"lout" poems
Judai
~~♥~~
Suno jaana
Mujhse kai logo ne pucha hai.
judai kaisi hoti hai.
judai kaisi hoti hai.
Me kehta hu
Zara thehro batata hu.
judai kaisi hoti hai.
judai aisi hoti hai.
bhari mehfil me bhi
kahi tanhai me kho jana.
Kirchi kirchi kanch ke
tukdo sa bikhar jana.
Or un tukdo me ek hi bas
ek hi chehere ka nazar ana.
Judai aisi hoti hai.
Simatna chah kar bhi
khud se na simat pana.
Har kisi ke samne
muskan chehre par le ana.
Dard saare chupane ki
ek nakaam si be-matlab
koshish kiye jaana.
khud apne aap se us
lamhat me nafrat si ** jana.
Judai aisi hoti hai.
Mulakato ke naam pe
milna u to kai logo se
har chehre me usi bas Usi chehre ko dhundte jaana.
Naam uska apne
lab pe saja lena.
Us ki kahi koi baat
yaad ane par rote hue thahake mar ke hans dena.
Or hans kar ke ek dam se khamosh ** jaana.
Naam uska le kar gir padna.
kai raato tak aansuo se
takiyo ko bigo dena.
Duao me usi ke liye
haatho ko failana.
khwabo or khayalo me
usi se wasta rakhna.
na mil pane ka ghum
is dil ko satana.
Or fir tut kar bikhar jaana.
Judai aisi hoti hai.
Jhukaye gardan fir kabro me apni lout aa jaana.
Jise ham ghar bhi kehte hai.
Use Suna sa dekh kar kadmo ka theher jaana.
fir na utha pana.
Ye sab kya hai
judai ki nishani hai.
Na mil pana, satana, or har kadam har moud par tut'te bas tut'te jana.
Judai aisi hoti hai.
Jaise andheri si gufao me talash roshni ki ** jaana.
jaise kisi apne ke haatho se haatho ka bichad jana.
Fir na mil pana.
kisi apne ko jata dekh kar
Dur se aawaze laga kar rokna.
Apne haatho ko jhatak na or diwaro pe patak dena.
Or bas kuch na kar pana.
bhari aankho se use
dur hote dekhte jana.
Palkey tak na jhapkana.
Fir aansuo ka jaise
sailab aa jana.
judai ki aag me
jalna,jhulasna
or zinda reh jana.
judai aisi hoti hai.
Judai aisi hoti hai.
Nk Sairam :)
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 5:20 AM UTC
Usually people will say
happy birthday without
actually caring for the day
I am a lout
I had no idea the 26th was so important
Instead of perusing thoughts I laid dormant
Had I risen from fake wars in Afghanistan
I would have noticed it was the birthday of Lori Callahan!
I apologize for missing such a special date.
I hope it was one that no others can equate
For you deserve a day to yourself
and a special memory to put upon a shelf
Happy Birthday Lori! A friend so sweet.
Happy Birthday Lori! I hope someone massaged your feet.
Happy Birthday Lori! I hope you had a cake with candles.
Happy Birthday Lori! May this year be guided by angels.
Happy Birthday Lori Callahan!
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
Though nurtured like the sailing moon
In beauty's murderous brood,
She walked awhile and blushed awhile
And on my pathway stood
Until I thought her body bore
A heart of flesh and blood.
But since I laid a hand thereon
And found a heart of stone
I have attempted many things
And not a thing is done,
For every hand is lunatic
That travels on the moon.
She smiled and that transfigured me
And left me but a lout,
Maundering here, and maundering there,
Emptier of thought
Than the heavenly circuit of its stars
When the moon sails out.
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I definitely won’t make any apologies for saying this
and if anyone isn't careful she’ll leave them in a ditch.
But don't get me wrong, I am not referring to any woman by that name
only to the powers of deception that are played within the devil's game.
When you consider how much trouble she has caused;
without a moment’s lapse or of one repentant paused,
in human affairs over the years since the advent of man;
it’s a wonder that she hasn’t yet been flushed in the pan.
In case you might just be wondering what I’m talking about
Maya is the female equivalent of Satan who is a **** lout,
and who plays around deceiving anyone that ignores the Truth
which has been ingrained in our mind and heart since our youth.
In fact anything that is Divine, noble, good and of inestimable worth
Maya will try to turn it around into a thing seeming of much less birth.
She thus plays around with our emotions causing one to doubt and fear
where the reality of a situation would be to have faith and some cheer.
Her main battle is waged within a vulnerable human heart and mind
especially when an individual is undergoing difficulties of any kind.
She is also the one who arouses anger, jealousy, lust, greed and pride,
being full of all those traits herself and more she projects them outside.
We must try and be aware of the extent of her subtle delusion
and escape any entanglement in the net of her worldly illusion;
that so many people are now caught up in without their real knowing
not realising that Love and Truth are the things most worth showing.
______________________________
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
That morning, when I awoke, I had not a clue,
That the things you claimed you'd never do,
Were exactly what my day was leading too,
Though, as we shared that bed, my alarm was right on cue,
And as I got up, I noticed I smelled like you.
I told my best friend about that night,
That for once, holding someone was comforting, felt right,
Laying there, with you clinging to me so tight,
Was the first time intimacy didn't come with a shock of fright.
But, of course, the truth comes out,
Stunned, standing, the visage of a lout,
So lost in all that's come about.
That afternoon, when I got home, what was I to do?
So many thoughts, so many feelings to get through,
I turned on the shower, watching the dancing water spew,
And, just before the water touched me; deja vu,
I noticed that I smelled just like you.
This couldn't stand, and I scrub and washed till I felt alright,
Dirt, regret, and your scent wash away in the dim daylight
At last I didn't smell like that night,
And didn't reek of lack of foresight.
Now, I'm left with only an internal emotional bout,
Wondering if I can even shake this doubt,
To decide whether or not to keep you in, or out.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
I'm busy busy busy
I'm late I'm late I'm late
I've got to meet a rabbit
I've got to meet my fate
For if you trip and stumble
And take a long long fall
You might take some comfort
In the writing on the wall
It says the cakes a lie!
The roses never were red!
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
The last words that they said
There's no time for fantasy
The world's out of hand
Visit Alice another time
Curse that wonderland
We're living in the matrix
Dot dash, dot dot dot dash
We just have to accept it
As we wait for it to crash
One foot in and one foot out
Abstractify, you lazy lout
Yes, I'm sure reality's an illusion
But I can't afford to live in confusion
May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 5:16 PM UTC
I'd last about an hour as a clerk inside a store
invariably I'd shoot my mouth off
about someone's daughter dressing like a *****
or making comments about the dreadful things consumed
which would include a good 99% of the people in the room
I'd eventually end up getting my lights punched out
after ********* someone as a fat *** undiscerning lout
or cracking some aside regarding what comprises that crud
and making faces of revulsion "you'd be better off eating mud"
ewwwww, you really eat that stuff?
this store should be sued for selling such bluff
children with diabetes, a third of adults obese
the courtesy clerk dies a little for lack of surcease
line after line of vapid consumers
mindless knee-jerk impetuosity belay the rumors
what's an adulterant, what's a filler?
propylene glycol alginate, yum yum
sorbitan mono sterate, shut up and eat it, its fun!
I can't even pronounce it, much less do I care
need I be a scientist to enjoyably savor fare
Go ahead and poison yourself
the quirky clerk exclaimed
its ever so clear you're stupid and lame
stay mired in your pig-headed muck of ignorance
you're exactly what they want
another brain dead consumer
a regular culinary savant
stuff your face with no remorse nor heed
no worries, the clerk of little courtesy knows your need
he'll limply wheel out your cart of miserable choices for you
and wise-crack some snarky rejoinder
then promptly get beaten, black and blue
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
I feel the pain and I push it away
I’ll Fill my mind with other stuff today
Yet you creep back in it’s hard to shake
Wondering what you think and feel is hard to take
I don’t know a thing, I’m in the dark
My Parental pain tears at my heart
The only thing that was sweet and pure
Lost to me through class A allure
I’m sorry baby, you will never know
How I roll in pain and agony so
But not for me, but for precious you
A daddy should be a proud and stable statue
I let you down and destroyed my soul
I don't know who i am now, or where to go
I’ve lost my baby, my heart and my pride
The grass is never greener on the other side
I will carry on fighting and I will never stop
I will get you back I will come out on top...
Yeah right, my fate is sealed
No more cuddles, no more love I finally yield.
Take her and take her fast
And while you’re there point that gun and blast
Oh that would be so simple, such an easy way out
Just stupid thoughts from a useless lout
I’m in a bad place, a deep depression, in a fudge
Hours and days and thousands of pounds in front of a judge
To no avail, I sit back broken and bent
dead inside from the years fighting I've spent
She was my anchor, my hopes and my pride
She was also my deepest fears on an opposite tide
Now those fears have finally come true
9 months 13 days and 2 hours since I last saw you.
By J.N
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
Dear Mr. Heaney
I wish I'd read your poetry
years ago when I was still impressionable and coy and all that jazz.
Now it resounds in my skull, leaving a tingle in my right hand.
My pen is somewhat snug, but a revolver, no.
Ink and shovels aren't far from each other,
so your point is well-taken. In fact, they're co-workers –
Ink's proved itself just as deadly. It slowly ushers men into the earth,
their soil-seat, while the shovel stages the unending play;
the eternal lattice.
The Nobel hung above your head,
the vast array of pins, medals, papers with your name in billowing scarlet.
What a treat. Like the last cupcake in the back of
the refrigerator that had too much chocolate icing and was only
semi-covered in multi-colored snowflakes. I'd loved to have
personally presented it to you. There'd be my own plaque,
billowing scarlet and all. It'd say, "Mr. Heaney,
, you must own a ***** I hope you'd laugh, and not be offended,
thinking me a distasteful and insensitive lout. It may not be right,
but I can't help but steal the volumes surrounding yours out of
every **** library so
"Seamus Heaney"
may catch the eye of the common passerby
more easily. I think I even went to work on
enhancing a spine with a red sharpie once.
Red hits the eye hard.
That was in the central library downtown.
Don't tell anyone.
Beyond a laugh, what I hope for most is that you get this letter.
Just look at it.
Wonder why someone so far removed in age and culture and place
would ever think of you holding an over-frosted desert as glorious.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
It is neither here,
or there.
Not behind this door,
or maybe this one, no.
Tis not high? Or low?
Oh, I’ve forgotten so.
One can be pleased,
as I have misplaced this.
My steps miss-traced,
something could be amiss.
Though, it is difficult,
to lose such a thing.
Its hands wrap around my neck,
as it clings.
I can’t hear it ring,
what sound will it bring?
When it finally comes back.
Oh, what happened to it,
I feel like a lout.
Where is my self-doubt?
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
Fade to scene--pallet: blue and green--wide shot; mood: serene.
Establish view; a stock or few; pan right to view a distant two.
A hazy rim; we cut to HIM--so clean and prim--just as we hear the hymn...
A tear rolls down his chin. The brightness dims; music shifts to grim.
Cue the screams; cut the scene.
We're back in the now and the mood is mean.
HE'S back in a view--pallet: black and blue--the shot askew.
The mood's muted; sounds of shooting. Cue dialog:
"Look what you did..."
Camera jerks; extreme closeup: a smirk; let the ANTAGONIST work.
The wire crew's here. HERO sheds a tear. Signal stuntman on the tier.
Orchestra on my mark...
Deliver line then cut to dark.
Light's back to reality. The view won't change, you see.
There's no crew or doubles. Just a wide sea of troubles.
No second shots; no calling "CUT"; it's all open-shut.
It's not like a filmmaker's lens; it's not just pretend.
Let me script this out what you're all about:
An overconfident lout, but backlit with doubt.
All part of a cast, direct you like I did the last.
I see that you're furious, but you're hardly fast.
Now I'll produce the fear as the shoot draws near--
I've got the schedule set; we're not finished here!--
You're calling "cut," but I'm just cutting you more,
And then I'll edit you out on the cutting room floor.
I appreciate that you feel you've come so far,
But never forget this is MY movie, and I'm the STAR!
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
THE Roaring Tinker if you like,
But Mannion is my name,
And I beat up the common sort
And think it is no shame.
The common breeds the common,
A lout begets a lout,
So when I take on half a score
I knock their heads about.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
All Mannions come from Manannan,
Though rich on every shore
He never lay behind four walls
He had such character,
Nor ever made an iron red
Nor soldered *** or pan;
His roaring and his ranting
Best please a wandering man.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
Could Crazy Jane put off old age
And ranting time renew,
Could that old god rise up again
We'd drink a can or two,
And out and lay our leadership
On country and on town,
Throw likely couples into bed
And knock the others down.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
II
My name is Henry Middleton,
I have a small demesne,
A small forgotten house that's set
On a storm-bitten green.
I scrub its floors and make my bed,
I cook and change my plate,
The post and garden-boy alone
Have keys to my old gate.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
Though I have locked my gate on them,
I pity all the young,
I know what devil's trade they learn
From those they live among,
Their drink, their pitch-and-toss by day,
Their robbery by night;
The wisdom of the people's gone,
How can the young go straight?
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
When every Sunday afternoon
On the Green Lands I walk
And wear a coat in fashion.
Memories of the talk
Of henwives and of queer old men
Brace me and make me strong;
There's not a pilot on the perch
Knows I have lived so long.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
III
Come gather round me, players all:
Come praise Nineteen-Sixteen,
Those from the pit and gallery
Or from the painted scene
That fought in the Post Office
Or round the City Hall,
praise every man that came again,
Praise every man that fell.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
Who was the first man shot that day?
The player Connolly,
Close to the City Hall he died;
Catriage and voice had he;
He lacked those years that go with skill,
But later might have been
A famous, a brilliant figure
Before the painted scene.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
Some had no thought of victory
But had gone out to die
That Ireland's mind be greater,
Her heart mount up on high;
And yet who knows what's yet to come?
For patrick pearse had said
That in every generation
Must Ireland's blood be shed.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
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As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap.
For I am running to paradise;
And all that I need do is to wish
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout,
And I am running to paradise;
A poor life, do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving-maid and a serving-man:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
Poor men have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
And I am running to paradise;
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school,
Now it has filled a old sock full:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
The wind is old and still at play
While I must hurty upon my way.
For I am running to paradise;
Yet never have I lit on a friend
To take my fancy like the wind
That nobody can buy or bind:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
2.6k
Oh, phalo skeptic,
part your wave for skirted ***** surfers,
tho, trout, tripe, and titmice thrill thrice..
Will duct tape save us?
Urge the Zamboni machine,
to microwave ice.
Quince down that pouting sphincter,
Oh, the tides do swell
on the morrow of passing fish.
Wheelbarrow pious.
Swift, awesome biblionauts,
Fire! Fire! Pail, Pail thy watered pitch.
Know this, every potato is somewhere vane ...
I'm busy now, rude duuude,
have you sweated a recumbent lout?
Indent chill mots,
Pete, I'm big in Europe, pal,
Have seen me dance the Macarena?
Fool, fool on that high hill,!
Take care when licking spiny urchins
Oy! I scare myself.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 2:34 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
My name is Joseph
Am a Jewish bachelor
Or call me a male spinster
Am a poor penniless carpenter
Am pushing forth and back my plane
And waving my old claw hammer
Hitting the nail on the head
And chopping of its ears by my adze
In the entirety of Israel and Hebrew world
My beautiful Hebrew fiancée is Mary
No she is already my wife , Mary wife of my youth
She is pregnant minus my nuptiality
Minus my conjugal enfranchisement
And the man who fertilized her
Was witnessed and flunkeyed by Gabriel
The airy voice in the amorphous whirlwind
Without form and shape but erotically crazy
How sad; I am a victim of the spiritual powers that be
My jealousy of humanity will be condemned blasphemous
Kindly come and feel with me, please feel for me
How do you see? For someone else
To have *** and *** with your newlywed wife
Or your beautiful *****
Or your lovable concubineous fiancée
Until he makes her pregnant with male foetus
Then he commands you to marry her
Because you are only a humble wood work
He commands you to accept fornication
As immaculate *** that yield holy pregnancy
Holy conception but nothing bad or foul,
What if that male foetus comes out a son
Who resembles foreigners from beyond the mountain?
But not me, his head having shape of a hook
I am annoyed with this heaven chauvinist religion
This horrible anti-human relationship
From which I will be degraded and come out ignobled
And the one who impregnated my wife
Will be exulted and ennobled to the throne of glory
His son and himself they will be made an exalted religion
But I will die desperate as a carpentering lout
A worthless Jewish oat, reeking a foul stench
O Death! Come take me away from this humiliated life
I don’t want to see this Jewish Mary with her bulging belly
Her beauty and sexuality has made me a village pumpkin
She is in no way a ******
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
"Hawa sang chalna seekh gayi **
Thora pankh faila udna bhi seekh jaoge,
Jra azma ke deakh khud ko,
Zindgi ka matlab seekh jaoge.
Khush hoon jaan ke tum logon ko,
Padna seekh gyi **
Thodi himmat rakh ,
Honsle ke kami nahi tujh me,
Sar utha ke chala kro,
Tumhe darna nahi kisi se..
Tum bholi si nanhi si,
Payari si thi,
Mma papa ki gudiya dulari si thi,
Ankhon main anshoo a jate unki,
Jab tum rote rote so jaati,
Unki ladli payari si tum...
Na jaane kab unki gudiya badi ** gayi,
Unhe pata bhi na chala,
Jiin hathon main kheli unhi se
vida ** ke chal bhi bdi...
Kya hi zindgi tumhe mili hai,
kuch pal rahi mma papa sang,
Begane aye tujhe le gye,
Tere mma papa ko anshoo de gye...
Hansti kehlti papa ke dil ka taara thi tum,
Kuch khelne ko na hota,
To papa ki peeth ki sawari thi tum...
Papa ki beti aaj badi ** gayi hai,
Kl thak jo roti lagti nanhi si,
Bechari si thi ,
Aaj mma ki vo ladli sayani ban gayi hai...
Gairon ko rehne de,
Papa ka sar na jhukana kabhi,
Bde laad payar se rakha hai tujhe,
kabhi rulana na unhe...
BEti tu lout ke jaldi aana
tera intazar rahega,
Teri maa royi to main sambhal lunga,
Par tere papa roye to.
tere siva koi chup karvane nahi ayega...
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse.
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vain-glorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it
Where long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call.
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead.
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse --
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
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Left Left Right Left
I swipe, hoping to find it
A Disney story IRL
Alas, I've reached the pit of Hell
Countless matches and open chats
Oh the deep regret one has
A drink, a coffee, a dinner out
Charming, funny or a lout?
Days, months and a year has passed
Too many swipes, none of 'em last
Incredible *** one odd out
But then I'm back on the look out
Left Left Right Left
**** Disney and **** this
I'm on my own, I have a hand
*** with myself is just as grand
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
Who talks of Plato's spindle;
What set it whirling round?
Eternity may dwindle,
Time is unwound,
Dan and Jerry Lout
Change their loves about.
However they may take it,
Before the thread began
I made, and may not break it
When the last thread has run,
A bargain with that hair
And all the windings there.
1.7k
The ballad of a drunken yobho
You see he will go to the club, to watch the match
And he'll start to cheer with te guys
He will make the blokes who support the other team angry
But as long as his team wins, it's ok
And then suddenly from out of the blue
Their team comes back with two great goals, to get it within 3
And he said, we are still in front
And,mate, we have only 2 minutes to go, ya wamker
And suddenly a fight broke out, ***** v *****
And suddenly their wives entered having a girls night down the pub
And I pulled out and they called me a wimp
But I wanted to have good *** and also
Concentrate on keeping a tag on my team
And they still caled me a wimp and suddenly from
Out of the blue, his team won, and I wondered why
And I blamed the referee for a push in the back
But it wasn't, so I pushed my friend in the back
And he went head over turkey into the girls night out
And my girl yelled and I said, sorry, but he was beginning to buy me
He hates our team and he is the reason for them losing
He fixed the game, love he fixes games
That's what he does, he really doesn't but
I wanted calming down *** tonight, so I don't care
And If that makes me a yobho
I am a ***** and I am proud of it
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
Obtusely overt and contusionally obscene,
boy I feel like being mean.
Rip its face off, shove it up its nose,
be a raven in a flock of crows.
Be a bad *** savage brutal,
why I'll even throw in the kit and caboodle.
Feral phrenic frenzied ****
with immaculate mule kit blues aimed ****
One for all and all for one,
we're all moving to Fullerton.
Where the lecherous lothario lout,
is no longer libido liaison's tout.
Fecund cogent liberating exigence,
do you get it or are you dense?
Pique puissant piquant quintescence,
have you all learned your lessons?
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
"Don't be frightened if I cry
and my shoulders shudder," she
breathes. The lavender of the sky
droops above a dim-winter's sea,
and just as the words are out
I graze her cheek like a blade of grass
drops its dew. "I'd be a true lout --",
her fingers of orange topaz --
gleamed in moonlight -- stop my lips short.
"Don't." Teardrops roll slowly down
in a display apt for an old court
show; such a sadness in her tone.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 2:41 AM UTC
MY DAD WHISKED ROBIN WILLIAMS OVER THE CLOUD 9, TO BE HIS TWIN BROTHER
OR WITH THE HELP OF CRONUS AND BUDDHA, YOU SEE AS SOON AS ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED
CRONUS, AND BUDDHA, PUT DAD ON CLOUD 9, TO CALM THE SOULD OF DEAD ROBIN WILLIAMS
YOU SEE, BUDDHA AND CRONUS, HAVE BEEN WORKING HARD TOGETHER TO GET ROBIN WILLIAMS
INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S ****** I KNOW THEY WERE EXPECTING TWINS ANYWAY, AND BUDDHA
MADE ROBIN WILLIAMS DIE IN AUGUST TO GROW THE FETUS INSIDE, DAD, IS THE MIGHTIER TWIN
CAUSE, HIS SOULD WAS ALREADY THERE, BUT IN AUGUST, AS I TOLD YOU, ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED
TO GROW HIS SOUL INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S OTHER TWIN, I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE LISA CAMPBELL
FEEL BAD, ACTUALLY I PREFER HER AND DAVID NOT TO BE FACEBOOK FRIENDS WITH ME,
I PREFER THIS TO BE KEPT OUT OF THEIR FAMILY, BECAUSE, I AM JUST EXPLAINING ROBIN WILLIAMS’S
ROLE IN THE ****** DAD IS ONLY MIGHTIER, BECAUSE HE WAS THE FIRST ONE DIED, AND
I DON’T BELIEVE, THAT BOTH SOULS HAVE TO BE THERE AT BIRTH, BUT BUDDHA IS LIKE THE CHRISTIAN GOD
HE CAN’T PRE EXPLAIN ANYTHING, AND ME, WELL I MADE SURE THAT DAD HAD ROBIN WILLIAMS SOUL
FOR BEING NICE TO ME, BY BEING A FATHER AND GOING TO MY CHRISTMAS PARTIES WITH MY MUM AND DAD
AND ANOTHER THING, DAD IS GIVEN THIS CREDIT, FOR NOT KICKING ME OUT, WHEN I WAS A DRUNKEN LOUT
YOU SEE THIS IS THE BEST PLACE FOR DAD, DAVID CAMPBELL MORNINGS, JIMMY BARNES GRANDDADDY
AND MY OLD FRIEND OLGA CHICK, FROM VINNIES IN SOUL LEO AND OTHER TWIN AFTER DEATH ROBIN WILLIAMS
SOULD GRADUALLY ENTERED OTHER TWIN AFTER BUDDHA KILLED HIM
BUDDHA WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS, BUT IT’S BEEN DONE NOW, ONLY COMPLICATIONS CAN STOP IT
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC