10 Best Famous Goddamned Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Goddamned poems. This is a select list of the best famous Goddamned poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Goddamned poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of goddamned poems.

• All Famous Goddamned Poems

Written by Maggie Estep | Stalk Me Liner Notes - (from Love Is A Dog From Hell) My friend Jenny is really worried that people are going to follow me around and send me dead animal parts and doll heads as a result of this song but please, if you feel inclined to send me dead animal parts, think it through. Thanks. Stalk me I once wrote a poem called **** ME So stalk me I'm asking for it Don't take your medication Stalk ME Write to me and say Dear Maggie I love what you do You've got a really big mouth Actually your mouth is a little too big Anyone ever tell you what a big-mouthed ***** you are God, you know I'm kinda sick of you I mean, what's so great about you How come you got on TV I could do that You ain't **** You suck I hate you but I love you I love you because I hate you Can I have your children? Will you shack up with me? Oh sure I'll shack up with you I love stalkers Especially when they hate me But you knew that That's why you stalk me You're not fooled by my clever ruse ***** goddess? I think not I'm just a sucker for punishment So punish me Spank me Dominate my sock drawer And stalk me Don't stalk Jodie Foster, David Letterman or John S. Hall Don't go through their trash Their trash is boring play with my trash Hurry, I'm waiting I'm pleading Just come on and do it Chew me choke me and stalk me That'll teach me to write all that goddamned poetry

Written by Charles Bukowski | Hot she was hot, she was so hot I didn't want anybody else to have her, and if I didn't get home on time she'd be gone, and I couldn't bear that- I'd go mad. . . it was foolish I know, childish, but I was caught in it, I was caught. I delivered all the mail and then Henderson put me on the night pickup run in an old army truck, the damn thing began to heat halfway through the run and the night went on me thinking about my hot Miriam and jumping in and out of the truck filling mailsacks the engine continuing to heat up the temperature needle was at the top HOT HOT like Miriam. leaped in and out 3 more pickups and into the station I'd be, my car waiting to get me to Miriam who sat on my blue couch with scotch on the rocks crossing her legs and swinging her ankles like she did, 2 more stops. . . the truck stalled at a traffic light, it was hell kicking it over again. . . I had to be home by 8,8 was the deadline for Miriam. I made the last pickup and the truck stalled at a signal 1/2 block from the station. . . it wouldn't start, it couldn't start. . . I locked the doors, pulled the key and ran down to the station. . . I threw the keys down. . .signed out. . . your goddamned truck is stalled at the signal, I shouted, Pico and Western. . . . . .I ran down the hall,put the key into the door, opened it. . .her drinking glass was there, and a note: sun of a *****: I waited until 5 after ate you don't love me you sun of a ***** somebody will love me I been wateing all day Miriam I poured a drink and let the water run into the tub there were 5,000 bars in town and I'd make 25 of them looking for Miriam her purple teddy bear held the note as he leaned against a pillow I gave the bear a drink, myself a drink and got into the hot water.

Written by John Berryman | Dream Song 22: Of 1826 I am the little man who smokes & smokes. I am the girl who does know better but. I am the king of the pool. I am so wise I had my mouth sewn shut. I am a government official & a goddamned fool. I am a lady who takes jokes. I am the enemy of the mind. I am the auto salesman and lóve you. I am a teenage cancer, with a plan. I am the blackt-out man. I am the woman powerful as a zoo. I am two eyes screwed to my set, whose blind-” It is the Fourth of July. Collect: while the dying man, forgone by you creator, who forgives, is gasping 'Thomas Jefferson still lives' in vain, in vain, in vain. I am Henry Pussy-cat! My whiskers fly.

Written by Richard Jones | The Road I, too, would ease my old car to a stop on the side of some country road and count the stars or admire a sunset or sit quietly through an afternoon.... I'd open the door and go walking like James Wright across a meadow, where I might touch a pony's ear and break into blossom; or, like Hayden Carruth, sustained by the sight of cows grazing in pastures at night, I'd stand speechless in the great darkness; I'd even search on some well-traveled road like Phil Levine in this week's New Yorker, the poet driving his car to an orchard outside the city where, for five dollars, he fills a basket with goddamned apples.

Written by Jack Spicer | A Red Wheelbarrow Rest and look at this goddamned wheelbarrow. Whatever It is. Dogs and crocodiles, sunlamps. Not For their significance. For their significant. For being human The signs escape you. You, who aren't very bright Are a signal for them. Not, I mean, the dogs and crocodiles, sunlamps. Not Their significance.