain D. Kemp

    Hi guys, some very amusing stuff here already today. I’ve been in bed all day wth a migraine and have just finished reading yesterdays posts. Excellent, just excellent… a couple that really got me: John, Insomnia is the bane of my life,well put. & Bill & Corinne I loved both your poems. A thanks for the comments sent my way too… Rod, if I am a grandfather, my son has some fast talking to do!! Karen & Tonya, so glad you laughed! Thats what my journal looks like, weird thing is I did that one straight onto the screen & let spellcheck sort it out!(Can’t really type at that manic speed)
    Will post todays as soon as I can…

  134. patti williams

    Insult poem

    You, a stupid dog
    And me, a beautiful cat.
    The woman is mine!


    Taxes are a crime –
    The government is robbing
    Our people blind.
    Innocent folks,
    Their savings taken away –
    To feed the greedy hoax.

  135. Marcos Cabrera

    The Dangerous Link

    Food and medicine are industry’s top.
    The reality of them we don’t know
    the truth is hidden behind their bright ads,
    their credibility is always dark
    since their main goal is just to make a buck.
    I cannot tell if they are friend or foe
    too much mishaps I can see all around,
    around our soul too many extra pounds
    that in no way they may want it to stop.

    Are food and medicine clean as we think
    I believe that there’s a dangerous link.

    The food habits of eating as you go
    only add more benefits to the hype,
    the bellies are full but we are deprived
    of the nutrients that makes us live for long.
    For the medicine this is not a blow
    it is an ill vision within its creed
    that its reactive mission have to meet
    to keep us alive with nothing to show.
    A maze that we have to solve in our own.

  136. Chris Granholm Jr.

    "Ode to a Girl I once knew"

    My attempt was to sully your reputation
    But that would be like throwing mud onto a pig
    You are as pure as the waters of the East River
    and as the skies over Los Angeles
    Your soul is as white as the ash
    blown out from the crater atop Mount Etna
    The complexion of your cheeks is as crimson as
    the light that hangs outside your door
    And your bed never lacks warmth
    Hester Prynne herself would pin
    her badge of honor on you

  137. Teri Coyne

    The Plot of Your Life

    The view inside your grave of regret
    is curtained by mourners buzzing
    over what became of you.

    Self-deception is as close to death
    as sorry is to an apology
    light to sun.

    You feel more from this perspective
    than you thought you would
    peace was the reward you expected
    what you got was
    the eternal itch of disappointment
    and nothing to scratch it with.

    Is it restful
    cushioned in your coffin of conceit
    built of wood from all the ships that sailed without you?

    Is it right to be sad your life has lead to this?
    That hole you hoped you could fill
    finally got full of you.

  138. Carol A Stephen

    Ok, I guess I was on the wrong page. BTW I use the A. to avoid confusion with another Carol Stephen, also a poet…

    not sure if this is an insult poem exactly, and the scansion is off a wee bit….

    Are You Dead Yet?

    The cat is there
    But you are not
    How steep the stair
    An evil plot
    Deadly peril
    You will say
    “I’ll die!”
    Yet live another day
    And cat and stair
    And cluttered house
    Beget another plaintive grouse.

    “I’ll die!, I surely will!” you say
    Are you dead yet?
    The answer’s nay.

    There lurks a knife
    Blade turned your way.
    “I’ll die!” again, again you say,
    the water’s on –someone could drown
    What makes that loud and dreadful sound?
    Through clenched teeth you manage
    A phrase or two
    “I’ll die!” you say , as if ‘twere true
    But it is not—are you dead yet?
    My goodness how you moan and fret

    Look out! A butterfly! A bee!
    They’re out to sting you
    Wait and see!
    You’ll die! You’ve seen
    A ghost giraffe
    No! I’ll die cuz you’ll make me laugh
    Myself to death—along with you
    Since listening makes me turn blue
    From laughing myself quite to death
    While gasping still to catch a breath
    And in the little time between
    You say again, “I’ll die today!
    A victim of hyperbole
    Perhaps—Are you dead yet?
    I think not!
    You really put on quite a dance
    But you’re not dead yet, not a chance
    This moaning then goes on and on
    Another 40 years, I swan
    And when the moaning starts to slack
    It changes—I’ll have a heart attack—
    No! Make that two! One’s not enough
    The journey’s long, the going’s rough
    There’s cats and stairs and coffee table
    Sounds like a newfound Irish fable
    So—where’s the banshee?
    Oh! There he is—
    Dancing in the radishes
    What does he sing? What is that song?
    “I’ll die!”, he sings the whole day long
    You’re not dead yet,
    No, not by half,
    Who ever heard Death by Giraffe?
    Or cat, or sheets or coffee table?—Fable!

    You’re not dead yet!

    Carol A Stephen Canadian poet!!!

  139. Matthew

    Heh. I will write an "official" poem, too. But I thought I would post a poem similar to this prompt I wrote a while ago.

    With a crooked nose and big brown teeth
    Cauliflower ears and fat like a wreath
    Around your middle, Boy you’re chunky.
    And your face reminds me a lot of a monkey.
    A paper bag would go well with that noodle!
    And you smell like an accident left by a poodle.
    No one will love you, not even a nun
    Except for me, For you are my son.

  140. Margaret Fieland

    Inefficient Taxes

    On April 1, I bundled up
    all the bits of paper labelled
    Important Tax Info
    and mailed them to
    the accountant. I didn’t
    fill out the tax planner.

    The tax planner makes
    my palms sweat.

    It asks, "How much did you pay
    in estimated tax last year?"
    and "What is the value of
    your donations?"
    and "What percentage of
    your home is devoted
    solely to your business?"

    These questions give
    me a headache.

    Even though the accountant
    has all the bits of paper.
    she didn’t finish preparing
    my return in time.
    I had to file for
    an extension.

    Steam is coming
    out of my ears.

    She says I owe her
    $300 extra for
    pain and suffering.
    and extra work
    the bits of paper.

    I stomped all the way
    to the post office.

  141. ann malaspina


    The manuscript should be in the mail today,
    barring flood or hurricane or
    a death in the family.
    Begun in the frozen mid-winter,
    it is April now, and the purple tulips
    by the back wall opened this morning.
    Unbelievably, it’s the due date,
    circled in red on the calendar,
    keeping me up nights with worry,
    wondering if chapter 7 should be chapter 6,
    and where to include her religion.
    It’s April 15 and the taxes were in long ago,
    the third quarter tests taken,
    and still the book is unfinished,
    dangling overhead like an irritating inch worm
    that will take forever to reach the ground.

  142. John H Maloney

    Day 15

    Searching for something to say
    that fits the task at hand.
    Before the end of the day
    to reach my goal as planned.
    Approaching the halfway mark,
    at risk of losing ground.
    The page still lays there, white and stark,
    with no words to be found.
    Taunted by the ticking clock,
    stretching my addled brain.
    No time left for writer’s block,
    my pace I must maintain.
    I make a desperate attempt,
    my mind and soul left swamped.
    This one may be a bit unkempt,
    but at least it fits the prompt.

  143. Tonya Root

    Linda – Your insult poem is so fantastic! We women love to give each other such wonderfully phrased compliments…don’t we? I almost fell off my chair with laughter!

  144. Tonya Root

    Stupid Tax Man

    You’re really not bright
    You insensitive swine
    You’ve been all through my books
    At least forty-two times
    You have to know by now
    I simply have no money left
    So what can you mean
    When you say that I’ll be bereft
    Of everything that I own
    It must be obvious now
    I really own nothing at all
    So have at it you dumb cow
    The bank owns the car
    They’re towing it right as we speak
    Two banks own the house
    And they’ve told me I’ve less than a week
    I sold off all the furniture
    Trying to pay off the interest
    On credit cards that got of hand
    And the truth is my wife took the rest
    So good-bye Mr. Tax Collector
    Good luck with filing that lien
    You’re an idiot for sure
    If you think that it has any meaning

  145. Lori

    Okay, so I ended up having a hard time with it because although I love sarcasm and off-the-cuff insults, I really couldn’t bring myself to insult someone via poem. So I wrote a poem insulting my sister for being a horde. If you are not a WoW player, this will make no sense whatsoever, but I think she will find it funny. So there ya go!

    My Sister is a Horde

    My evil twin
    you chose to be,
    a horde that closely
    resembles me.
    (a paladin
    should never be
    aligned with horde-
    such a travesty!)
    You even have
    a warrior spouse
    who fights for you
    from in your house.
    of our faithful allies,
    your blood elf pally
    wears a lovely disguise,
    but we all know,
    truth be told,
    you’d kill and gank
    until the corpse grew cold.

    So I admit, with much dismay,
    you’re neither lady nor a lord.
    When it’s time to play
    I shamefully say-
    my sister is a horde.

  146. Michelle Cooper

    I Wonda, Well I Wonda?

    I wonda wy, the general and the uh, uh
    crock is still talking around the bush?
    It just don’t make a whole lotta sense
    to continue to go all around the world
    just to cross the street with a concerned
    America’s troops stuck in the middle
    since we have oil and french fry grease
    right here in the United States.

    I wonda, when is a surge not a surge?
    I know, when it’s emerged in Iraq.
    I wonda, how many times can a uh,
    uh crock say, “Uh, uh…………?
    I wonda, is there much oil in Dalfur?
    I’ll be more than happy to send them
    a quart or so, since that’s the real
    reason wy this governmental administration’s
    undivided attention persists to remain in
    Iraq for 100 years.

    As a country, we all must learn to respect
    other country’s ways and differences so that
    we as a country don’t get caught up in cover
    ups, lies and so we don’t become offended
    by shameful legacies. We must learn to
    understand and respect the violent history
    of the Iraqi people and their surrounding
    neighbors before we can help or even think
    about changing them.

    I wonda, if there was no oil in Eraq as the
    uh, uh crock said, but I prefer to say Iraq,
    would the United State’s troops even be ova
    there or would Iraq have to fend and mend for
    themselves? I know……….no.

    I wonda, how much understanding of complexities
    does the general and his uh, uh crock need to
    notice United State’s troops continue to die
    from a non-foundational war? 4,000 + as far as
    we know today, how many in 8 to 100 years from
    now? I wonda, my family your family; uh how
    many people are related to those 4,000 + troops?
    I’m wondering, how many tore-up families are
    here now and in the future to come? Humme,
    oh and do this governmental administration
    genuinely care.

    I wonda, wy do many depend on polls in America
    to demonstrate what or who is right and wrong?
    I wonda, wy the general assessed to draw up just
    so they could simply draw down in Iraq? Don’t
    nobody need to be left in Iraq they are all
    wanted home safe.

    I wonda too, is the United States securing
    a grand bargaining for the United States or
    for Iran? I wonda, are they trying to take
    monies from hurricane Katrina’s victims and
    other recent U. S. crisis victims to find
    mo-money ova here to send to Iraq?
    Well, I wonda.

    I wonda, how the general and uh, uh crock
    expect to obtain a victory so the United
    States troops can finally come home while
    the defeated Iraqi soldiers that he claims
    to have trained who didn’t get fired ain’t
    in no way, shape or collective form ready
    for a strategic hand off. Am I missing
    something here, I wonda. Well, I wonda.

    You are welcome to wonda,too.
    Don’t be scare-ed, I ain’t. No high stake
    war game is worth a-nother U. S. troop’s
    life, is what I’m relaying.

    H. Michelle Cooper

  147. Bill Kirk

    Doth April Have An ‘Ides’?
    By Bill Kirk

    Alas, ‘tis April 15—
    The last date in 2008
    To line up and be counted,
    Along with a most certain “donation”
    That must be made by all
    To the common good—
    Please direct the check to the Ex Checker
    So he can check you off the list.

    Indeed, if not paid by midnight, then,
    The required “donation”
    Will most assuredly be much larger,
    Unless, of course, forgiveness is sought
    But only if the final mark is inscribed
    By the Officer of the Post
    Before the clock strikes 12.

    Assuming doom is thusly avoided,
    On the bright side, to those
    Already sufficiently in debt,
    Per chance there may be a recompense
    Of some small sum—
    The King’s way of saying,
    “Happy Ides, my children. You’ve paid enough.”

    Then to bring gladness to all
    For their diligence,
    A special gift will be forthcoming
    To those neither too poor nor too rich—
    A gift one is encouraged to spend quickly,
    Perhaps even “before the ink is dry”,
    Nay, not because the gift hath no value
    But instead to allow the gift to grow,
    As a seed planted in spring,
    Thus bringing hope to all in their despair,
    Having reaped a loss of fortune
    From earlier crops of undelivered gains
    Falsely promised.

    But will such a governmental gamble work?
    Instead, will the gift only be hoarded
    By peasants and businessmen alike;
    Perhaps squandered willy-nilly
    With no regard for the common good;
    Or even returned to the Ex Checker
    To cover one’s obligated “donation—
    In all cases failing to stimulate?

    Would it not have been easier
    And far less costly
    to simply reduce the amount
    Of the required “donation” in the first place?
    Or was the ultimate prize indeed
    Only an illusion?

    Why did the King give back anyway?
    Perhaps we would all do well in 2008
    To beware the Ides of April….

  148. Linda Brown

    Both yesterday’s and today’s poems are here.

    How March Behaves

    Flowers bloom early and push up their heads
    to look around and watch the birds.
    They don’t know that tomorrow or the next day
    or the next will come a freeze and ruin their lovely selves.
    In Arkansas tornadoes rip their way though anyplace they want to go.
    Where yesterday there was a town today there is debris.
    Rivers overrun their beds and hurry off for parts unknown.
    This time of year Mother Nature’s not polite.
    Brand-new hairdos whirl their way toward being messes.
    Yesterday the kids played ball.
    Today their mothers tell them it’s too cold
    and they must stay inside and read.
    Mad March is a delinquent child.
    Insult Poem

    I love your gown by Vera Wang
    But did it only come in blue?
    I think your color’s clearly red
    The teal looks much too dark on you.
    And that new hairstyle’s all the rage
    Although it makes your face so thin
    The way it curves around your cheeks
    It plays up your receding chin.
    The shoes are sexy on your feet
    I’m glad you didn’t go for flats,
    Except the cutouts at the toes
    Do make them look so very fat.
    The flab that hangs down from your arms
    Is really only slightly there,
    A jacket would have hidden it,
    But never mind, leave your arms bare.
    The tan you have, is it for real
    Or is it from a tube, or spray?
    It really doesn’t matter much,
    It’s sort of orangey either way.

    You look the height of elegance
    No one would guess you’re in your prime
    Your party sounds quite lovely, dear
    Do go and have a lovely time.

  149. Corinne

    Prompt #1 – Celine Dion

    What a colossal fake you are,
    Wooden, insincere, self-serving.
    And arrogant! Who needs a staff of 20
    To get through the day? It’s
    You announced your retirement, back
    In the 90s, after that duets album, saying you had “done it all”,
    I snorted in disgust, what gall!
    But then Chris said to me, “well, it’s true”.
    Which killed me with laughter, and would have
    Even if we hadn’t been high.
    Alas, your word was as good as your integrity,
    And you staged a glitzy comeback, your own theater, even,
    At least you had the decency to pick Vegas.
    But the first single from the comeback CD was
    About your son, which made me sick,
    But sold millions anyway.
    There’s no accounting for taste.
    I wish you no ill but would rather
    Bamboo shoots up my fingernails than listen to you.

    Prompt #2 – Taxes

    Well, Robert, I may well be the only Canadian
    In this game, and up here, in my world,
    I am well aware of the privileges afforded to me
    Due to the common tax base. I do not
    Begrudge it, call me a commie, but we
    Live in this world together and I give a shit
    About the others that many would rather forget.
    Though our health care system is bursting at the seams, no-one
    Is refused care or has their options withheld due to
    The type of insurance policy they have.
    So I filed – our deadline is end of month, and in fact,
    I will be refunded almost $2K, which will pay my tuition for a course,
    An airline ticket for my niece’s grade 8 graduation, and some new lingerie.
    However, the 82nd dead Canadian soldier was just returned from Afghanistan, which
    Is nowhere near the losses of my American neighbours, and I abhor war, but
    I know my taxes go there too. I have no control over it, except in my choice
    Of my thoughts, day to day, which I choose to use to bless the
    Lines on highways, elevator regulations, subsidized housing and
    Special education funding for my godson’s autism.


    Carol, I loved your belly poem, too! Essa, your poem reminded me of the Grinch movie.

  150. Essa Bostone


    Okay, okay. I admit it. Repressed anger, just a touch of sarcasm, and underneath it all, I’m just the sweetest little old lady you ever met. And…I got a bridge I wanna sell ya…actually a couple, there’s that orange one in San Fran, not to mention the one in Brooklyn…er…how about that one in Boston called the Mystic River…in great condition all of them and on sale now!


    What’s it all for
    This money we earn
    So Uncle Sam can take it
    When will we ever learn?

    Those guys at the Party
    Who dumped all the Tea
    Where are they now?
    Not here to save me

    From giving up that money
    To pay for a stupid war
    That I never agreed was a good one
    And now I’m getting sore

    It’s really war on me that’s come
    For I’m the Middle Class
    And all that pork you’re giving out
    Has reached a critical mass

    I’m frustrated and I’m angry
    That you throw good after bad
    You take my hard-earned money
    Like a sneaky low-down cad

    You squander all the riches of this
    So-called land of the free
    You over-spend and justify
    Without permission from me

    I won’t be held accountable
    When the y-k-w hits the fan and
    When the sleeping giant wakes
    If maybe it still can

    And we have another Party
    Maybe not just with the Tea
    And we find our moral backbone
    And return to sanity

    Until that day comes to the US of A
    I guess we’re gonna think
    The money for the IRS
    Would better go to drink

    So here’s to Uncle Sam
    Let’s raise a loving cup
    And try to find another way
    To justify and deduct


    You’re a washed-up, wasted wigger
    With droopy horrid skin
    You’re nose is big; your chin is small
    And look at the shape you’re in

    What’s that hanging down the front?
    I guess you call it a tummy
    What’s that running out your ear?
    It looks all green and gummy

    Why don’t you clean those gross old things
    The fingernails with dirt
    And pants pulled way above the waist
    Where did you get that shirt?

    Why do you wear those argyle shoes?
    They make your feet look flat
    Like flippers on a monster’s legs
    And tell me what is that?

    You call that gaping maw a mouth
    But just to look inside
    It makes me want to yerp my lunch
    Smells like a harbor at low tide

    Robert says get a mirror so’s ya kin
    Take a look and see
    All that needs improving
    But better let it be

    There’s seven years of bad luck
    And I really don’t see how
    You wouldn’t break that mirror
    With the way you look right now!

  151. violet

    Tax-day Headlines

    God Himself couldn’t sink this ship
    Clicking with buyers
    Food and energy push prices
    Northwest, Delta thrust into merger
    Aging boomers strain healthcare

    Oil and food rises stoke inflation fear
    Wholesale inflation surges 1.1% in March
    Wholesale prices soar 1.1% in March
    driven by big increases in food and energy
    How to hedge high grocery costs

    Diamonds and rust — as stock picks?
    Investor ‘literacy’ a big hoax
    Investors hope in vain for bailout
    Sentiment grows more pessimistic

    Foreclosures jump 57% in March
    Gains going down the drain
    Tax deadline today
    Is that a fair coin in your pocket?

  152. Kevin

    A Love Letter

    This is not meant
    as insult, not a smear,
    a sneer or a kick,
    just the truth
    in the way that I see it.
    Don’t get all bent,
    I’ll make it unsent,
    with any luck
    you won’t see it.
    Your mouth, though cute,
    runs off like a shot,
    obnoxious and hot,
    and your voice
    it does grind
    an impossible shrill,
    it’s a wonder to me
    I’ve not reached my fill
    of the noise that you spill.
    And I’ve said it before,
    I’ll say it again,
    it’s not an insult
    but a quaint little truth,
    those eyes that you have,
    they’re as crooked as sin,
    I once thought them effectionate,
    but that was the gin,
    I believe if I look
    in just the right light,
    I can see how they turn
    and cross with each other,
    but that’s not vanity,
    your sorry attempts
    to look at yourself,
    I call it frustration.
    With a nose like a tuba,
    there’s no way you’ll spot
    yourself in a crowd
    with eyes that won’t meet.
    But let’s not be hasty,
    you know I prefer pasty
    when searching complexions
    you get my affections.
    Oh, you know that I’m kind,
    and quite crazy for you,
    with that little mind,
    there’s not much you can do
    so forgive me my insults
    and love me complete,
    you’re lucky to have me
    I’m terribly sweet.

  153. KP

    T is for taxes, sure as death
    A is for annoying, they’re often a mess
    X is for exasperated, how I feel in every way
    E is for early, wishing I’d done them earlier than today
    S is for stimulus package, and now I don’t care
    if the taxes were a pain in the neck
    because by doing them it means I’ll soon be getting
    my big fat stimulus check!

  154. Michelle H.

    Insult Poem

    Once a month I have to see you
    And I despise you for the pain.

    The day before I get so anxious
    You fill my night with dread.

    You poke and sting and make me sore
    But you never say a word.

    Five long years we have met this way
    But our time is almost over.

    You are skinny and sharp and filled with venom
    And I dislike every long inch of you.

    Thank you for the protection you have given me
    But I am happy to say good-bye.

    Three more visits to suffer
    And then we are at the end.

    Dear needle I will not miss you
    Good-bye my so-so friend!

    April 15, 2008
    © Michelle H.

    (This is in response to my love-hate relationship with my bee venom injections, which I had just this morning. I’m thankful that I can now get stung by a bee and not die but I really, really will not miss the shots!)

  155. Barbara Tzetzo Gosch

    Courtesy Class: 101

    “It’s not what you say—
    but how you say it.”

    YOU don’t have to come
    if YOU don’t want to.

    I think you’re saying you’re
    not feeling up to joining us.

    I like this approach better than
    the put down and blame kind.
    Unfortunately, people often
    act before thinking. While this
    may sound good on paper…
    I know a person who likes to
    throw her weight around.

    In teaching we say
    “She’s got issues.”
    What amazes me is how
    I’ve tolerated this individual
    hurting my feelings and never
    said a word back to her.
    Grrrrr. And I’m not one who
    wants to fester emotions so I’ve
    analyzed this.
    Here’s what I’ve arrived at for
    a solution. What do you think?

    Okay. She’s caught me off guard.
    But, now I’m wise to her—
    Next time I’ll simply say “Excuse me?
    I’m not hearing so well today.
    Would you like to repeat yourself?

  156. Lori

    Carol- your belly poem cracked me up! I am still considering who or what to insult (how could I pass up that opportunity!), but had to thank you for the chuckle. Loved it!

  157. Christina Apollonio

    because you picked her…

    you wrap her in lace
    so delicate and fine
    that which never will shroud
    her pewter and twine
    whose ice will chill
    even the milk ridden bones
    and whose rope will itch
    the most honest mans soul
    just like a portrait
    mounted so high
    but also just same
    her story, it hides
    eyes just as blank
    and teeth just as white
    behind them she plots
    behind them she spites
    she’s got you tied up
    a cast in this time
    for others to look
    a statue, no mind.
    you sit there and think
    of those thoughts in your head
    those ones of good nature
    that put you to bed
    yet thoughts are lackluster
    out of sync with your time
    your a man of defiance
    of pewter and twine.

  158. Christa R. Shelton


    Uncle Sam
    just won’t get his hands out of my pockets
    He comes again and again
    with his hands outstretched
    wearing his evil grin
    I work
    He gets paid
    Each paycheck mocks me
    As I shudder at the difference between
    the net and the gross
    Who cares about the refund next year
    When the bills are due now!

  159. Judy Roney

    You long legged overgrown cow you
    You’ll never amount to a hill of beans
    You don’t have the sense God gave a goose
    Why can’t you ever do anything right
    What makes you think you are so special
    Nothing is ever good enough for you
    You hateful creature, get out of my sight
    You make me sick to my stomach
    You can’t draw, can’t sing, can’t be
    You are the laziest person God ever gave breath to
    Just get out of my sight; I don’t want to look at you
    Go away and don’t come back until you get some sense
    Any old man can have a girl but it takes a real man to have boys
    If it weren’t for you we’d be just fine
    Don’t look at me like you even want to say something
    You are the ugliest creature on God’s good earth
    If I catch you with another book I’ll ram it down your throat
    There will be no singing in this house, stop your caterwauling
    Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about
    Stop dancing around or I’ll make you get me another switch
    Don’t cry to me about getting beat up, you no doubt deserved it and more
    This is for all the things I didn’t catch you at
    I’d like to break your neck
    Pack your bags you are going to live with your aunt
    Pack your bags; you are going to go live with this salesman and his wife
    You’d rather tell a lie when the truth would suit you better
    If you wouldn’t priss around you wouldn’t get hurt
    You make me sick to look at you
    I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life
    Everything you touch is tainted
    Why can’t you work like your brothers
    Why can’t you act like you had good sense
    Why can’t you do anything right
    Why do I always have to tell you something a hundred times
    Why aren’t you like your brothers
    Why can’t you be happy with what you have
    Why did God see fit to saddle me with you
    You are just like you father, not worth two cents
    You are a snake only lower to the ground
    You are always so afraid of everything
    Why do you have to talk to everyone you meet
    You must think everyone just loves to hear you
    I hope you never have a kid like you, no I hope you do
    You deserve just what you get missy
    Don’t come around here crying, get out in the fields where the water will do some good
    You better start acting your age
    You better take care of your brothers
    You deserve a good beating
    Why don’t you go out into those woods and loose your way home
    You want to die, well not half as much as I want you to
    Go get me a switch that will do some good or I’ll get a branch

    Stop it Mama, I’m grown now
    I don’t have to listen to the words
    I know they are all lies now
    Driven by a woman who is damaged
    I know these things but
    Sometimes in the dark of night
    I hear them again and I cry. Still.
    Maybe I won’t when I’m sixty-one.

  160. Robert Brewer

    I’m eating my elaborate lunch right now (a 75-cent bag of Cheez-It crackers) and laughing my booty off to these insult and tax poems.

    Also, Carol A. Stephen, this challenge is open to everyone, whether they’re a regular reader of the blog or not. Heck, some people had not written a poem before this challenge. So everyone’s welcome.

  161. Earl Parsons

    These prompts gave me the opportunity to combine them both into one. Don’t penalize me for changing the rules. Thanks.

    And thanks for the nice comments from those who like my work. There are a lot of poems in this mix that I like, too. Maybe before the end of the challenge, I’ll get around to breaking down a comment or two.

    The Insult of Taxes

    It’s not procrastination
    That brings me to put off filing
    Until the very last minute
    It’s the government
    And their holier-than-us attitude
    Believing that our hard-earned money
    Is really theirs
    To spend as they wish
    To waste
    On those who don’t deserve it
    Or earn it
    Or even appreciate it
    But expect it
    Because they’re entitled
    Give me a break

    It’s not paying that bothers me
    Because I am bound by God
    To pay my taxes
    It’s in the Bible
    To pay what is due
    But what is due?
    Or fair
    Or actually needed
    For America to keep on
    To protect the people
    And keep us secure
    Dare I ask such questions
    And expect an honest answer
    I think not
    An honest answer, that is

    Yes, I procrastinate
    And complain
    And complain some more
    Because I know that my hard-earned money
    Should be my money
    To do with as I please
    Still the arrogant in DC
    Rape my wallet every year
    For even more than God requires

    And then when they get my hard-earned money
    They use carelessly
    To pay for far too much
    Like votes
    And bridges to nowhere
    It’s a crying shame
    That our government has become
    Such an egotistical bunch
    But, what can we do

    So, it’s April 15th
    The end of procrastination
    The last day to file
    Unless we request an extension
    That costs even more
    In penalties and late fees

    Did I sign my return?
    Did I find all my deductions?
    Did I address it properly?
    Is the postage sufficient?
    Oh, I forgot to include the letter
    Stating my displeasure with the system
    And how they waste my money
    But they wouldn’t care
    As long as they get my check
    In their filthy little hands
    To spend as they please
    Such a scam
    Such a shame
    Such an insult
    We need the Fair Tax

  162. Gene McParland from Long Island

    Well I went for Curtain #3, or Option #3. My theme for the day is Half. Since we seem to have reached the 1/2 way point, so I wrote about Half:


    I seem to be in a ½ full kind of way.
    Rain in the morning,
    sun in the afternoon,
    sun in the morning,
    rain in the afternoon.
    My life seems ½ over;
    or is it only ½ begun?
    I don’t know.
    Things just feel kinda ½ way to me.

    ½ full, ½ empty,
    my mood chooses.
    Good mood – ½ full;
    Bad mood – ½ empty;
    Really down mood – ½ empty and in a dirty glass.

    Well, right now I seem to be in a ½ full way,
    ½ way through the day.
    Even my poem seems to go only ½ way
    to the point
    that I wish I knew that I was making.

    Oh well,
    some days are just like that.

    When tomorrow comes,
    I’ll give it my full attention.
    But not today.
    Heck, it’s ½ over anyway.

    Gene McParland
    North Babylon, NY

  163. halfmoon_mollie


    you used to look down your nose at me
    although you would never have admitted it
    your mother was a piano teacher
    and you thought I was one of the great unwashed

    you would draw yourself up
    to your fullest height
    admittedly not much more than
    my fullest height
    and inform me that Amadaeus was
    a great story but it
    probably never happened
    and did I ever hear
    The Magic Flute

    And it was not pronounced
    ‘Rodeo’ but ‘Rodayoh’
    (I still think you were wrong
    but you were much like a
    brick wall, once you took a stand
    you could not be moved – especially
    by a correct answer)

    I know this is supposed to
    be an insult poem
    but today would have been
    your birthday and I miss you

    You left this world
    so suddenly and all
    I have left is the garnet
    (which I’m wearing today)
    and memories of your
    easily hurt feelings
    and your very large heart

    I miss you

  164. Carol A Stephen

    I think I misunderstood this challenge to be for the general poetry-writing newsletter recipients, rather than regulars to the blog.

    Sorry…I shall bow out.


  165. Carol -Amherst, Mass

    Connie, I don’t know why, but I am always struck by your poetry. I was reading your insult poem and thinking, I really like what this is saying, and then I saw your name at the bottom. What can I say, good stuff. – Carol

  166. Joe

    Insult Poem

    A Smart Remark

    Don’t you give me no lip,
    Not that you don’t have
    some to spare.
    A clown’s got nothing
    on you.

    Next time you make
    a smart-ass remark,
    try to live up to
    the "smart" part,
    since you’ve got the
    "ass " covered.
    Something you do best.

  167. Connie

    One Sided

    You call me to see how I am doing
    Or so you say
    But then I hear about not only how you’re doing
    But how your children are doing
    What they’re doing
    Why they’re doing it
    And how many problems they deal with
    And I hear about their children
    Your neighbors and their children
    The problems with their health
    And your health and your medicine
    The top twenty reasons why
    You’re too busy to see me
    On and on it goes
    I’m tempted to put the phone down
    And finish what I was doing
    To see if you’d notice I was missing
    If this conversation was a tennis game
    I’d be pummeled by all the balls
    I’d be a mass of little round bruises
    Do you really care how I’m doing?

  168. Debra Elliott

    Prompt #1: Write an insult poem.

    To Insult You

    To insult you would be cruel,
    but you are such a fool.
    You prance around like you are God,
    but you are such a clod.
    To insult you is why I write this ode,
    so I can call you a toad

    Prompt #2:is to write a poem that deals with paying your taxes and/or meeting deadlines

    The Tax Man Cometh

    Today is tax day,
    and I must pay..
    I owe the IRS,
    because my ex left a mess…

  169. Don Swearingen

    "I am here at the lake
    West of town
    Where divers in opaque
    Water spiral down
    To search for The Muse
    In waters deep and slow.
    We await for news.
    Is The Muse alive and we don’t know?
    Nah! No one can write, no one can think,
    No one can dance. The Muse is gone
    And the alleged killer says she went to Swink!
    They’re still protecting that grinch
    (Sorry Dr. Seuss!) but the clamor grows to LYNCH!

  170. Monica Martin

    As you have guessed
    I really don’t like you
    But because you are
    Who you are,
    I have to tolerate you.
    You’ll never know greatness,
    So you latch onto it
    Through someone else.
    You try way too hard
    You’re way too needy.
    Get your own life.

    Tax Day
    I have completed my taxes
    And spent my return check on clothes and bills
    Just waiting on my stimulus check.

  171. Karen


    Taxes or FAFSA?
    (I.O.R.—I owe Robert for letting me get this off my chest!)

    Thank goodness for TurboTax,
    Gliding my patient husband
    Through the maze of W-2’s and deductions,
    Looking for reductions
    Through last year’s looking glass.
    And I too praise dear Turbo
    When kids’ taxes follow.
    We’re done in a snap,
    With refunds back.
    But no one has invented,
    A way to do a FAFSA that is easy—
    Compared to the
    Free Application for Federal Student Aid
    Taxes are breezy.
    They want to know your bank info,
    From saving to checking,
    And threaten to come after you
    For any incorrect things.
    You have to find out how much is in the family’s pockets
    Or if your daughter’s savings bonds grew any while locked up.
    It doesn’t matter if you even qualify for aid,
    The college needs the info, and they need it yesterday.
    So if I had my druthers, I’d ruther do my tax,
    And the FAFSA forms and red tape
    Can go sit on some tacks.

  172. Aaron Fagan


    Perhaps April
    Is the cruelest
    Month, but not
    For taxes as
    Certain as death
    Is certain. No.

    April is cruel
    In its accrual
    Of abundance.
    Radical life
    And abundant
    Renewal not ours.

    The physical
    Falls apart,
    We know, but
    The Second Coming
    Is the second.
    Tick. Coming.

    The air is roomier.
    We undress and go
    Down to be taxed
    With a month of
    Poetry without


  173. Vanessa O'Dwyer

    I’m sorry to say that your dog is so ugly,
    Friends cut bad jokes and do it so smugly,
    The cat makes a gaff,
    For if cats they could laugh,
    They’d say that your dog was butt-fugly.

  174. Charlene P. Age 10

    PART I: Insult Poem

    Stupid Channels

    Clicking buttons
    Getting static
    This is stupid

    It’s as stupid as somebody lecturing you
    Why that stupid satellite!
    Stupid channels linked to that satellite!

    Just work already!
    You’re a piece of crap!
    Kick! DANG, MAN! You’re really–GAH!
    D’oh, {bleep}!

    Finally, you’re working.
    Stupid idiotic channels.

    PART II: Taxes
    (BTW, I’m a kid, so I don’t really know much about taxes)

    Taxes in History

    Taxes on everything
    Very high taxes, that is
    Extremely high on tea
    I protest!

    We should rebel!
    [i]There will be no talk of rebellion in this inn![/i]
    Come on, then, people!
    To that tree!
    [i]Come on Tom![/i]

    Tonight, we will put these on,
    Then storm onto the ship
    And dump the tea!
    [i]And one box of hot chocolate![/i]
    [i]I thought this was arts and crafts![/i]

    Charge! YEAH!
    Dump this!
    You get that!
    Drop that bag of chocolate this instant, young man!
    No buts!

    We are successful!
    We dumped all the tea and once box of hot chocolate!
    [i]I took one bag…[/i]
    [i]How dare ye! That was my daddy’s ship![/i]

    [i]What?! You dumped the tea! Mr. Lindenburg will fire me![/i]
    And one box of hot choco–
    [i]My dog ran away, and my foot got stuck in a mouse trap![/i]
    [i]We won the Revolution![/i]

    Wait, that fast?
    [i]It’s a poem. What do you expect?[/i]
    Why is London Lindenburg dressed as a bunny?
    [i]Next time, could you put me in a dress?[/i]