"baboons" poems
I'll mind ya like a monsoon you hurricane gale force spirit wind, you!
Seems like you can't see past the eye of your silly storm seems like it's easy breezy bright light night sky lemon cheesy moon.
I'll mind ya like a monsoon of rabid baboons don't steal my life wine it's not mine same light same shimmer. Everything's every color but the one I see.
Oh jeeze oh jeeze
gimme a squeeze
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Drop Drop into the deep end,
new faces daily right up to the weekend,
the realization of your current situation yet to set in.
some are looking for retribution,
others caught in eternal confusion,
thinking they see the end of the path but it's just a delusion,
hardly any one making moves,
many of them are just goons,
blue baboons.
there's only a righteous few,
making daily moves,
which they can prove,
as they get out the shelters,
into a new home quite soon.
so look towards the new moon,
get into the groove,
for you have yet to bloom,
don't let the place consume you.
© Try
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
I am a space alien
And I like it here
So could you please stop
******* everything up
With this patriotic
Nationalistic
Bull crap
And stop behaving like baboons
Every time someone waves a flag?
And just keep it at the cute level
Like when someone wins a game
Or have an album hitting number one
On the American Billboard
That is not American
And leave some space for those of us
Who think you're otherwise OK
All of you.
Besides
It's not like I have anywhere else to go
Until you all come together
And make some proper FTL-drives
Already
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
4.1k
There once was a rat, a gym rat that is
When it came to fitness he was a wiz.
Powder and chicken was all he consumed.
All of the other foods were surely doomed.
Ripping, rushing, running around the town.
He liked to pick things up and put them down.
From his traps to calves, his muscles were ripped.
Pushing and pulling, the scales he would tip.
His veins did pop like pink birthday balloons.
His buns resembled big-booty baboons.
Many beads of sweat would drip down his face.
Gallons of water he’d drink case by case.
Visions of protein shakes danced through his head.
Others that trained with him soon would be dead.
The rat would pump iron day after day.
But, out of the gym his life was astray.
White tank tops, jean shorts, and sneaks he would wear.
In hopes that all the fit ladies would stare.
Alas poor gym rat could not catch a mate.
Perhaps, a brain workout would score him a date.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
The markets up, the Markets down
For weeks it just meanders.
Alas, my stocks are always down
Each time I take a gander.
GM, Lehman, Citicorp
My broker bought for me-
And you can guess the net result-
I’m broker now, not he.
Those friends who don’t avoid me
Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch.
I don’t turn things I touch to gold
I turn gold into rust.
I’d heard dart tossing Simians
Can best the S & P
So I went to the Zoo this March
to consult a Chimpanzee.
He perused the chart then flung a dart
to pick a stock for me-
And now I’m getting margin calls
because I bought BP.
He seemed the sage of Omaha
before he ruined me.
I should have tried Orangutans
And paid their higher fee .
They wanted five bananas
My monkey worked for three.
But now I’m bust because I used
a discount Chimpanzee.
I might have dodged a massive loss
And profited besides
Had I but heeded the baboons’
Sell signaling behinds
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
One sunny day at the central zoo
Biff the gorilla grabbed the zoo keepers key
Before the employees had even a clue
Went and set all the animals free
Started out on Monkey Island
With the Orangutans and Chimpanzees
With the Giraffe's next in line
Cause they needed someone to see over the tops of the trees
When they were through letting their friends loose
And all the keepers locked up in their place
They hit the streets and before anyone knew
The entire human race was in a cage
Now the animals are doing their very best
As members of society at large
Still life is a mess if you haven't already guessed
Shouldn't have left the baboons in charge
With the pressures in life starting to show
Half the animal kingdom now in therapy
No one told them so they didn't know
That life in a cage was actually free
While the people enjoy themselves at the zoo
Three solid meals and all the naps they can take
Sunning themselves by the wading pool
Never wanting to go back to the so called good old days
Guess no matter which side you are on
The other side always looks better to you
Just remember if the time ever does come
Where ever you find that you're at...life is a zoo
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
From day to day I rest my mind,
from the daily turmoils that lay hidden inside.
For how has it become of our nation's taboo,
to sit down all day like social-media infected baboons?
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
Relationship are rough,
sailin’ the ever changin’ tides of emotion.
They don’t come ‘bout easy,
they require a lot of hard work!
Some days be jolly!
But sometime things don’t go yer way.
Some days there’s a change in the wind,
a change in the current,
that goes against the riggins’ o’ yer ship
an’ ye struggle,
but that doesn’t mean yer ship is sinkin’!
Don’t walk the plank now,
just ‘cause the imminent Kraken
of breakup and doubt
is in hot pursuit o’ yer vessel!
Like Dido,
ye won’t be goin’ down with this ship,
there’ll be no white flag!
Are ye really going to let some bombastic baboons pillage yer lass?
No yer not!
Yer goin’ to drop yer anchor
an' battle for that nigh uncatchable ship.
But if ye be captured,
a faith worse than Davy Jones' Locker,
an' they say ‘walk the plank’
then you’ll walk that plank,
but ye’ll cross the seven seas to meet them again!
Storms they pass,
with lil' damage,
if ye just brace and stick it out
'Cos for the right ship,
ye do anythin'
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
There inside the chamber sits,
Awaiting patiently;
Gathering discourse and their wits,
To match with Chimpanzee.
Primate statues loom the loft,
‘Mongst whitening Baboons;
Fidget in their seats too soft,
Indifferent of this room.
For ghosts of former nobles peek,
In shame, as they observe;
The power of the abject weak,
Enable them to serve.
Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves,
As peacocks flaunt their fan;
Gorilla preens, while tries to quell,
With gavel in his hand.
Chimp arises, intently poised,
To embellish his appointment;
Words rehearsed to fill the void,
Deliberate and pointed.
For he, and only he, shall reign,
While rendering his will
Upon the reaches, lakes and plains;
‘Pon feather, fur and gill.
Yet irony betrays this horde,
Of chosen beasts that thrive,
Who seek to witness own accord,
On who should live or die.
Baboons and the Chimpanzee,
May climb to endless heights,
Gather fruit from tops of trees,
And relish in their might;
But those who scrounge upon the ground,
Or forage in the sea,
Cannot relate to this debate,
Nor self-idolatry.
So this becomes an exercise,
In futile words exchanged;
In bartering the truth for lies,
Leaves jungle quite estranged.
Such is then, the sacrifice,
That satisfies this troop:
Lions shall compete with mice,
For homeland and for food.
This seems just, this seems right,
So pleased to then arrive,
To alter former terms of plight,
Ensure the like survive.
Commune must have order,
Compliance is then deemed;
Life must have its borders,
Confining self-esteem.
Parrots flee to bring the news,
Of brighter days ahead;
While creatures of the air and blue,
Fear the distance spread.
Content to reconvene again,
As this is their employ;
Govern those outside the pen,
Such honor they enjoy.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
Hey! Hey, Tom! Wake up man! Did you see what happened to him?His arm is a bruised as a baboons behind.Could it have been the tuna?What the hell was he thinking?And listening to Metallica, my God he was setting heimself up for this.What's with the Godzilla tattoo?
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 3:24 PM UTC
the brain and mind are not the same thing.
a brain floats, suspended,
down to the tips of my toes
and the blue rivers underneath my skin.
it is a box; simple tasks and quiet construction.
the mind has no such manuals.
it sees baboons in filtered skylights,
eyes as red as the blushing dawn,
gushing about over the hilltops of my shoulders.
it sees stop signs in the glass cracks
of my wooden closet door,
where the dark seeps around the green-light-go.
it sees fingertip to lip,
raccoons at rusty roadways,
Remus and Romulus locked in eternal combat;
preserved in the grains in the cherry tree trunk.
the brain is in the head,
but the mind is somewhere a little above;
hiding away in a doomsday bunker,
loud warnings burning the air,
bathed in cobwebs and blue lights.
away from people who haven’t quite learned,
that the brain and mind are not the same thing.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 2:37 AM UTC
this is the sound of the trees.
Its the same sound smoke makes, and the moon, and birds eggs and old clocks.
It is violins and percussion and arpeggios and singing like crying
it sounds like the Lion King, likes it the circle of Life.
But there are no baby cubs held up into the sunlight in this song.
There are no baboons who will tell you the secrets of life.
in this song, the zebras and the giraffes do not parade for the baby lion, they do not live peacefully with their killers.
in this song, all of them are dead, or have been trampled into the dust.
In this song, when your father dies, you are not allowed to run away from it with some happy strangers.
no, you have to bury him, and speak at his funeral, and plant flowers on top of his new home.
you do not get to become king over all the things he showed you as a child.
A cousin, in Scotland, gets that crown, because your father always hated you.
You get an old watch, and all the books on his bookshelf.
38 books on old comedians, and 1 on carpentry.
You read them at 2 in the morning, on the days you don't have to go to school because you punched the french exchange student, and you have been suspended.
None of them make you laugh, not even when you know it should be funny.
The next night, you build a bird house, with ripped up biology notes as the floor.
your mother complains about the noise, but when she looks at your eyes, she gives you back the hammer, and goes to bed with earplugs in.
birds really enjoy ******** on quizzes about recessive and dominant genes in farm animals
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
I am not a carnivore
but a ****** man eating
the flesh of the baboons.
Colonies of monkeys in
awe watching David in
enterprising exploits slaying
Goliaths in heroism of liberty
for equity.
It'll not be long when the night'll
break into day of freedom when the baboons will leave the bananas for the monkeys.
Till this ugly night of injustice turns a summer day of freedom when all sieging clouds are cleared, it's war!
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
The hot dogs blossomed, split in the boiling water.
Plumes of beef stock and corn syrup billowed
toward the surface.
6:00 p.m. and the anchorwoman addressed the living room.
Three dogs for Dad in Dad's recliner, one dog for Mom
in Mom's recliner, one dog extra in case she changed her mind,
and two for me.
Yellow mustard. Relish. A dead ****** in standard definition.
"Did you do something different to these hot dogs?" Dad asked.
"Is it bad?" Mom asked.
"It's just different," he said.
But even that was the same. The same question. Same response.
Every Wednesday from '93-2005.
At 6:15, Dad would go blow his nose in the bathroom.
Put on a pearl snap button-down.
At 6:20, Mom would tell me to put on slacks.
"Good Christian men don't wear shorts to church."
That's right. But I didn't have the heart to remind,
the best of them wore dresses.
Mom would drive. Dad would be in the passenger seat.
He perpetually directed her to stay as far to the right side
of the gravel road as possible.
"One of those baboons will come flying over the hill.
Middle of the road. And if you don't get over,
we'll all die. Or at least a couple of us."
We'd get to church.
And all the old women
with their purple hair and ill-fitting
bracelets of golden-colored metal,
named after precious gemstones (Ruby, Pearl, etc., etc.),
would kiss my cheek.
We'd sit three rows back from the front.
And as the song leader began "Jesus Hold My Hand,"
all I could think about: dead hookers and hot dog juice.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
The two boys.
Of course, they know.
But all they do is laugh.
At the players.
At the tackles.
At the appeals.
And everything else.
Mother.
Always the one who sympathizes.
If the Reds are up by two.
"Oh, I pity the opposition. May they score one."
She says.
"Awh, MUM?!"
Same goes with the eldest.
It would make it more intense.
She thinks.
Me thinks, I should pray for a cleansheet.
Hah!
The two blabbering baboons.
Knows nothing.
Gives running commentaries.
Predicts that the others win the match.
Such support I get.
The next one is a Kop in the making.
I-am-darn-proud.
The lil one thinks Ozil is good looking. -_-
-Doey
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
As a newcomer
To this premier
Website for
poesía,
I
Get
Motion
Sick
Ness.
From seeing
The disdain
And despise.
Seeing other
Poets young
Old, couraged
Bold, happy,
Molds in
Their prime. Get bullied by other bullies.
By fanatics who ****
And maim, while their
Heads are held up in shame.
With a halo of pain
Murdering one
Another.
I seemed to have forgotten
Aren't we sisters
And poetic brothers,
Yet giving hatred
For hatred!
Not healing
Its
Wounds.
I believe in a powerful
God who loves, not based
On a theory of Darwinian
Baboons.
Message not clear
To
You. We are indistinguishable.
With the same red flowing through our arms.
Hearts that beat
With homes
Alarms.
Some drive cars
Others can't afford them.
Some have high class suits
Some are poor,
Some handle food
Some open doors.
Some journey
I want to explore.
To the point
The
malefactor and villain
Is not the ones you
Choose to
Make smaller. You only make them BIGGER
As your size
Capsulates as a pea to the wind.
Your the same you killer of poetic flame!
YOU ARE THEM.
So stop Killing
With words
Of no
Knowledge.
Start shaking hands
Saying good Job
Poetic muse
Of earth wind.
As you slay
And think -hey-
Maybe today I won the fight.
Always
Remember
You ****** yourself
Slowly
And that piles
Night by night.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
**** stained drainpipe
raining pain
unexplained sameness
expressed
in veiny legs
egg salad crustacean
situationally challenged
prophetic procreator
bending spoons
and your will
shill trolls on and on
seeking weakness
tweeking while twerking
discolored molars twinkle
baboons ***
shiner dines on refined lime
mining dimes
unwound ground cover
lamenting
lack of green
queen like boy toy bounds across the turnpike
exhilarated and misinformed
dorm room ****
forlorn
sounding horn born of jazzy lips
quips to the mainstream
hipsterism is like a disease
complete with rashes and bumpy outbreaks
15 century rake awaits her date
and is placed on the stake
for a belief in an alternative
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Someone called me a wild caveman today
Guess who that little voice was who told me that
My grand baby
What a treasure for gramps.
She is right
Im as wild as two baboons babooning in a room from a cheap
Hotel.
Im wild .
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
The Atomic Weight of Arrogance
Politicians, self-absorbed business tycoons
super star athletes and various other baboons
have this special quality which we all endear
thinking they are above us they make it perfectly clear
they're thoughts, needs and wants are second to none
they want these important issues known to everyone
czars, kings, dictators, potentates put them in a line
actors, music stars, the schoolyard bully even comes to mind
we have all known or seen them digitally displayed publicly
holding down with tightly clenched fist if we disagree
they have been endowed with preordained magic powers
sprinkled by their own private god's golden showers
they have always known more than mere mortal man
with more intelligence in one finger that's always been the plan
some seem confused that we don't all see them as our hero
last I checked the atomic weight of arrogance is still a whopping zero
Gomer LePoet....
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:38 AM UTC
of the wind that speaks multitudes
abounding creation that decries its mournful existence
fluidity of a falling leaf
dwelling of inhabited space
posterity of the pompous
calming blues describing the waters of high noon
reflecting on perspective
qualms of my imagination
nightingale flush
internal beauty of the highest decree
flaunting tact
simple pleasures of breathing
caress my hand, i’ll touch your hair
the blue of mine eyes shines unseen in the night
erstwhile noticed of syllabic manifestations
furtive felicity, comely for the homely
murmurs of softness
love is in the air
i spy, with my little eye, a pond, rotting with life.
a sea, devoid of meaning, as seas are
triangular pencils scratching away
out-dated calendars that hang on a peg
papers that bind us to our word
word that is bound to the papers
thought that is trapped in letters
letters formed into words
assembled into phrases
spoken from the mouth
bingo is the lingo
burning brightness of blithering baboons, begone.
smiling is more than showing teeth
gone are the days of yesterday, tomorrow is near, and yet, never here.
the present of what is that now was but is again
oh, do you ever wonder about the life of an italicized comma?
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:11 PM UTC
I wanna make paper boats
And fly into a different world
And reach out for the stars that sound so bright
Sparkly are those children's eyes
Who dream of cosmic energy lights
All they wanna do is make festive
Purple yellow white and blue
Colours smelling like baboons
Glittery is the heart of the golden knight
He fights to win the winters heart
She's icy cold and a stubborn mutt
They meet each other and make festive
Children danced to the poetry
And sipped from nature's beauty
To coincide with the sense of lights
Tomorrow's not another day
And today ends at night
Let's make festive till it lasts
Before the transition of spite
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
The Atomic Weight of Arrogance
Politicians, self-absorbed business tycoons
super star athletes and various other baboons
have this special quality which we all endear
thinking they are above us they make it perfectly clear
they're thoughts, needs and wants are second to none
they want these important issues known to everyone
czars, kings, dictators, potentates put them in a line
actors, music stars, the schoolyard bully even comes to mind
we have all known or seen them digitally displayed publicly
holding down with tightly clenched fist if we disagree
they have been endowed with preordained magic powers
sprinkled by their own private god's golden showers
they have always known more than mere mortal man
with more intelligence in one finger that's always been the plan
some seem confused that we don't all see them as our hero
last I checked the atomic weight of arrogance is still a whopping zero
Gomer LePoet....
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
Media moguls
(The big six)
Media moguls, farming us like baboons, leaving just a flicker of our human potential; enough to consume.
A bitter machine, manufacturing and selling the illusion of fear and failure; ******* with our subconscious, spinning and expanding this dark material world; for nothing more than prestige and false profits.
There is more to life than this!
Wake up Space monkeys!
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC