"buffoon" poems
She waits. How beautifully she waits.
How impossibly lovely she is
with a thing so passive.
With what weight she waits,
making her bus or boyfriend
(or whatever she waits for)
seem like a first brunch with Christ.
She waits regally, in perfect contrast
to the drooling buffoon describing her.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
There once was a young man named Feste, and he was not a very good young man.
He was a thief, and a sneaky one at that. He would go to all of the stores in the market and steal anything that he pleased.
He loved to steal from the baker and the butcher especially.
He would go to his hiding place in the forest after his deviousness and eat away his stolen treasures, brooding on what a “clever little boy” he was.
The baker and the butcher knew though. They noticed him coming in most days and leaving in quite a hurry. They could not actually catch him in the act, but they knew beyond a doubt what he was doing. They were having drinks together one night though when they devised a clever scheme to stop him from stealing ever again. The butcher carved up a juicy ham, and the baker baked up a delicious pie, but they added a little something extra to it…
The butcher made sure to quite a bit of alcohol into the ham, and the baker did the same with his pie. They both set their two traps in the store, right when the spoiled thief Feste came strolling into the market with his eyes gleaming.
The baker watched him walk into his shop,the pie disappeared.
The butcher watched him walk into his shop, the ham disappeared.
They both smiled and went about their work.
Feste rushed to his hiding place and devoured his stolen goodies so fast that he didn’t even realize how peculiar it seemed to taste...
Not long after, he started to feel strange. Numb and stupid. He ran towards the village, acting a buffoon. The villagers stared and laughed at Feste acting so odd. His mother found him though and brought down the fury.
“Feste! Why are you acting like a **** fool?" She demanded.
He threw out a few words in a drunken stupor and swayed in place.
"Wait.. have you been drinking!?” She screamed.
“Noe maum! Allll Ie had todae is pie and haam!” He stammered in a drunken sway.
“And where exactly did you get those!?” She inquired.
Feste had a look of terror on his face and grew silent.
He was found out to be the no good thief and was punished severely, because his mother thought he stole the alcohol as well as the pie and ham, and he couldn’t prove otherwise.
Feste never stole again and he even apologized to the butcher and baker, though they still do have a laugh now and then…
The End
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
I'm an idiot, idi-fool,
Idiot, idiot, idi-tool,
Idiot, idi-lump,
Idiot, idi-chump,
Idiot, idiot, most uncool.
I'm an idiot, idi-goon,
Idiot, idiot, idi-loon,
Idiot, idi-berk,
Idiot, idi-jerk,
Idiot, idiot; a buffoon.
I'm an idiot, idi-plum,
Idiot, idiot, and so dumb,
Idiot, idi-pratt,
Idiot, getting fat,
Idiot, idiot, feeling glum.
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 9:00 PM UTC
When I was fourteen,
I had the sun in my mouth.
I, a baby with parted lips.
The world dancing before me.
Like the greatest show on earth.
Here, the greatest fool.
A devil, a child.
The dumbest romantic you have ever known.
The softest, sweetest buffoon.
Imbecile.
Idiot.
The biggest joke to come out of a woman.
...
And yet, what could be more pure
than to say the words
and not know what they mean?
To have no fault. To be unaware.
To know only wonder
and tears.
Horned child of paradise.
Hold yourself
and sing into the night.
Cry into your arms
and say goodbye.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
My sister is a quarterback
I rarely catch a pass
and she can run a marathon
I soon run out of gas
she pitches for her baseball team
I pop up on her curve
and she's an ace at tennis
I can't return her serve
My sister dunks the basketball
I dribble like a mule
she swims like a torpedo
I flounder in the pool
she's accurate at archery
I hardly ever score
She wrestles and she boxers
I wind up on the floor
My sister catches lots of fish
I haven't had any luck
she's captain of her hockey team
I can't control the puck
her bowling's are unbelievable
I bowl like a buffoon
she says someday I'll start to win...
I hope someday is soon
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
yesterday, i arrived on neptune
wearing big boots and dignity
the horizon was a nightmare of question marks
and gloomy witches;
i escaped from the religious enema and
pegged a choir boy on my way out.
i am no longer a pygmy goat on a foolish leash,
i take my paranoia seriously.
my journals guide me to a ruptured corpse,
never censored.
i have the ability to be given away on a whim,
but i am becoming a famous soldier, an intoxicating
ghost of dogma.
my dreams are beautiful, not realistic.
hallelujah, the hobos are wearing bathrobes,
the ****** pillheads are anointed with ****** and sewer cleaners.
i see a goblin grave advertised by
luscious lips and fishlike shoulders.
the texture of my dream is kaleidoscope and silver,
haunted by a fat sherriff who cuts the throat of the jukebox queen.
i have a personal god, and on her i bestow this passionate kiss,
i have a favorite enemy, with no goals and without ambition.
im sorry, i don't know any happy songs,
only the movement of her young sensitive thighs and
a nymph with an hourly rate.
i am a buffoon with a blugeoned harmonica and
weapons of sugar.
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
I like my headphones for the
Insulation. Sometimes my ears
Take in too much stray noise,
Dredge up too much disorienting
Mud from the depths of a TV
Screen or an iPod. Then I can
Always snuggle into my headphones
And be silent - and silence is a
Dear dear commodity, to be sure,
When every other scene-
Stealing, pudgy-mouthed buffoon
Has to put his ten cents in. So
Much sound should be a sin;
Background music, ambient noise,
Music for airports, and pubescent
Boys screeching from tinny silver
Speakers near the wall. I don't
Want it, not every bit, not all
The hate and the slippery tongues
That speak and salivate and don't
Say anything human. I want to reprimand,
To excommunicate them from
This Holy rite of sound. (And really,
I would be content to never hear
Music if I could block out the roundabout
Fights and the sultry nightlife descriptions
Gushing from my screen, if I could
Use my headphones to keep
That liquid crystal from pouring in
My too needfully silent ears.)
Maybe I'll follow a painter's path:
All visuals and open dripping wet
Wrath with a noisy race. I can be a
Terrifying girl. Cut off my ears and
Be deaf to the world. Wrap me in
Canvas and chase me back into the
Woods on a starry starry night.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
Ah here sits the stone on the ground
The shrub on the hill. A
Natural state of affairs if you will.
Retched Earth, abominable stone
Why the nerve of the rag tag tree
To perch ones self in stark relief
Blocking the skyline, space invader.
Thief.
Why the unmitigated gall.
Of the rain to fall on withered
Pate..
Tis the empty barrel that rumbles profusely.
The shallow stream that muddles at the bottom.
Pyramid craniums, issues forth babble.
Slackjawd mouth-breather.
Knee **** Buffoon.
Perched in perpetuity,howling
at the moon.
The my way or the Highwayman, astride a cocked horse.
The cant see the beauty of the Forrest for the treeman.
Bull headed, Ram goat Salty old ******
Failure to Communicate.
Rush to excommunicate
Monolythic seer
Cotton eyed joe
Constipated thinker.
Oh the comfort and surety
of riding in the ruts.
.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
Doc, I've been trying to deal with these issues for quite sometime to no avail;
A good friend of mine (you may know him, Elmer Fudd) recommended you.
I fear I will never be able to eat, let alone catch this turbo inspired example of flightless foul;
Stuck in this celluloid world vividly inspired by an Emmy award winning colorist.
I am a proud animal from generations of fine breeding, born in the pristine coyote valley;
I am not stupid, not a fool or buffoon, and so I thought contractually, not one to be laughed at.
And I, always the bad guy, constantly daunted in pursuit by haphazard ACME products;
Expensive, bulky, time consuming, they characteristically fail right before they almost work.
Rocket powered skates, unfortunately, only allow me to kiss the cliff-side really really hard;
Very heavy anvils serve no other purpose than to be dropped on my head repeatedly.
The incredulous manipulations of the impossible by the so clever writers of this farce;
From trains appearing out of nowhere to run me over, to fierce lightning storms in an instant.
Laying there in the release of my own bowels as the uncontrollable result of
500 Megajoules of energy traveling through my body yet again.
I am the twice electrified mass of dribbling spastic protoplasm
Personified proverbially in that lightning does indeed strike twice in the same place!
As the smoke arises from my chard hairy frame and I sweep up my ashes to reassemble later;
I realize Doc, I'm losing my grasp on the reality of ever succeeding, I need your help!
I'm still hungry;
And still I have not caught that **** Road Runner,
**** you Warner Brothers!
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Its a phantom in my conscience
that haunts my evenings often
but is gone when the sun arises
where the tortures remain constant
I am not what you see
these were not my dreams
a cartoon buffoon for you
to point and laugh with glee
This isnt why I did this
I didnt know the expense
I put my heart for all to see
to verify my existence
Trying to exorcise my insides
by the tears that I cry
but it doesnt wash away
the pain within my mind
When most of these people
only see me for my alter ego
they want the struggling of my soul searching
to always remain feeble
So sorry Im untrusting
all I wanted was a friend
yet again when I have nothing
theyre all gone with the wind
Hollow another bottle
heres another *****
be our joker of sorrow
expose your madness some more
Youre here for our amusement
you have a gift so use it
split your personality
give us the one that self abuses
Why are you so quiet?
its not the Jeremy that I know
isnt it time to riot?
where is your red nose?
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
Let's back pace, erase my face from your memory
I will leave and make you believe my new identity
Level-headedness was never in the job description
Pushing away this world like it's a bad addiction
I have a love unending
Transcending space and time
Living in the world I create deep within my rhyme
And I stand 'till I choose to sit
And I will sit for now
Wiping inkblots off my page as if sweat from my brow
Let's back pace, erase my face from your memory
I will leave and make you believe my new identity
Level-headedness was never in the job description
Pushing away this world like it's a bad addiction
She was and still is the girl
The girl who was unobtainable
Yet my body stays restrainable as I sit here scribbling
Tossing her hair over her shoulder
I stick to my seat as if atop me's a boulder
And I try to convince myself that I'm too busy
Let's back pace, erase my face from your memory
I will leave and make you believe my new identity
Level-headedness was never in the job description
Pushing away this world like it's a bad addiction
I am a boy who doesn't take chances
While the words dance in my brain
And I write of love and true romance and live them on the page
So my **** has finally decided to not partake in the occasion
And stay seated so I'm not defeated to prevent sorrow's invasion
Let's back pace, erase my face from your memory
I will leave and make you believe my new identity
Level-headedness was never in the job description
Pushing away this world like it's a bad addiction
My brain and heart battle for control
Of shifting feet and lover's soul
And what stands as inconceivable is why I'm so lost
A chance is a chance and that is all they are
And I need not travel very far
Not trying is still losing and standing and sitting both have their cost
Let's back pace, erase my face from your memory
I will leave and make you believe my new identity
Level-headedness was never in the job description
Pushing away this world like it's a bad addiction
Heaven's eyes lie through ruby curls
She meets my glance and smiles at me
While I stew with ink-stained fingers here in purgatory
Stand up, **** it! Just stand up! My heart and head reach a conclusion
Pages only go so far and the safety of sitting an illusion
Let's back pace, erase my face from your memory
I will leave and make you believe my new identity
Level-headedness was never in the job description
Pushing away this world like it's a bad addiction
I stand up and find, to my surprise,
My legs choosing to support
Dropping pen and picking up the ball that's in my court
And I walk up to the girl who plagues my dreams
As if her very being, to me, beckons and calls
Only to hear the world laughing at me as I slip, trip, and fall
And hell is all to real to the boy who occupied purgatory
With tear-filled eyes from looking to heaven
With ****** nose caused from leaving his seat
Seeing my chance flutter away as I run out of the room
Indented in the red haired girl's eyes as a simple buffoon
Let's back pace, erase my face from your memory
I will leave and make you believe my new identity
Coming back another day to claim my love once more
And being ever so careful to make sure my face meets yours, not the floor
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
Knocking on wood is cheap
when a fire is close to the surface
so call me a ****
if I don't care for your problems
take a problem make a problem break a few hearts
I had an epiphany
a revelation of sorts
we all have two voices in our head
(at least two)
yin to yang
moon to sun
one of them is overly positive
a naive buffoon talking about lovely flower power
the other
a sarcastic monster
a real *******
chirping in with
"You took that poor fellows order down wrong
you should probably go ahead and **** yourself."
now I know ****** is wrong
but I've been trying to get these two chaps to ****
artificial mental insemination
they haven't quite come to terms with each other yet
but we're getting there
until then,
I guess you could call me
absolutely bonkers
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
He was sleepless that night, the buffoon
Who questioned himself if he was a loon,
For he desired so deeply to compose a tune
Inspired by the darling moon;
Similar to those who died so soon,
Immortalized all by fading rune.
Across his desk, did lay the rune
interpreted by this buffoon.
He realizes in it far too soon,
That he was like the other loon
Who fell in love with the lovely moon
And also wrote a rhythmic tune.
He began to hum his heart's humble tune
And began inscribing his personal rune,
praying that he'll be loved by the moon.
He is quite a fool, this valiant buffoon;
For he never did care if he was a loon
And either if he would be gone all too soon.
Seemingly, somehow, so soon was soon.
The buffoon had sung his final tune.
There goes the buffoon who was a loon.
He lands on the pavement, made it his rune.
That was the end of this loving buffoon,
Who jumped off, thinking of flight to the moon.
There hangs the modeled, magnificent moon,
That was never too early nor never too soon,
That was died for by our busted buffoon,
That had been dedicated several tunes,
That had been depicted in plentiful runes,
That turns gentlemen to lunatic loons.
Tonight was the night of demise of the loon.
of the man who died for the love of the moon.
The moon's loon becomes part of the runes
of men who loved Luna yet died too soon,
of men who serenaded Luna with their tune,
of men who we may call "buffoon."
The loon became rune far too soon,
The loon who wanted to be of the moon.
He sleeps at last, the late buffoon.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
So what if I have squint
Or money I don’t mint
I know my eyes blink a lot
Or most of the tasks I just forgot
What is the matter if I am a buffoon
Or my life is much more doomed
I know I hue and cry
Or talking to chicks I’m a bit too shy
To those who understand
I extend my hand
To the doubtful I demand
take me as I am
not under your control
I know where I stand
Won’t change to suit your plan
Take me as I am
From childhood I did what you said
From waking up to going to bed
I am sorry I missed that one mark for DU'
Now don’t look down at me in dread
I deserve that seat more than that OBC" guy
Or the seat that rich dad did buy
Sorry I could not prove your expectation
Courses are full, don’t worry ill do animation
I’m facing blasphemies of life
I’ll write satires on Modi or the wife
To those who understand
I extend my hand
To the doubtful I demand
take me as I am
not under your control
I know where I stand
Won’t change to suit your plan
Take me as I am
Sitting in the dark I forget,
Sweetness, sourness is all I get
Everyday having the bitter pills of fate
Missing the time we chatted till late
We bunked periods to find solitary places to sit
You asked me to love you and I did
Traded my emotions for a counteract to commit
Now you know my faults and have gone so far
Your confessions in my name
Now just give you fame
What all we dreamt now and then
Now you have got someone to blame
To those who understand
I extend my hand
To the doubtful I demand
take me as I am
not under your control
I know where I stand
Won’t change to suit your plan
Take me as I am
I keep my secrets in my skin
What all I did with innocence and ignorance
Now dealing with my sins
What all is left of me is in a cage
To protect death from dying from my carnage
I have done much, don’t expect anything from my life
Let me be me, done enough truce and strife
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
The beast cobbler somber suited to putrid minions,
And picked apart the whiskers of death and scribed a diction,
"He hath no fury than an arcade weapon scorn"
Tis I blasted through virtual vitriol levels with life unborn,
Licking the literature scriptures and propagandizing dilemma,
I trained Cerberus into a vicious ************
Biting heathens with the molars demons fear to run from,
Too **** farmer to sail away from my problems,
I reaped too many seeds to bleed,
So all your fuming won't do absolute **** to me,
I'm a dark stepchild of instability and fertility,
Shallow stocking delinquent seeking fire with an angel match cracking humility,
I'm a typhoon buffoon with Hanna-Babara tendencies,
**** with me and get a lethal dose of dynamite and Trojan Horse remedies,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Fair lady, raiment of nightly white
Rides off upon her titanium steed.
A buffoon kinesic; heart she lacked.
Fair lady, raiment of nightly white,
Weeps not a tear and turns her back
Baring no regrets for wicked deeds.
Fair lady, raiment of nightly white,
Rides off upon her titanium steed.
©Michael Smith
Inspired by E.E. Cummings
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
Be-be-be-because, he starts,
stutters breaking words apart,
intoning what he’d overheard;
it’s painful listening, like darts
prying loose repeated words.
Naught’s amiss, we say, the birds
they laugh at us, ignored lampoons
and bullies’ taunts, how absurd.
He sits and watches his cartoon-
two mice who call a cat buffoon
I hate mieces to pieces! shouts
Jinx the cat; it ends too soon.
Our son despises school, flat out.
We believe him, there’s no doubt,
But he’s a well-adjusted sprout
But he’s a well-adjusted sprout.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
Thin-legged, thin-chested, slight unspeakably,
Neat-footed and weak-fingered: in his face--
Lean, large-boned, curved of beak, and touched with race,
Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable as the sea,
The brown eyes radiant with vivacity--
There shines a brilliant and romantic grace,
A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace
Of passion and impudence and energy.
Valiant in velvet, light in ragged luck,
Most vain, most generous, sternly critical,
Buffoon and poet, lover and sensualist:
A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck,
Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all,
And something of the Shorter-Catechist.
1.6k
Lets Converse
You thrive on the light because
You know that you make the skies darker
You impale the world with your touch
Disfiguring a man with the slightest glance
I challenge your heart to discourage me because
I recognize your brilliance
I can see you can trample egos
By now you should know my persistence
You tell me who you are
This is more than the genders desire
I am buffoon by my own urges
But I must let you know what I see
I see you eyes as they stand out of a silhouette of passion,
A very piercing stare
Your footprints compare to that of your lips,
Much like the petals of a rose you might kiss
I watch you; to a man you might cause the world to spin
But I stand tall in the crowd with my arms raised,” you win”
Because you bring the quenching that would smother the sun,
You’re something of an obscured revelation.
-Alexis J Meighan-
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
Pull the curtain from over your eyes
See beyond the constructed lies
Stop your judging and demented cries
Of those whose point of view you deny
Feign ignorance to the truth you will not see
Watch the tide rise as common sense recedes
Hunker down in your dogmatic cocoon
Only to emerge and naive buffoon
Logic and science are trickery and bewitchment
Such are the thoughts of the ignorant
Stick to your beliefs and fears like glue
For you read it in a sacred book so it must be true
Ask no questions and deny no absolutes
See where that takes you if you are so resolute
Watch the world crumble around you and blame the devil
For hes the creator of all ills and evil revel
Watch the powers that be consume and destroy
As they take away all living things health and joy
Pretend I offend your moral code
But deep down inside you fester with hypocritical mold
To NOT ask questions and seek new ways
Is to annihilate the future of all earthly days
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
This train home is twice delayed,
it's ******** up the plans I've made
and in the pub I wish I'd stayed.
It's still not here yet.
I have no doubt when it comes soon,
I'll have to endure a banging tune -
from the Ipod of some drunken buffoon,
It's still not here yet.
I sometimes wish that I'd take wing -
Like Icarus or a feathered thing,
That builds its nest from twigs and string.
It's still not here yet.
I suppose in time we'll own a car
and avoid all those bizarre -
excuses from the conductor.
It's still not here yet.
In time we'll take drives to the beach
and let a wild dog off the leash,
while the sea wind steals our speech.
It's still not here yet.
We'll have a garden for barbeques,
with potted plants and stunning views
and comfy chairs in which to snooze,
but we're not there yet.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
im happy for you
even if your not with me
thats pretty hard to say
and even harder to mean
since im still intoxicated
from your bodies potion
drank time and time again
while our bodies where in motion
the solution to my problems
my sunshine after the rain
i cant stand to see
this chump steal my shine
treating you like a queen
****** that was my dream
those were my hopes
now swirling down the drain.
you know this isnt right
that fool dont hold you
tight enough like me
not realizing your worth
a value more than a fortune
like that symbol that continues
im stuck in that groove
infinity ill spend
pacing tryin to figure when
I can put another bid in
to try to make it right.
when homeboy hacks it up
give me a chance
to show my change
to right my wrongs
and soothe the pain
caused by foolish games
immaturity made me play
I see the error in my actions
and I vow they wont happen
cause I don’t want a repeat
no more tears of sorrow
from hoes that cant compete
who I thought had you beat
until that day I sit
with a fake smile
and my tongue bit
cause im happy for you
since he is good to my boo
even though I hate the vision
of you huggin that buffoon
him kissing your lips
I almost ***** thinkin that ****
but I love you to death
the most definite end
so for the sake of us being friends
ill pretend to be happy for you
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 3:31 PM UTC
Just shoot me now, I'll beg and I'll plead
Stuck in a meeting, just needing to ***
My boss, a buffoon, kicking up dust
Tirade of a fool, his message, a bust
Texting the phone, sexting my miss
Wishing so hard, for that kind of bliss
Pushing the envelope, of time and of space
Conference calls, please coup-d-grace
Listening for words that make any sense
Boring as hell, a dearth of suspense
Yadda yadda, and blah blah, blah blah
Yakkity schmakity, hit me, with your car
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
The Buffoon-in-Chief
May it be brief
The sooner he's gone
We may move on
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 6:27 PM UTC