"louts" poems
Portia and Bassanio
Brave Portia's lot was cast
Inside a mocking case of lead,
Morrocco came and passed,
Then Arragorn, arrived and left, forlorn.
A list of louts came, failed, and went
Before Bassanio played his turn...
Poor rich Portia's patience spent,
Nerissa's lady solace yearned
Antonio, Bassanio, a troubled pair
A wily shark a loan arranged,
Whose bite, though small,
Beyond compare aimed deepest
To the matters of the heart.
Antonio, about to lose his fortune,
Bemoaned the losing of a friend,
The foiling of a fortune, sunk.
Shylock, certain of his pound of flesh,
Summarily dismissed by gentile gender-bending,
Played as a fool by a woman posing as a man,
Who drove a lawyer's visage in a Portia.
All ended well, at least for "Christian" men...
Life sweetened by the turning of a Jew,
No matter his conversion at duress...
Straight away Portia and Nerissa turned back
A ******* borrower who had landed on his feet,
And sprang their traps to tame their husbands' heat.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
Rap is crap
Can be written while napping
By simply slapping words like zapping
Up alongside trapping and wrapping
And suddenly you’re a rap star
Driving an expensive car
And before your coffee is cold
You are draped with gold
Maximum bling
But it doesn’t mean a thing
Other than money because honey
If your ‘song’ lyrics are still known.
When ten years are blown by
And you are no longer a famous guy
Whose words are forgotten
It is because they are misbegotten
And liked by the current batch of airheads
Who think this is music when instead
It’s a beat they can feel in their feet
And if they don’t read the words
Printed in the album, what is heard
Is a lot of screaming and percussion
Not worth discussion in Billboard.
Someone could cut the microphone cord
And all anyone could hear would be drums
And the audience spilling their beer,
And nothing worth humming;
Lyrics for the dumbing down of the race,
A major entertainment disgrace
That destroys the ears and means nothing
That will ever be revered like Sinatra
Elvis or The Beatles have done.
It may be number one today
But when time passes away
It will be nothing but the shouts
Of a bunch of untalented louts
To an audience one has to fear
Was born with a tin ear.
Brent Kincaid
6/1/2015
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat!
But when the day’s hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat’s work is but hardly begun.
And when all the family’s in bed and asleep,
She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice—
Their behaviour’s not good and their manners not nice;
So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
She teachs them music, crocheting and tatting.
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat!
But when the day’s hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat’s work is but hardly begun.
As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
She is sure it is due to irregular diet;
And believing that nothing is done without trying,
She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
She makes them a mouse—cake of bread and dried peas,
And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that’s smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat!
But when the day’s hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat’s work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she’s formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do—
And she’s even created a Beetles’ Tattoo.
So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers—
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.
4.2k
I sing of life at state expense
a state devoid of common sense
addicted to obesity
impolitic in body weight
yet headed for austerity
as other people’s money ends
plebeian class-revolt transcends
our bureaucratic history.
They stack the monthly welfare decks
complain the service second-rate
those sullen clients, thankless louts
pajama-clad with tattooed pouts
whose girlfriends swell while babies cry;
the fathers mumble, sagging high
and wait in lines. The women try
to fool the lunar period
conceptions waxing myriad
while teenage dads discover ***
and social workers cash the checks
the daily urban nightmare is
enough to scare a nation broke
in clouds of marijuana smoke:
the cashless global mystery.
The breeders born in tropic lands
are tempted till they take the bait
no baby-momma understands
what family means, what life demands
Your undertakers overstate
in order to remunerate
your Democratic history:
a bankrupt urban mystery
the not-so-Great Society.
The ghetto sperm-donation ploy
makes babies but maintains the boy
to run around from mom to mom
slow-motion population bomb
as if to merely demonstrate
that social program funders wait
till number-crunchers aggravate
the urban teenage welfare state.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
In old south down, where the mourn mountains sweep,
There's a bridge made of wood where the willow trolls meet,
It's on midsummers eve when the sun takes a bow,
And bids bye, and farewell to the willow tree bough.
Talk of the evenings events and the mood there about,
And the damage that was caused by those lager louts,
Father willow troll talks of the courtships that passed,
Between boy trolls and lady trolls, and whether it'll last.
The baby trolls settle as the darkness descends,
And the moon shows her face to the willow troll friends,
Merry music is made from the willow tree strings,
And the food is supplied by the south down night things.
Horrid worldly events are a lifetime away,
As the humans excist by the exposure of day,
Two worlds so close, but nature keeps separate,
Never mixing together, its chosen by fate.
Pay attention and watch now, as my tales have begun,
Of a day seeking willow troll and his son.....
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 3:11 AM UTC
Well, I was tired of life; the silly folk,
The tiresome noises, all the common things
I loved once, crushed me with an iron yoke.
I longed for the cool quiet and the dark,
Under the common sod where louts and kings
Lie down, serene, unheeding, careless, stark,
Never to rise or move or feel again,
Filled with the ecstasy of being dead. . . .
I put the shining pistol to my head
And pulled the trigger hard -- I felt no pain,
No pain at all; the pistol had missed fire
I thought; then, looking at the floor, I saw
My huddled body lying there -- and awe
Swept over me. I trembled -- and looked up.
About me was -- not that, my heart's desire,
That small and dark abode of death and peace --
But all from which I sought a vain release!
The sky, the people and the staring sun
Glared at me as before. I was undone.
My last state ten times worse than was my first.
Helpless I stood, befooled, betrayed, accursed,
Fettered to Life forever, horribly;
Caught in the meshes of Eternity,
No further doors to break or bars to burst!
1.7k
The chalice golden Am I for a wine ancient
Containing ever the sacred intoxication high
Of life,existence, a procreator genius of genesis.
Wearing bikinis sexily scant,or clad fully,
I am a mother, a sister, a friend and a lover.
An enigma am I,of possession incapable,
By minds, bodies, louts or even men noble,
Being oppressed, I live free in that place divine
Unknown to power, pelf and brains crazed.
I laugh O men and smile sardonic inward
At your strengths so mightily Herculean
Desiring my feet and secrets of the Heart
Beyond you am I,your gazes greedy and
Temporary prowesses all assumed false,
My world a paradox,life a walk that talks,
Of little sensitive things full of wisdom old.
Nobly loving yet abused, worshipped reverent,
Yet beaten, ***** exploited,I shall ever be proud,
Rising as the phoenix, as a mother earth kind,
Toned lithe,creased ancient,ever more powerful.
And flowing like a river I become the ocean.
Hold me still without a desire, unpossessive,
Then my love may touch you ever so briefly.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.
Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.
In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******** wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.
The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.
In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
Hist? . . .
Through the corridor's echoes,
Louder and nearer
Comes a great shuffling of feet.
Quick, every one of you,
Strighten your quilts, and be decent!
Here's the Professor.
In he comes first
With the bright look we know,
From the broad, white brows the kind eyes
Soothing yet nerving you. Here at his elbow,
White-capped, white-aproned, the Nurse,
Towel on arm and her inkstand
Fretful with quills.
Here in the ruck, anyhow,
Surging along,
Louts, duffers, exquisites, students, and prigs--
Whiskers and foreheads, scarf-pins and spectacles--
Hustles the Class! And they ring themselves
Round the first bed, where the Chief
(His dressers and clerks at attention),
Bends in inspection already.
So shows the ring
Seen from behind round a conjurer
Doing his pitch in the street.
High shoulders, low shoulders, broad shoulders, narrow ones,
Round, square, and angular, serry and shove;
While from within a voice,
Gravely and weightily fluent,
Sounds; and then ceases; and suddenly
(Look at the stress of the shoulders!)
Out of a quiver of silence,
Over the hiss of the spray,
Comes a low cry, and the sound
Of breath quick intaken through teeth
Clenched in resolve. And the Master
Breaks from the crowd, and goes,
Wiping his hands,
To the next bed, with his pupils
Flocking and whispering behind him.
Now one can see.
Case Number One
Sits (rather pale) with his bedclothes
Stripped up, and showing his foot
(Alas for God's Image!)
Swaddled in wet, white lint
Brilliantly hideous with red.
1.4k
Do you know people
That hate people
For what they are?
Don’t invite those people
Into your car.
Do you know people
That hang with people
That steal from the poor?
Do not vote for such a boor.
Do you know people
That insist other people
Have to worship like them.
Their minds are dim.
Do you have friends
That like to steal?
Show them all
The back of your heels.
Because one thing
Will prove to be true;
They will steal from you.
Do you know folks
Who gossip madly?
Ignore them or
Treat them badly.
Then maybe some day
They will just go away.
Do you know some
Who ignore their kids;
Neglect them every day?
Tell those people off
Somehow, some way.
And if that doesn’t work,
Call the cops on the ****
Do you know some politicians
Behave like snobby patricians?
Don’t suffer and protect them.
Don’t elect them.
Ostracize them as rotten louts
Then, quickly vote them out!
Do you think you can’t
Make a change that counts?
Find these fools and pounce.
Let them know your mind.
Don’t just sit there blind.
Get mad as hell.
Then rebel!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
The sky may come out of the blanket of clouds,
& all the intellectuals of this world may become louts;
In opposite direction may these rivers flow,
& these winds may stop to blow;
But,
The love deep inside my chest,
Which you did enhance,
Oh the Prince of Preetiest Charms,
will never change...
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 1:34 AM UTC
fat-backed rat finks
roller rink
kitchen sink
thinking back to Corporal Klinger
and Klingons in small thongs
smoking star ship bongs
in a smelly pond
broken wand only sparks slightly
mightily I try to be
free from discriminatory flees
I sit on the floor and be
quiet as a church mouse
in the glass house built by my
light-skinned spouse,
the louse trounced
pouncing on the bouncing ball
falling into the dousing mall
desert grouse espousing rabble-rousers
in denim trousers
holding perennial flowers
while the gourd towers
bow their heads to the sunset
vetted Reds in beds of lead
break bread with the dead
instead of raking fall leaves
betting on getting let out
cloutless louts just about shout to be heard
and the herd moves forward
every methodically –
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
left her standing at the altar
though 'twas not his fault
his ship was to arrive the day before
but a U-boat sunk it off Iceland
prompting louts to make
light of his dark fate
saying he failed to make it to this chapel,
because he got cold feet
Londonderry Port, Ireland, 1917
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
He met her under the willow trees
That grew by the valley creek,
He hadn’t been able to visit her
For the best part of a week,
She patted her horse’s neck, and sighed,
And waited for him to say,
The one thing that she feared the most,
That he might be going away.
But in his eyes there was only love
As he reached, and kissed her hand,
‘We mustn’t be seen down here by him,
I need you to understand,
He rides abroad since he found us out,
And says he’s looking for me,
His stablemaster has said, no doubt,
I’ll hang from the nearest tree.’
‘He wouldn’t dare,’ said Jennifer Moss,
‘My father would have him lashed,
He’s always been too quick with his fists
He killed a man in the past.’
‘But never paid the ultimate price,
He thinks he’s above the law,
I’m keeping my flintlock pistol primed,
My powder dry by the door.’
‘He hasn’t said anything yet to me,
So how do you think he knows?’
‘Your stablemaster has seen us kiss
By the barn where the river flows.
Beware, my love, he’s a dangerous man,
Will settle his score with me,
But then, with you, he will seek revenge
Denial may set you free.’
‘You must deny that you care for me,
Deny that our lips have met,
Deny, deny is the only course
That may make the fool forget.’
‘My heart is bursting with love for you,
I couldn’t deny what’s true,’
‘You must, my love, or the scene is set,
I fear what he’ll do to you.’
He rode away to his hilltop farm
And he locked and barred each door,
While she rode off to the Manor House
Where her husband paced the floor.
‘I fear my wife is a Jezebel,
So the stablemaster tells.’
‘I have no interest in men,’ she said,
I’m married to one from Hell!’
He turned on her in a rage at that,
He believed his master spy,
While she continued to hear the words
Of her love, ‘Deny, Deny!’
‘I’ll spare his life if you tell the truth,
If you don’t, the man is dead,’
She weakened then and admitted it,
She once had been in his bed.
He sent his louts to the Hilltop farm
And they dragged him out in dread,
They tied him to the back of his horse
To the Manor House, they led.
The husband leered when he saw him there,
‘Well, your love has you redeemed!
I’ll let you live in your bleak despair…’
His love was hung from a beam!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
Where do society's extremists abide?
Rallies and Racists go side by side.
BBQs offer up well-done bigots;
On Jordan's lap dance the zealots.
Dogmatists rant in wild front rows,
True believers don't put on such shows?
Sexists cower in coastal Compounds,
Sects marry often in Salt Lake towns.
Troglodytes tan beneath southern suns.
Sepratists hold their final stand
On this side of The Rio Grande;
Fanatics occupy far Left and Right,
Partisans Op Eds are meant to enlight.
Mysoginists grab till they have blisters,
Huns and louts date brothers and sisters.
Philistines take our private spaces,
And whistle-blowers can't show their faces.
Of all the ists I know and abhor,
The musicist is a bigoted boor;
A connoisseur I abjure,
Who chooses tunes he insists
Are superior than my interests,
And disses tunes I like best.
So now I'll lay my needle down,
I've turned the table that goes round,
And plead musicists won't hesitate
To enjoy the tunes... don't discriminate.
May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 9:41 AM UTC
Sweet little eyes black and shiny.
Curious with my work, he's chirpy.
Hops and bops about, I trace a smile.
Beak, now agape, sings for a while.
'Rotund little Robin won't you dance some more?'.
'Skipping and pipping upon the forest floor'.
'Red little tummy containing your words'.
'Lost on my human ears, yet not unheard'.
'Little Robin, so happy, why am i not so?'
On little Robin I focus, my mind is sewn
"Be happy with your job" says Robin
"And fret you not of my boppin'"
"There's work must be done so dont you be a'stoppin'!"
"Though i might flutter from twig onto branch"
"My home is left decided by human chance"
"Should we build here or should we build there"
"Words of men against Robin, no matter how fair"
"Sweet little song you qualify my shouts?"
"Without ever considering what they're really about?"
"All I've ever seen of humans is their louts"
"So this boppin' Robin needs a'helpin' out"
"I see in thee good it is true"
"Hope; that never shall you see green land in gloom"
"Yet in back of your mind i see thoughts of doom"
Robin flutters away and I am left to wonder.
Should I leave this world now will I be thought of fonder?
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
you see i fear the hooligans of this town are doing to me like i did to dad
you see i hated what i did as a child, because everyone was nice except
the bullies who bullied me to get posers out of my television guide
even if it ruined my guide, I don’t want people bullying me in that way
you see young dudes watch TV and adults out for walks
well young dudes go fro walks occasionally and i am in young dude heaven
you see people are trying to pump my body up to make me fight them
I don’t believe in violence and i don’t believe in mucking with cowards who want to fight
you see dudes, i am not a hooligan, i am a family person
you see i hate being told to stop looking at someones baby
especially when i ain’t really looking, and i hate being forced to fight the hooligans
who pick you on the the street and start bullying you for no apparent reason
you see dudes i am a reformed man now, I hated what the men used to do to me
I would hate to be treaed like my mate because he is such a loser and he is so negative
and he probably brought it all on himself but i don’t want to be treated like him
especially when i am a nice person and i don’t want people to bully me
i had too much of that bullying in school and at the LETS course
and i remember being bullied at fyshwich TAFE, i just want people to leave me alone
whether i can fight or not, I don’t want to fight, so stop trying to fight me
you see last night i heard dad coming into my dream trying to explain exactly what he was doing
but i said, dad work on Betty, because i was just trying to be a normal kid
who was suffering through bullying all my childhood years
well, i might not have showed it, but i hated giving up my posters and i hated being with Lyle
you see he had anger management issues and i hated giving up all my money to Paula
mind you i like helping the poor, but i don’t want to be forced to, only when i have enough money
I hate when the poor drunken louts of this town treating me like a man to bully
if i don’t pay attention, and i hated being tread like a hooligan who has to be an on looker
i prefer if people would stop trying to pulley me, i don’t believe in bullying or kidnapping
I feel people are trying to keep me with the losers and if i don’t go near the losers
like the poster boy and Paula the lady asking for money
I hate being asked for money, I wish i had money, so i can be famous
I hate when people laugh at me, i have been laughed at all my life
I don’t want people to treat me like a little shy boy, or a target to tees
you see they are little wooseys for life, you see i love life
I love life more that any of these mates, ever did, and if i wanted to **** myself i would have done it now, I am not shy
i just don’t want the people at the mall to keep fighting so close to me, fighting is for the hooligans and i am not a hooligan
I was a nice boy at school and i didn’t believe in violence or bullying in anyway
If i could have that time all back, I would say NO, because i hate when people treat me like a ****** push over
i am no push over, and i wish people would leave me alone and stop treating me like a man to a fight
fighting is for the pits,and i don’t believe in violence in anyway
i prefer to be in young dude heaven which is with people who would treat me like a normal person
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
i thank you most for your amazing soul
;for how you heard how eyes would move when words
like faithandhopeandlove look less absurd
if gathered as a group of nothing's goal
your cambridge soul unfurnished but for love
for prosties with a heart, the gangster molls,
the corner louts in bars, and wealthy trolls
who wandered drunk through parlors where you moved
seeking answers asking questions beautiful
finding lonely large and self by sea
any/noone humans merely be-
ing flames of making burning blue and cool
you opened eyes of eyes and ears of ears
with words that shook the mountains of the years
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
Every movement
No matter how benign
Has its own Judas
Who won’t fall in line
Almost as if they fight
An idea that repairs
What is wrong and then
They give themselves airs.
They abuse the words
Patriotism and traitors
Naming those who catch
And watch them closely;
The guys in black hats,
Ignore the soot on their own,
Point and jeer at the others
Their brothers and sisters.
No sanity exists with them.
It’s clear they can’t think,
Don’t smell their own stink
But jink and cavort about
Like louts at a picnic
Completely forgetting that
It is they themselves who picked
The crooks they so abhor.
Once more they eviscerate
The thefts by the delegates
They sent to office to rob us
And blame it on us not them.
They are the very phlegm
In the national throat.
A herd of goats corralled
By their own crooked pals.
Then on reflection, they see
Something has gone wrong
And along the way perdition
Has set in with their permission;
They need someone to blame
So, the game of ignorant blame
Starts and lasts for years
While they have more beer.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
hi dudes
ya know these yobbos really make me sick
and i want to give them the kick
saying all this crap about supporting ****** women
it sounds so ****** un called for
just because they are drunk, does that give them an excuse
saying it’s not them talking it’s the *****
ya know i hate being a man because they say real men do this
why, why the **** would they think this
you see women look younger and heaps happier
and these drunk men have the right to verbally hurt them
you see these yobbos, you see these yobbos
throw them in the bin along with their drink
you see they have no right to say all this crap about women
you see these men go out saying we support ****
you see they support the dreaded hooded cape
they use to hide their own identity
so the women can’t see who they really are
i don’t support what these drunken men were chanting
they can **** off back to the pub they drank in
and keep their crap off the street
i believe in doing chants, but not like that
i believe in joking around, but not against women
i believe i believe in loving life, oh loving life
i don’t believe in saying any racial or ****** remarks
which could get people upset
hi dudes hi dudes, how are you doing
are you chanting about ****** women
i ****** hope not, i ****** well hope not
you see people said i was a larrikin as a child
but i never used racial or ****** actions against anyone
**** is bad **** is bad, shoot rapists into space
i ain’t paying them a compliment i ain’t paying them a compliment
i just hate **** i just hate ****
anyone who supports these drunken chants, by all due respect
should be taken off to the psych ward or jail
they got the chant off the simpsons
dig me a hole dig me a hole
and put a nerd in it and put a nerd in it
please drunken louts, STOP DOING THESE ****** CHANTS
you are getting drunk and telling women they deserve being *****
i reckon you louts deserve being locked up, but please just let me say
they are people who don’t love life
the drink is their home sweet home
and singing chants about ****** women is their meat and potatoes
i think it’s total *******
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Early every morning
Swooping squawking birds
Leave their liquid calling cards
Before the street has stirred
Where people in their track suits
Drink to overload
And stagger to their rented rooms
Down Blackpool’s Crystal Road
Where the road sweeper doesn’t sweep
And no one comes to call
Except for black clad bailiffs
Who come to take it all
The druggies & the drinkers
Share the one abode
To take away the misery
Of life on Crystal Road
The seedy little B&B’s
Fight to rent their rooms
Sharing each other’s bathroom
Sharing each other’s gloom
Screaming kids and drunken louts
Your eardrums will explode
It’s a sure way into madness
When you stay on Crystal Road
The wind blows like a hurricane
The rain falls like a flood
Washing away the *****
The debris & the blood
The hens are ****** the stags are too
They’re all in party mode
Throwing up and having ***
In rooms on Crystal Road
A swinger’s bar called ‘Paradise’
At one end of the street
Full of seedy little men
And women with no teeth
A food bank at the other
Feeds those with no abode
But even they refuse to stay
In a house on Crystal Road
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 6:13 AM UTC
Lovely little Lover, I mean Liver. Sorry, I'm a little drunk. I'd just like to say, no matter how the world phrases you, You are a perfect part of me. Just like my Heart or my Soul, the only exception being of course you work much harder for us then the rest of those louts. We are always one. My one wish is that I could filter you out, as you do me. Make our hurts go away, our silly feelings but a whisper in the breeze of life. Cause when faced with the whole picture, all we'd like is to live 3 sheets to the wind and when finally stricken with death; to die as a real animal, alone without worry as to what comes next.
I love you.
Yours, G.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
Literally, loitering litter
leaves landscapes looking
like labyrinths leading lonely
lethargic lads lacking lustre
lame lamenting Lu Lu's Lingerie
laundered locally lampooning
looser's lost leaders landing
lecherous louts leftist ledgers
legacies legally legitimised
libellous loafers lobbying
locksmiths logically liaising
loggers longliners lubriciously
lucid lookalike lunatics luring
lasses lustfully locating low
level latino's lavatories.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC
Now I Really Do Suggest...
You Be... WARY of Them...
Those Who You Think...
That You Can Call Your Friends...
Because Some Will Snitch...
Or... Start To ***** !!!
When What You Give...
Are Lyrics That HIT...
Like A TON of Bricks... !!!
And TRUTH That Works...
To Disturb Their Nerves... !!!
And Sometimes They...
Say The Type of Things...
That Clearly Convey...
That They DO NOT THINK...
And Are Far TOO QUICK...
To... LOOSEN Their Lips... !!!
Like A Traffic Cop...
Who Knows They’re WRONG...
So Should Clearly STOP.
Their Use of Dialogue... !!!
BEFORE They Drop...
Some Lines That PONG...
Like A Prostitutes’ Thong... !!!
So Be... WARY of Them... !!!
Because Right About Now...
There Is No Doubt...
That MANY A CLOWN...
Is Causing Frowns...
Because of How...
They’re Running Their Mouths... !!!
To SCREAM And SHOUT...
Like Football Louts... !!!
As If They’ve Got CLOUT...
And Can Drag You Down...
To Where They Reside...
In Their World of PRIDE...
Ignorance And Lies...
And Being... SLY... !!!
Giving EVIL EYES...
And Words That Deny...
Just Being FORTHRIGHT...
WITHOUT Being RUDE...
And Hurling ABUSE...
That Simply Fuels...
The Type of Feuds...
That... Go To Prove...
That You Need To Be Shrewd...
And Be... WARY of Them... !!!
Heads Who... PRETEND...
Who Are NOT Your Friends... !!!
In Fact Your Enemies...
Can Sometimes Be...
Those Who Cause You Less Stress...
Than These Ignorant Heads... ?!?
Who... Like Bob Said...
Know Your Deepest Secrets...
So Be... WARY of Them... !!!
These Heads Who Believe...
That They Can Speak...
To You Like A FOOL...
Who’s NOT Been Schooled...
Because They Know EVERYTHING...
That YOU Should Do... !!!
When They’re Clearly Limited...
Like A Boxer In A Cage Fighters Ring...
Who Really Has NO CLUE...
As To Which Punch To Use... ?!?
Ya Know It’s Funny To See...
How People Change...
When PRESSURES Reach...
Their... Day To Day... !!!
Because Trust When I Say...
That INCONSISTENCE...
In Their Thinking...
Starts To QUICKEN...
Just Like Politicians... !!!
And Certain Heads...
Start To Show Themselves...
To Be FAR From... Friends...
Who’ll Treat You Well...
When Pressures SWELL... !!!
So Remember The Words...
In This Poem...
Because They Simply Suggest...
That BEFORE You Get HURT...
By Their... IGNORANCE...
That You... Really Should...
“ Be... WARY of Them !!! “
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
Cody -- hey buddy -- something
I want to ask you about;
Are her eyes still ice-emeralds
And her skin like a cloud?
Do you think Allison will
Sleep with me now?
Does she still have a soft-spot
For dreamers; down-and-outs?
Red-eyed poseurs, beautiful losers,
Fuckbois, dry-drunks, and fidgeting louts?
If so send her my way
Or tell her give me a shout
I'm ****** up, I'm so lonely
They just let me out.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC