"dolts" poems
They call it a 'Class War"
They call it a "War of Liberation"
whilst its just another instance of white oppression
Childish, immature, mean and nasty underachievers
like the kid on the beach who kicks over others sandcastle
because they are better than the ******* castle he made
Like that that uncool dumb teen who scatters the board game
because he's now seen that he is losing and cannot win at all
like those ugly pimpled friends who would play gooseberry
and cock-blockers because they can't get nice dates of their own
like that bitter mad one who will spill ink over your white top
or new Trainers because he or she has old and ***** ones
They are all from the world of the sicko psychos and damaged
talent-less mean, envious, sad pathetic people going nowhere
If I can't make it, why should others do and be winners
They all graduate to the divisive politics of the ****** losers
Power is stopping progress and advancement because they are down
Power is bringing achievers and enterprise down they can's gain
Power is sabotaging all that is good because they are bad in all
Measly fetid minds they plot and conspire in gangrenous network
dolts, scums, unwashed losers and rejects of society, bottom feeders
Come join the Party, our specialty is chaos and disruption of winners
The pathetic jokes of the white West, losers in their own backyards
picks on an African who came from disadvantages to better them
better educated, more intelligent, cool and stylish in every way
pack full of potential, going places they can never go or reach
Our sick, mean spirited under-achievers, expert losers and scums
crawled on the war-path, riddled with envy, sick with jealousy
ruin his progress, oppose and disrupt a black man who doubles
efforts to achieve, what if losers try is given to them on a plate
What here is done for the greater good, what here is honorable
celebrated victories for psychos, racist underachievers I think not
peoples power? more sick, tormented, jealous n envious chicanery
anarchy jealousy, anarchy shame, anarchy racists, anarchy liars
One Single Black achiever demonstrates the inherent strength
and grace of our all our Ancestors against sick, persistent white oppression. That's the story here.
If its a fair war, why hide and go underground, why fight *****
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.
And his wife used to cry, 'If the darlin' should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.'
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.
Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
'What the divil and all is this christenin'?'
He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.
So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened —
''Tis outrageous,' says he, 'to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!'
Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the 'praste' cried aloud in his haste,
'Come out and be christened, you divil!'
But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
'I've a notion,' says he, 'that'll move him.'
'Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy — don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I'll name him.
'Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name —
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?'
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout —
'Take your chance, anyhow, wid 'Maginnis'!'
As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled 'MAGINNIS'S WHISKY'!
And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened 'Maginnis'!
3.1k
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets
Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux
Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more
In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy
Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa
Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking
Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures
In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes
We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing
As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery
Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently
Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection
Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly
Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities
Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements
Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth
Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies
I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status
Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects
Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations
CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
dolly lyrics
doldrums drum's roll
dollop lopsided
doll llama amazon on
dolphin hinterland
dole dolts
dollar large, largess
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
I took too much aspirin
and when I finally got in place
next to her, comfortably,
my ******* ears were screaming
like they'd just seen a constellation
of invading 8-bit aliens
and I was a blind leader.
The **** part is that the pain
didn't even go away;
was not "relieved".
Well, you driveling dolts, as is;
I see no danger yet, so
I'll take another aspirin.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
And for those of you who don’t
Find Trump to be pernicious,
He shows his *** to one and all,
I hope you find it is delicious.
For those of you who lived in
Dream castles of foolish hope
You have backed an evil man
A charlatan and a dope.
If you tried hard and long
You could not have done worse
And that is the reason for
This neener neener verse.
I can’t think how he could
Have warned you any better.
He promised things intelligence
Could discredit by the letter.
He said he would do stuff
So totally unconstitutional,
That made the rich richer,
And proved you were delusional
To trust a total ripoff guy
Who has been cheating for years.
Why did you think this fool
Would allay any of your fears?
But still you all waved high
His stupid Chinese-made hats;
Bought him gold and diamond studs
For his brand new fancy spats.
And now he’s in the Capitol
Laughing at all of you dolts
YOU gave him weapons to use on you
Instead of a thousand volts.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 5:58 PM UTC
A Zealot Beauty,
Young Cat,
Xerxes Dolts,
Witting Earnestly the Very Ulterior Feelings,
Truly God Signs Her Rights Into
Quacksalver
Just Pretending Killing Omnipotence Leads New Money
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
Benevolence becomes the fanciful
fawned goodwill without price
a myth pursued but never found
pain mistook for sunshine
these lies projected to collect
power gained by those who lie
told by those who were not there
lobbyists with a bullhorn
propagandists of selfishness
invoicing charity to imbue
bank accounts outside of cheer
only cynics would rejoice
the calming smile hides the knife
held out of sight just in case
the doom is spotted by the dolts
look to the leer of friendship
favor given for all to view
while suffering pays the bills
self-sacrifice is assumed
anticipated from the rich
forget this fib if you’re sane
generosity is still there
taxing blood from the stones
this is the truth when fiction fails.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180914.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
I have so much to give and so much ahead of me but I don’t know how to use it.
How do I know what’s right with failure calling my name out to quit.
So much greed and conniving dolts of beings.
When will they awaken from their chimera?
When you can’t keep their guaranteeing
But the only lucidity is their hysteria
How can we forget all hatred when it’s so salient?
They know nothing of adoration and eminence
Amusing how minds think so adolescent
I’ll take the ravine ones find umbrage
And sprout through the cracks as a flower
Out through earths rusted cage
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 4:10 AM UTC
If I was Johnny handsome Android you'd soon avoid this thing that replicates the hates and feeds upon the oily fears of those not quite his metal peers
and shearing through the drift and dross on wheels 'cause legs are no dead loss
to look upon the nuts and bolts excretia of the fools and dolts who engineered with sneers on faces Androids bound in metal cases and then in utter exhaltation crowned the kings of every nation.
A super sheen metallic gleam shines out from eyes that see in ratios and Pi's and rises high above the humdrum lives where hand in glove they slave away to build Androids at ten a day for little pay and even less to say.
This is the void where we will end as we rush to tinker and to tend to the revolution of Android evolution.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC
Our Congresspeople get rich
No matter how much you *****
They do it again and again
Because fools voted them in.
You can’t make them stop
Because we don’t have a cop
That works for our side in DC.
We can’t call this the land of the Free.
It’s the land of gouge and overcharge;
Of money laundering crooks at large,
Calling themselves patriots and stealing.
There seems to be no thieving ceiling.
Rave and threaten and lie about it
There seems to be no doubt about it.
We are in the clutches of the greedy
Who fashion themselves as the needy.
And like some Middle Eastern nuts
They are constantly showing their butts.
They commit their crimes daily
Then go about almost gaily
Pointing at the victims they harmed
And claiming the poor are armed
Then trying to take away our rights.
They’re the people that rob us at night.
Yes, they are the crooks and now
They don’t even have to explain how
Because a third of our voters are dolts
Who have no concept of the nuts and bolts
Of the complex offices that lead us.
We’re in the hands of jerks that bleed us.
Once this nation was something great.
I hope we fix this before it’s too late.
They don't know the bubbleheads the ones
They don’t really know what they’ve done
Is a simple matter once we dissect it.
And what they really need to do about it.
They wring their hands as they are *******
And neurotically grab at an attitude;
Then blame anybody else for their misery.
It’s a frightening case of mistaken identity.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
It isn't that you come here
moaning and flailing about my room
in a desperate apparitional brilliance
or that you move between my walls
omnipotent, chain rattling
but so much more
You make noise of fears
poets do not care of
of dying
of living
of beseech
of neglect
of need
but in a wailing assertion
If you want dominion here
break something
his future
his past
his heart -
his thoughts
If not
he will most likely
cast you out to dolts
tucked tight in beds
in other cul-de-sacs
You need to understand
this home owns a sedentary poet
seduced by despondence
as aloof as anyone
you have ever strived to poltergeist
he will not know of you
lacking gifted conversation
and a planchette
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
These days are for the daisies, accented with juniper and babies breath
A gazebo beneath a tree like shade on a cloudy afternoon
With our glasses more vertical than not; I drink you in and swear away the day
She smiles, because I stare off for long periods of time
Reasoning, that I don't want her to catch me gazing at what I have no right to love
A gardener's guilt
Plucking the ripe and ready
It's the time of season for cessation
The paradoxical harvest
An event of sustenance and death
A consumer has no sensation other than taste
A carnivore only taste one flavor
Your flesh on the vine
A rare and coveted commodity
Past vintages become quartets of meaningless digits, like discarded combinations on a constantly changing tumbler
The fortuitous ones will eventually get their chance, but only after the
horticulturist has gotten his fill
For I have forced breath into you
Developing your unique character
With subtle augmentations to your composition; and experience above all else
Only the most bitterly tortured fruit becomes wine of notoriety
A sadistic vintner periodically sampling the evolution of his wares
Very often the inflictions are bored by both master and slave
I feel it in you
It's the only time I do
Feel
Misery is contingent upon company
A fool's philosopher
With flawless adages and quips
He is no different
Eventually we all will be met with the contradictions of our exasperated convolutions
Then where will you be?
Why, you have been made golden!
A hopewell beacon amongst the treacherous and ******
You are now nebulous and immaculate
Like the figure encased with in the marble
Does the sculpture recall the stripping sensation induced by the artisanal hands of the craftsman?
Or is it's ears filled with the clamoring?
Ingrates and dolts who only appreciate the product rather than the steadfast passions of it's means
Amongst the gawking gazers I am indistinguishable; as you are now to me
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
Memories assault my mind,
And make me drink a draft of darkness all my own,
The once-filled corners of my mind are empty now,
And though accompanied, I am alone.
I’ve given all I had to chase a dream,
Which haunted me for much too long a time,
Shards of reality now cut the empty refrains of what might have been,
Of shattered truths and dreams gone awry.
I seek with the hunger of a dying soul,
And am rewarded for my foolishness,
With an endless void where the only meaning to be gleaned,
Is from the shadow cast by my dying mind.
What of Don Quixote and his faithful Sancho Panza,
When the dragons begin to take their true form and windmills appear?
He fights to hold on to the dream and failing to do so,
Dies from the crushing weight of his reality.
When I wake, I will redden profusely,
And put down my ragged lance,
To take my rightful place,
Beside the great dolts of our time.
Yet still I sleep, though I know the uneasiness of incipient wakefulness,
I cling on to the dream, knowing it a dream,
For in its sweet promise lies the only truth I can accept,
My only hope, the evanescent reverie of an immature mind.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:00 AM UTC
Brusque
is required at times,
for dolts
No myopic
Prevaricate
Proclivity is never late
© 2023 Carol Natasha Diviney
Nov 1, 2023
Nov 1, 2023 at 3:56 PM UTC
I sing of human dignity
whose absence can be seen
through lens of foul reality
within Mad Magazine !
The foibles of America,
the hubris and the glory
the paunch, the slouch, the bad-hair lives,
the real plebeian story.
Bruegel’s mobs and Ensor’s masks
improved, enhanced, updated
on comic page, until one asks:
is painting overrated?
Beardsley, Hogarth, masters all—
and acid-etched our race;
but unkind pure hilarious truth
beams forth from Alfred’s face.
The dolts, the clods, the leering fools,
the sociopathic clowns,
glitter like fractured plastic jewels
in Walmart-purchased crowns.
Alfred Neuman has the goods.
The lash, at first, feels bad
when whips of satire welt our back.
Behold the man: he’s MAD !
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC