"buffoons" poems
I...am a man
No, I am a black man
One who walks around with this curse mark upon his hand
As he is drenched with this scorched abomination
Frowned upon by society as if his very existence is a sin
As if he asked to be born this way
Well newsflash for all naive buffoons in the world, he didn't
Now I'm a being who can envision himself soaking in his own blood
Always afraid to walk out his front door because if he does...
He becomes public enemy number one
Forcing him to duck behind cars
Trying to dodge the bullet he got beaming towards his head
I'm a dead man walking attempting to live a normal life
But according to society I can't
According to society I'm a foul beast who acts on impulses
And goes on a rampage because simply can't help it
So I must die before I'm even given a chance to prove myself
I...am a man
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 7:39 PM UTC
While these groupons cutting coupons I mean and croutons with Grey Poupon with the flight crew on an Islond off Moulin Rouge -- these dudes calling me rude, how I took'em to school. went from second hand shoes to licking silver spoons eating delicious grapes, in luxurious estates, and plush lagoons. Leaving the monkey business to the buffoons. Instead I'm watching CNN news being amused. LeBron making his moves on the tube, setting screens, and running schemes, on the big screen, HD clarity got me taking three, I'm catching charges too. This is the life. I'm just manifesting what they said I couldn't do -- nothing new.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
when words are few,
or stuck in dictionaries
unused or unknown
like
compassion,
tyrants and wife-beaters
scream
with iron fists,
silencing fluent lips
in clotting streams of blood
...and machetes,
severing lucid limbs
from able bodies
in active states of articulation
...and guns,
the kryptonite of cowards
and buffoons,
the callow voice of philistines
and goons,
blasting cogent words
and vocal women
into oblivion
....and laboratories
where forensics of
fingerprint and dna
scream loudest,
sending tyrants and wife-beaters away
to sleep with the devil
in a shallow cell
on earth
or
hell below...
~ P (#Pablo#OTAWB)
(8/11/2013)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
The Marshmallows decided to have a top Party
Dressed gaily in white, pink, red, green and yellow
They mingled and floated around looking arty-farty
We're going to dance in town not partying in a garage
And guess what, We won't invite Toffee he's not like us
Go melt and burn says Toffee with rightful disdain
who wants to party with a bunch of soft silly buffoons
Overblown and presumptuous you lot melt in the rain
Nothing to you all but egging and hot air you poltroon
Who wants to dance with mixed up softies with no brains
I am Toffee hot and hard and always ready for the bite
You can't lick me in a hurry and I take a while to crack
I am brown with brawn and brains and ready to fight
Got rhythm with the moves, tastes and flavours top whack
Not some boring twirls or stumps gathered together tight
Come try me if you dare and see me squash you down flat
I'll go into you hard your softness yielding like knife on butter
Can marsh you with my strength till you're nothing but mellow
Or stick to your puffy wooly state and squeeze you still flatter
Till you beg and squeal your surrender showing you're shallow
I am not like you and don't think, see, look or taste like you
I am brown and sweet, hard and chewy and I really don't care
For emulsified vain brainless no substance marshmallow tools
Who can only be brave and big when all packed together like
So go party and kid yourselves softies I don't party with fools
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
The horses and dancers, the acrobats too.
The ringmaster and all the beasts in the zoo.
At the end of the show, received huge adulation.
With thunderous cheers and a standing ovation.
But the funny men with baggy pants and large shoes
Got a different reaction, thrown fruit and loud boo’s.
Well their smiles turned to rage and confused irritation
As they stood there and suffered the crowds indignation.
They ripped off their noses and popped their balloons,
No more will with they play for these mindless buffoons.
So they piled into their car and it’s needless to say,
As they drove off, the clowns were quite angry that day
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
A town filled with degenerate and clowns,
where stars shine bright and street lights are nowhere in sight.
Drunken buffoons, swarming the saloons,
stirring up chaos with their little spoons.
Lost actresses turning into brainless waitresses,
the common conversation turning into nothing more,
than the gossip of your ever fashionable *****
Stay too long in this dystopian filled town
and you'll find yourself growing old and bored,
dying internally like a cancerous plague,
waiting for the zombies to rise.
Not aware that the zombies are here, alive and well,
roaming the streets, ever so disguised,
make eye contact and prepare to die.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
I notice the balloons
Hovering over the happy buffoons
I like the little purple one
All deflated and misshapen.
As they dance away the night
I keep my eye upon its plight
It hisses out more air
With each kiss that is mistaken.
By dawn it has become raisin.
Before I leave too soon
I rescue said balloon
Place it in my pocket
It is my little purple *******
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
Baby we're broken and baby we're done.
We've had our good times and boy they were fun.
But now we must go on our separate ways
We both know, no love is left if one of us stays
So baby live your life and live it with a smile
Lets stop being fake and living in denial
We both made this choice and we both got to agree
That we both would stay friends and live happily
I'm not your Cinderella at least not anymore
You're not my Prince Charming who found a shoe on the floor
Baby this isn't Disney, life isn't like the cartoons
So lets not treat each other like mindless buffoons
Thank you for the effort and baby thank you for the time
Hugs, kisses and farewell this will be my last rhyme.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
hurry boy, don't doze
etch the words before they perish
as the situation once again alters
coiling around your wrist
tugging you to that place
sleep every moment
dwelling in the blankets
soaking in that stale security
false impressions attached/removed
like velcro ripping in the silence
masks on masks on masks on masks on masks on
could spend days pruning in the seabed of potential
while the salt collects on my eyelashes and the days vanish like eons
there are days where the stillness in me quakes my feet
into the fervor of rabbit under moving tire and
I pound the walls for a train to pass and shake the foundation
but the tracks are too far away now, and the stillness creeps
dust collects on the fan blades, then the plastic grating, then the intake
the thing rattles all night now; loose ***** in the front
hardly a substitute for that rumble in your dreams
from an archer daniel's car rushing by at four
the bed is a lot better at this place though
king size, though I'd rather be in california
where the water is warm and the memories catch your falls
I've never been there and the idea is always better than the outcome
kicking sand like a beach bully *** flexing in strut
sun burns within seconds of shirtless self-reveals
the salt is being washed off of the cars
from an illinois winter that the plow conquered to the dismay of
the kids down the block who still waited
at dawn for the diesel yellow groan
the heat is swelling in the season
chirps return with the sting
of rolled up passenger windows
magnifying the clean white light
ninety-eight million miles marched
to a single point on a pale dot
burning that poor gal's cheek
but the medicinal effects
of the smooch are more than known
to generations of the summer awakened,
free-falling, reality born.
here we are again with showers and flowers,
here we are again with cyclones in the alley,
here we are again with cocoons and buffoons,
here we are again with milk in the valley.
this heart pumps as the snow goes rising
to the funnels and pillars east-stretched
where the baby boomers buy plots and
the love begins to reach for an even share.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
Strum out to me,
Oh music man,
That sweet mandolin tune,
Tell me the secrets of this world,
I'll keep it just between you and me.
I'll take my snippets of unfinished poetry,
And you take your unfinished book,
We'll mash them together into a chunk of clay,
And what results I think will do.
Let me take you in my arms,
And swing about the room,
To some merry little jig,
Only heard between us three.
Let's laugh to loud like ********
And banter like buffoons,
Rant and rave like jabbering macaws,
And croon until we're blue.
Take care of me when I drink too heavy,
And nod along to my song,
Even though my guitar may be out of tune,
Carry my traumas when they become too crushing,
And say you love me too.
May 31, 2023
May 31, 2023 at 9:13 PM UTC
We're found to be cut off but not long ago!
Some burn us with sparklers
and we get modulated as flames in a flash
by yielding fire flowers to your night sky
And you numskulls think that we die.
Some sculp us with molten cruelty as symbol of mockery.
It's Good enough that we we're just called as devils.
But what about those bed evils
Who attack upon on lassies
With the holler word called “babies”
To accomplish their own seductive urge.
What about those drunken buffoons
In those paved streets under the feeble streetlights stalking the fragile once either for fun or for a wrong intention.
What about the brute
twice the age of his married daughter
bites into the soul of a maiden.
Spitting the venomous words
and incapacitates the heart
Numbness spreads all over her body
after the spiteful attack.
For heaven's sake
Don't point your fingers on us
We're better than you
I being Ravan,
The biggest devotee of lord Siva
And had an extremely loyal wife like Mandodari
Been burned with ten heads
For just kidnapping Sita
Whereas I returned her with due respect.
But these days people use women like toys
by fulfilling their joys.
And Mahishasura,
Who could worship so hard to impress three lords
was eventually killed by Durga and could meet the death by hands of powerful women.
But these days people **** the female child before birth
thinking daughters as burden on earth.
If still you don't get atonement
Just think this poem as a complement
And just think how better are we as your opponent.
May the whole world call us demon or devil
But first learn to tackle the inner evil.
If possible put pins and needle
to such people
Then the world will be in next level.
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 2:51 AM UTC
making a playlist titled you you you
taking a pill at the **** zoo
******* fools wasted on the pavement
chasing waists on the pavement
i'm tired of these ******* games you're playing
tic tac toes on the cusp of my aortic valve
**** hippocratic oath falsifying fingerprints
i am to you, just an oddball goodfornothing sonofabitch
semi-sweet curvature of the lungs
tar-coated nail-biting feminist *****
some uppity analyzing self-righteous bore
well **** you, too, then
**** you, too
i'll do alright in the world, got some chew
that i'll spit out a rhyme with, all that hullabaloo
i am those whos, on a dead *** dandelion making wishes on elephants (such buffoons)
and finding that donkeys are nothing but mumbling tools
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
Visit to the psychiatrist
The “more Sensitive Ones”,
The delicately balanced beings,
Those living on the edge of life,
“Feeling” more than “living” it seems.
Needing to be nurtured and cocooned,
By the mentally well adjusted,
Or by the full-blooded buffoons
Who keep them,- in life- interested.
Do gently but surely tug,
Into the deep dark depths
Of their own despairing,
Melancholy, Inverted selves.
Till both breathe as twin souls
Mirroring each other.
Both forever, left wondering
Who has violated whom?
Indu *****
15.04.2007
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 9:45 PM UTC
which were the center of the Earth.
A rill, a gentle excite that rolled from side to side
touching the verdant moors and bridging the tepid winds
through the mirthy wood.
She
afluntered, pivoting in circles,
pronouncing an aubade for a throng
anthropolatrating agelasts.
Her palms and dactyls outstretched. A chilliad had passed, still her astereognosis never produced the fields and trunks before her. Amending the acronycal light an aeolistic caitiff arose, piercing the crowd, rising to her circumference. This clapperdudgeon and callet woman rang out in a cacophony of sharp jabbering, then another blellum arrived, then another carker, soon they were all cloffin at the pyre.
Her lips
instantly wet, her mouth broke its pursed chastity, and among the meek she suddenly was overcome with an incredible basorexia.
And so she began, bussing left to right, osculating
the buffoons and bavians.
Some cullion tried their way
towards & towards
and then disappeared in a comestion, another dratchell roused himself, sudorous and covered in culch. The concilliabule was dwaible now, those who weren't prying for her kisses were dwaling about frantically croodling, mooing, even barking. This wild frenzied lot of basiation and baisements. Beazing in the dying sun she began to crose and cough. Her blood and spit, her saliva became estiferous and unstable, she began to eroteme herself, her healthy figure was now ectomorphic. Her thoughts were unsettling, she began to fantasize her own decollation. Some sauntering madman with a sleek leather overcoat and an enormous hatchet hunching over her. It overcame her, this auto deicidal ideology in addition, the sweet kir began to wear off, and all she could feel was lackluster, emptiness, indifference. Eventually her acrasia overcame her and in her accidia and overbearing mania she took her own life. Her head slipped from her shoulders and rolled casually past her body, her knees collapsing before her feet, before her torso. And the abderian men and women cackled,
just sat and stared
her life, her love, all gone and disappeared.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
Boris likes to stroke his Mogg
Merkel loves a hot Macron
David Davis hates to Barnier
Keir Starmer gels with Garnier
May adores her slimy Gove
While Corbyn woos the Abbott
Liz Truss? Such angry sourpuss
Herself to champion loudly fuss
And Greening's not for leaning
Against the Brexit so opposed
Sajid wants a blimp of Trump
Which has given Donald the ****
Whilst in the gilt historic chair
We’ve a bent partisanal ******
Cash grabbing John the squeaker
Bercow! How in hell are you still Speaker?
Now when speaking of selfish greed
Travel. Duck houses. Second homes, and such
Let’s remember; as not to would be unfair
That glib arrogant war-monger; Blair
I’ve had enough of all of them
The Blunts. The Hunts. The useless…
Pieces of flotsam and jetsom
Don’t even start me on Leadsom!
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
February 8th, 2018 - 11:06pm. In. An. The. How much deeper will this go? This desert. This baron land and escape from the moonlit evenings’ effervescent engineering of short-lived Neanderthals. These voices are enough to split our hides through and through like an cheese grater, that pants-boots combo chases us into the early morning forecast. I need to get out with her. We need to get out from here. We need to go out from this place. There are hexes and hieroglyphs places matte with ill-defined Finnish designs. There is the yolk and that which copies it. There is the phone and the web of tangling eyes whose corpus is mimicry. I am the notes and the music is taking me down, down, down. Whether it’s our dreams or the sweats that keep us ratcheting our bodies beaten eyes hooked to the cadavers we once chose. Now it’s up to you to choose. This is the fuse that we’ve let loose, maybe your furnace can curtsy and observe these sad blackened buffoons while they make us shrivel up and go hide back in our bed cocoons. This is a zoo I tell you and you tell me. This is a zoo of mayhem, hedonists, and 400° degrees. These are the tiny beds we hide in until they melt us down, into the heirs of our highness, our luxuries quick to abscond.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC
An announcement, dear spoons, it has come to my attention,
That knives are in fact the superior invention,
They cut and they dice, and they bring us sliced bread,
While for spoons, I'm afraid there's not much to be said,
They're good for the stirring and sipping of soup,
They can help you eat anything; well, as long as its goop,
They can't even manage to show a proper reflection,
Try gazing at one, it upends your direction,
Oh spoons, you buffoons, you round-bellied fools,
Try slicing, not scooping, you inelegant tools,
Knives dress to **** while you spoons are such slouches,
And knives are quite charming; you lot are all grouches,
It's clear that knives are the superior race,
They'll put you dumb spoons back into your place,
At the bottom of the drawer, way down with the forks,
Alongside the can opener, and a screwer of corks,
You're the **** of the table, I despise your skullduggery,
That's why I declare knives the finest of cutlery.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
What was meant by the shadow of night,
In the early man’s eyes what was meant by its darkness,
Impending doom and ominous grace,
Reveled and revealing,
Misunderstood through all time as something evil,
The great horns protrude through the whimsy,
Siphoning portions of animal instinct,
Fear the greatest export
Where is the fear of the blinding light,
That ignorant light that plagues the houses on the block
From every window flickers the flame
Television sets on sleep mode,
Movies set on the title menu playing over and over
While the sleeping body flails aimless in animated suspension,
Insomniacs accomplishing something trivial by reaching the next checkpoint,
Even the light of the candle burning as the neo-bohemian reads,
All looking out the window at the blaring buffoons ransacking the night,
Making love to the stars and howling at the moon,
Insanity and blindly causing the world’s collapse,
Laughing at the expense.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
*1
Dirtbag Republicans
Mud slings podiums
On national stage what disgrace
They all stoop so low*
*2
Scary Buffoons
Republican Song
Bigots and cowards d'baiting
Sing: 'send in the clowns'*
*3
Conservative Budget Logic
Food stamp program bad
Trillion dollar wars so good
No child left a dime*
*4
CON-servative Wackos
All crazy on stage
None flew over cuckoo's nest
Wait till one holds office*
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
Unearthed and untamed,
Can't swing through life without the right Jane.
Take another picture,
Still doesn't look right without the proper fixture.
Fading like morning fog, hungry like a dog,
Don't bite the hand or it'll leave you broke like 'no job'.
Too much, too soon,
Water filled balloons that seem to be juggled by buffoons.
No proper balance,
Take a sip from the chalice and patience from parents.
Just some friendly advice,
Keep your head on straight and keep rolling them dice.
- Life.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
She said she would move if we would just improve
Then the sails broke and we joked as the tea spoke
Now with the water high night is nigh and were alright
Can it be that love is here and time is nowhere near?
See the flower tasting sour won't you come on over?
Tongues are tied wrists are limp my pen is broken need a stick
After this nap we'll dump the sack head off books on our backs
Were young and dead old and feared with no sign of creakin' bed
Write what nothing holds true for if you do the blue will sue
Heads will turn as you will burn on a stake made of copper n' zeal
No neither hands are feeding inspirations curse don't burst
Mother made her hand here and now there's nothing no nothin' to hear
Oh' all along ears bend and spend their lives cooly listening
Don't send your ears down the block for the clock has stopped
I listen to the tunes of buffoons who dance around like happy loons
A child tears up as he bares up another rafter of stale **** candy
At this time drinks are drinks and dames are dames and I'm still tame
I don't think myself lame or famed worded or locked up n' boarded
Nor clouds white as milk cool as silk stand on stilts dirtied felt
A smile is all one needs to feel the speed of a life worth lived
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 1:33 AM UTC
My questionee is the first born of Europe,
Mr. England the royal son of Europe
Who chewed and still chews
Fortunes from the colonies
With the mighty of hyena mandibles
When its canine teeth penetrate
Rotten pork in the helm of day’s starvation.
My questions come to you England and your brothers;
The European immigrants who left their home
To usurp land in the African territory of Australia,
Then with all imperial mighty you decimated
The human race of Africans, which you called a dog’s name;
The fitlhy, uncouth, loatish, oafish, and worthless aboriginals,
Which you deemed humanity so useless that deserve not to own any country
As God was so idiosyncratic to give such heavyweight buffoons
Like the African natives of Australia such a fertile land,
Why did you **** my brothers in Australia?
And you replace them with your sons and daughters,
To shamelessly occupy land which is not their ancestral home?
You ravenous Europeans who will heal you from the bug of colonial syndrome?
Before you answer, wisdom of time commands European settlers to quit Australia,
To bring to an end ignominious civilization of colonialism.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
When ignorance goes running rampant
And fools run amok,
And the measure of success is strictly
The almighty buck;
When logic and reason become suspect
And fakesters are thought wise,
And people relish living in
A fool's paradise;
When false news is the word of the day
And many people choose
To get their news from stations where ratings
Are more important than news;
When lies masquerade as truth
And facts are seen as perverse,
And the lack of consideration for others
Goes from bad to worse;
When science is known as the enemy
And metaphor as science,
And blind acceptance and misunderstanding
Form a tight alliance;
When bold and brazen ideologues
Make it their primary mission
To push their will upon the people
And crush the opposition;
And when world leaders have the potential
To leave the world in rubble,
And some of the leaders are buffoons,
WE'RE IN A HEAP OF TROUBLE!
- by Bob B (12-17-16)
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
Her existence is a paradox
For even the buffoons seem to be mocking at her
Her power lies divided
Fixed on a candelabra
With men in the churches gazing at the strength
And old ladies lighting it for solace
The wax melts and the world is plunged into darkness
Tendrils of smoke drifting upwards
Shapeless silhouettes driving people towards the end
The dome of the hall covered with embodiments of its remains
The chandelier soaking the suffocation amidst
And still in the hands of that artist in the corner
With a palette in the right and swollen fingers holding the brush
Lies a hope of resurrection of the dainty lady's grace
But only In the painting and the caricatures.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
they whisper in reverent tones
on the television,
hushed, in awe,
struck dumb
by the images
of fifty-nine tomahawk cruise missiles
a flaccid, wanna-be-strongman
just launched at Syria,
a country whose refugees
and babies we'd rather see
washed-up on the sands
of foreign lands than safely
at peace in our homeland.
Brian Williams calls
the spectacle, "beautiful."
sociopathic pundits in ecstasy,
spewing meek excuses
like babbling baboons, buffoons
lusting for an **** of nihilistic violence.
they invoke their dead gods,
beseech the "Almighty" to bless
their bloodstained hands,
and say this is how a demagogue
acts presidential.
beat the war drums in quick succession.
about face in a new direction.
left, left, left, right, left.
it doesn't matter who sits
in the Oval Office, war
makes America great again,
boosting administrative approval ratings
and corporate coffers, revenue soaring
like sky-rocketing jet-fuel.
we cannot pummel the world
into submission with munitions,
but that won't stop us from trying.
planting early graves
like seeds in the ground,
bearing fruit that spoils
and keeps this whole sick joke
spinning perpetually around.
we **** people who **** people
because killing people is wrong.
what i'd give to wake
to a world not torn
apart by war.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC