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ah, christ, what a CREW:
more
poetry, always more
P O E T R Y .

if it doesn't come, coax it out with a
laxative. get your name in LIGHTS,
get it up there in
8 1/2 x 11 mimeo.

keep it coming like a miracle.

ah christ, writers are the most sickening
of all the louts!
yellow-toothed, slump-shouldered,
gutless, flea-bitten and
obvious . . . in tinker-toy rooms
with their flabby hearts
they tell us
what's wrong with the world-
as if we didn't know that a cop's club
can crack the head
and that war is a dirtier game than
marriage . . .
or down in a basement bar
hiding from a wife who doesn't appreciate him
and children he doesn't
want
he tells us that his heart is drowning in
*****. hell, all our hearts are drowning in *****,
in pork salt, in bad verse, in soggy
love.
but he thinks he's alone and
he thinks he's special and he thinks he's Rimbaud
and he thinks he's
Pound.

and death! how about death? did you know
that we all have to die? even Keats died, even
Milton!
and D. Thomas-THEY KILLED HIM, of course.
Thomas didn't want all those free drinks
all that free *****-
they . . . FORCED IT ON HIM
when they should have left him alone so he could
write write WRITE!

poets.

and there's another
type. I've met them at their country
places (don't ask me what I was doing there because
I don't know).

they were born with money and
they don't have to ***** their hands in
slaughterhouses or washing
dishes in grease joints or
driving cabs or pimping or selling ***.

this gives them time to understand
Life.

they walk in with their cocktail glass
held about heart high
and when they drink they just
sip.

you are drinking green beer which you
brought with you
because you have found out through the years
that rich ******* are tight-
they use 5 cent stamps instead of airmail
they promise to have all sorts of goodies ready
upon your arrival
from gallons of whisky to
50 cent cigars. but it's never
there.
and they HIDE their women from you-
their wives, x-wives, daughters, maids, so forth,
because they've read your poems and
figure all you want to do is **** everybody and
everything. which once might have been
true but is no longer quite
true.

and-
he WRITES TOO.
POETRY, of
course. everybody
writes
poetry.

he has plenty of time and a
postoffice box in town
and he drives there 3 or 4 times a day
looking and hoping for accepted
poems.

he thinks that poverty is a weakness of the
soul.

he thinks your mind is ill because you are
drunk all the time and have to work in a
factory 10 or 12 hours a
night.

he brings his wife in, a beauty, stolen from a
poorer rich
man.
he lets you gaze for 30 seconds
then hustles her
out. she has been crying for some
reason.

you've got 3 or 4 days to linger in the
guesthouse he says,
"come on over to dinner
sometime."
but he doesn't say when or
where. and then you find out that you are not even
IN HIS HOUSE.

you are in
ONE of his houses but
his house is somewhere
else-
you don't know
where.

he even has x-wives in some of his
houses.

his main concern is to keep his x-wives away from
you. he doesn't want to give up a
**** thing. and you can't blame him:
his x-wives are all young, stolen, kept,
talented, well-dressed, schooled, with
varying French-German accents.

and!: they
WRITE POETRY TOO. or
PAINT. or
****.

but his big problem is to get down to that mail
box in town to get back his
rejected poems
and to keep his eye on all the other mail boxes
in all his other
houses.

meanwhile, the starving Indians
sell beads and baskets in the streets of the small desert
town.

the Indians are not allowed in his houses
not so much because they are a ****-threat
but because they are
***** and
ignorant. *****? I look down at my shirt
with the beerstain on the front.
ignorant? I light a 6 cent cigar and
forget about
it.

he or they or somebody was supposed to meet me at
the
train station.

of course, they weren't
there. "We'll be there to meet the great
Poet!"

well, I looked around and didn't see any
great poet. besides it was 7 a.m. and
40 degrees. those things
happen. the trouble was there were no
bars open. nothing open. not even a
jail.

he's a poet.
he's also a doctor, a head-shrinker.
no blood involved that
way. he won't tell me whether I am crazy or
not-I don't have the
money.

he walks out with his cocktail glass
disappears for 2 hours, 3 hours,
then suddenly comes walking back in
unannounced
with the same cocktail glass
to make sure I haven't gotten hold of
something more precious than
Life itself.

my cheap green beer is killing
me. he shows heart (hurrah) and
gives me a little pill that stops my
gagging.
but nothing decent to
drink.

he'd bought a small 6 pack
for my arrival but that was gone in an
hour and 15
minutes.

"I'll buy you barrels of beer," he had
said.

I used his phone (one of his phones)
to get deliveries of beer and
cheap whisky. the town was ten miles away,
downhill. I peeled my poor dollars from my poor
roll. and the boy needed a tip, of
course.

the way it was shaping up I could see that I was
hardly Dylan Thomas yet, not even
Robert Creeley. certainly Creeley wouldn't have
had beerstains on his
shirt.

anyhow, when I finally got hold of one of his
x-wives I was too drunk to
make it.

scared too. sure, I imagined him peering
through the window-
he didn't want to give up a **** thing-
and
leveling the luger while I was
working
while "The March to the Gallows" was playing over
the Muzak
and shooting me in the *** first and
my poor brain
later.

"an intruder," I could hear him telling them,
"ravishing one of my helpless x-wives."

I see him published in some of the magazines
now. not very good stuff.

a poem about me
too: the ******.

the ****** whines too much. the ****** whines about his
country, other countries, all countries, the ******
works overtime in a factory like a fool, among other
fools with "pre-drained spirits."
the ****** drinks seas of green beer
full of acid. the ****** has an ulcerated
hemorrhoid. the ****** picks on ****
"fragile ****." the ****** hates his
wife, hates his daughter. his daughter will become
an alcoholic, a *******. the ****** has an
"obese burned out wife." the ****** has a
spastic gut. the ****** has a
"****** brain."

thank you, Doctor (and poet). any charge for
this? I know I still owe you for the
pill.

Your poem is not too good
but at least I got your starch up.
most of your stuff is about as lively as a
wet and deflated
beachball. but it is your round, you've won a round.
going to invite me out this
Summer? I might scrape up
trainfare. got an Indian friend who'd like to meet
you and yours. he swears he's got the biggest
pecker in the state of California.

and guess what?
he writes
POETRY
too!
Yenson Aug 2018
Welcome to the Alpha cowards who are faceless and their cowardly gangs,
The raggle taggles scums who live in sewers and gutters and crawl out to spew their putrid innards or cast mud as they are wont to do. The stinking Bullies of the West, the fascists and Racists of Modern Politics, Liars and shysters, deluded sickos.  

Hail the Red Loony - Hail the Uber chavs of Chavs-ville, the deluded warriors of Wigan, the ******* pigs of Animal Farm,  the Baldrick's of Blighty, the Prophets and Saviors of the poor Oppressed malcontents, the Asinine Numpty Controller of Heraldry, the bungling vacuous Stalinist thugs, the famed carriers of the famed and ridiculous owners micro-penises and laughable quick shot minute men lovers, with  their Fem-fresh free zone females.

Hail the Bogus Thieving Red Devils and the Psychos Uber Slanderers and Shitegangs of the Western Socialist muppets, to name a few of their inglorious tags. Hail the Shameless Red flag wavers. who sexually harass females members and are only there for what they can get while fooling all they are comrades and for the people.

Now that the Jews have exposed you and shown all that you're the imbecilic Haters of successful and hardworking people, the maggots that you are, you can concentrate more on playing with the mind of that Black Prince, that is putting you and your poor brainwashed and ******* gabble of followers, to shame.

How the mindless can play mind games is of course, an anomaly best understood by the Mindless themselves, but then since when do psychotic, deluded, hallucinating, proven in-adequate and sick fantasists, those education- avoiding, opportunities-shy ( why should we make use of all the opportunities offered to us, why should we try and earn an honest living and make something of ourselves, No! we are the socialist 'working class',

We have the Welfare system created specially for us, we don't pick strawberries or work on the farm like some poor Poles, we don't serve in Hotels and say 'sir' to some ****** Johnny Foreigner, lets leave that to the Jews, Asians, Eastern Europeans and Africans ), we are free hedonistic, drunken louts and yobs and we don't care.

We hate those that believe in hard work and striving to be successful, we do not like clean, honest law-abiding people, we will bring them down to our level, we are all equal, that's democracy. We will campaign against good people and try and drive them mad, we will slander them and give them grief, We Never let the facts and truths get in the way of an asinine campaign against decent people with aspirations and sensibilities. We are mindless and irrationality, envy, jealousy, pettiness and irrational hatred is our game, I dare profess to all you Blue Conservatives.  

So go luxuriate in your mediocrity of mind, body and soul, go do your hating, that's what Haters do, get on with your lies, smears and slander, what else do you have, after all your whole lives are one big facade and you are masters of superficiality, even your mothers wouldn't tell you all the truth to your faces. You are shameless cowards, internationally recognized bullies and pointless anachronisms  in this days and age.    

Why not save your fears, energy, expenses and time before slithering around performing your anodyne 'street theater' and posting various fake profiles, or presenting the fowl putrid nonsensical deluded fantasies,  thinking compound 24 carats fools like you and your ***-wipes, can shape opinions or influence sane minds.  However I do appreciate this fact will be too much to comprehend by deluded psychos and brain washed simpletons, so please continue amusing yourselves and displaying your abject and pitiful ignorance, your vacuous minds needs useless stimulation.

Hail the  Hail the Reds Devils hahaha.....hahaha.....hahahaha...oh...oh....hahaha...Hail the Classic ***** of The Red Devils...hahaha hahaha hahaha. Hail the simplistic sense of power of anodyne oppositions.
Don Bouchard Apr 2014
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.
Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
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
Minerva now put it in Penelope’s mind to make the suitors try
their skill with the bow and with the iron axes, in contest among
themselves, as a means of bringing about their destruction. She went
upstairs and got the store room key, which was made of bronze and
had a handle of ivory; she then went with her maidens into the store
room at the end of the house, where her husband’s treasures of gold,
bronze, and wrought iron were kept, and where was also his bow, and
the quiver full of deadly arrows that had been given him by a friend
whom he had met in Lacedaemon—Iphitus the son of Eurytus. The two
fell in with one another in Messene at the house of Ortilochus,
where Ulysses was staying in order to recover a debt that was owing
from the whole people; for the Messenians had carried off three
hundred sheep from Ithaca, and had sailed away with them and with
their shepherds. In quest of these Ulysses took a long journey while
still quite young, for his father and the other chieftains sent him on
a mission to recover them. Iphitus had gone there also to try and
get back twelve brood mares that he had lost, and the mule foals
that were running with them. These mares were the death of him in
the end, for when he went to the house of Jove’s son, mighty Hercules,
who performed such prodigies of valour, Hercules to his shame killed
him, though he was his guest, for he feared not heaven’s vengeance,
nor yet respected his own table which he had set before Iphitus, but
killed him in spite of everything, and kept the mares himself. It
was when claiming these that Iphitus met Ulysses, and gave him the bow
which mighty Eurytus had been used to carry, and which on his death
had been left by him to his son. Ulysses gave him in return a sword
and a spear, and this was the beginning of a fast friendship, although
they never visited at one another’s houses, for Jove’s son Hercules
killed Iphitus ere they could do so. This bow, then, given him by
Iphitus, had not been taken with him by Ulysses when he sailed for
Troy; he had used it so long as he had been at home, but had left it
behind as having been a keepsake from a valued friend.
  Penelope presently reached the oak threshold of the store room;
the carpenter had planed this duly, and had drawn a line on it so as
to get it quite straight; he had then set the door posts into it and
hung the doors. She loosed the strap from the handle of the door,
put in the key, and drove it straight home to shoot back the bolts
that held the doors; these flew open with a noise like a bull
bellowing in a meadow, and Penelope stepped upon the raised
platform, where the chests stood in which the fair linen and clothes
were laid by along with fragrant herbs: reaching thence, she took down
the bow with its bow case from the peg on which it hung. She sat
down with it on her knees, weeping bitterly as she took the bow out of
its case, and when her tears had relieved her, she went to the
cloister where the suitors were, carrying the bow and the quiver, with
the many deadly arrows that were inside it. Along with her came her
maidens, bearing a chest that contained much iron and bronze which her
husband had won as prizes. When she reached the suitors, she stood
by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister,
holding a veil before her face, and with a maid on either side of her.
Then she said:
  “Listen to me you suitors, who persist in abusing the hospitality of
this house because its owner has been long absent, and without other
pretext than that you want to marry me; this, then, being the prize
that you are contending for, I will bring out the mighty bow of
Ulysses, and whomsoever of you shall string it most easily and send
his arrow through each one of twelve axes, him will I follow and
quit this house of my lawful husband, so goodly, and so abounding in
wealth. But even so I doubt not that I shall remember it in my
dreams.”
  As she spoke, she told Eumaeus to set the bow and the pieces of iron
before the suitors, and Eumaeus wept as he took them to do as she
had bidden him. Hard by, the stockman wept also when he saw his
master’s bow, but Antinous scolded them. “You country louts,” said he,
“silly simpletons; why should you add to the sorrows of your
mistress by crying in this way? She has enough to grieve her in the
loss of her husband; sit still, therefore, and eat your dinners in
silence, or go outside if you want to cry, and leave the bow behind
you. We suitors shall have to contend for it with might and main,
for we shall find it no light matter to string such a bow as this
is. There is not a man of us all who is such another as Ulysses; for I
have seen him and remember him, though I was then only a child.”
  This was what he said, but all the time he was expecting to be
able to string the bow and shoot through the iron, whereas in fact
he was to be the first that should taste of the arrows from the
hands of Ulysses, whom he was dishonouring in his own house—egging
the others on to do so also.
  Then Telemachus spoke. “Great heavens!” he exclaimed, “Jove must
have robbed me of my senses. Here is my dear and excellent mother
saying she will quit this house and marry again, yet I am laughing and
enjoying myself as though there were nothing happening. But,
suitors, as the contest has been agreed upon, let it go forward. It is
for a woman whose peer is not to be found in Pylos, Argos, or
Mycene, nor yet in Ithaca nor on the mainland. You know this as well
as I do; what need have I to speak in praise of my mother? Come on,
then, make no excuses for delay, but let us see whether you can string
the bow or no. I too will make trial of it, for if I can string it and
shoot through the iron, I shall not suffer my mother to quit this
house with a stranger, not if I can win the prizes which my father won
before me.”
  As he spoke he sprang from his seat, threw his crimson cloak from
him, and took his sword from his shoulder. First he set the axes in
a row, in a long groove which he had dug for them, and had Wade
straight by line. Then he stamped the earth tight round them, and
everyone was surprised when they saw him set up so orderly, though
he had never seen anything of the kind before. This done, he went on
to the pavement to make trial of the bow; thrice did he tug at it,
trying with all his might to draw the string, and thrice he had to
leave off, though he had hoped to string the bow and shoot through the
iron. He was trying for the fourth time, and would have strung it
had not Ulysses made a sign to check him in spite of all his
eagerness. So he said:
  “Alas! I shall either be always feeble and of no prowess, or I am
too young, and have not yet reached my full strength so as to be
able to hold my own if any one attacks me. You others, therefore,
who are stronger than I, make trial of the bow and get this contest
settled.”
  On this he put the bow down, letting it lean against the door
[that led into the house] with the arrow standing against the top of
the bow. Then he sat down on the seat from which he had risen, and
Antinous said:
  “Come on each of you in his turn, going towards the right from the
place at which the. cupbearer begins when he is handing round the
wine.”
  The rest agreed, and Leiodes son of OEnops was the first to rise. He
was sacrificial priest to the suitors, and sat in the corner near
the mixing-bowl. He was the only man who hated their evil deeds and
was indignant with the others. He was now the first to take the bow
and arrow, so he went on to the pavement to make his trial, but he
could not string the bow, for his hands were weak and unused to hard
work, they therefore soon grew tired, and he said to the suitors,
“My friends, I cannot string it; let another have it; this bow shall
take the life and soul out of many a chief among us, for it is
better to die than to live after having missed the prize that we
have so long striven for, and which has brought us so long together.
Some one of us is even now hoping and praying that he may marry
Penelope, but when he has seen this bow and tried it, let him woo
and make bridal offerings to some other woman, and let Penelope
marry whoever makes her the best offer and whose lot it is to win
her.”
  On this he put the bow down, letting it lean against the door,
with the arrow standing against the tip of the bow. Then he took his
seat again on the seat from which he had risen; and Antinous rebuked
him saying:
  “Leiodes, what are you talking about? Your words are monstrous and
intolerable; it makes me angry to listen to you. Shall, then, this bow
take the life of many a chief among us, merely because you cannot bend
it yourself? True, you were not born to be an archer, but there are
others who will soon string it.”
  Then he said to Melanthius the goatherd, “Look sharp, light a fire
in the court, and set a seat hard by with a sheep skin on it; bring us
also a large ball of lard, from what they have in the house. Let us
warm the bow and grease it we will then make trial of it again, and
bring the contest to an end.”
  Melanthius lit the fire, and set a seat covered with sheep skins
beside it. He also brought a great ball of lard from what they had
in the house, and the suitors warmed the bow and again made trial of
it, but they were none of them nearly strong enough to string it.
Nevertheless there still remained Antinous and Eurymachus, who were
the ringleaders among the suitors and much the foremost among them
all.
  Then the swineherd and the stockman left the cloisters together, and
Ulysses followed them. When they had got outside the gates and the
outer yard, Ulysses said to them quietly:
  “Stockman, and you swineherd, I have something in my mind which I am
in doubt whether to say or no; but I think I will say it. What
manner of men would you be to stand by Ulysses, if some god should
bring him back here all of a sudden? Say which you are disposed to do-
to side with the suitors, or with Ulysses?”
  “Father Jove,” answered the stockman, “would indeed that you might
so ordain it. If some god were but to bring Ulysses back, you should
see with what might and main I would fight for him.”
  In like words Eumaeus prayed to all the gods that Ulysses might
return; when, therefore, he saw for certain what mind they were of,
Ulysses said, “It is I, Ulysses, who am here. I have suffered much,
but at last, in the twentieth year, I am come back to my own
country. I find that you two alone of all my servants are glad that
I should do so, for I have not heard any of the others praying for
my return. To you two, therefore, will I unfold the truth as it
shall be. If heaven shall deliver the suitors into my hands, I will
find wives for both of you, will give you house and holding close to
my own, and you shall be to me as though you were brothers and friends
of Telemachus. I will now give you convincing proofs that you may know
me and be assured. See, here is the scar from the boar’s tooth that
ripped me when I was out hunting on Mount Parnassus with the sons of
Autolycus.”
  As he spoke he drew his rags aside from the great scar, and when
they had examined it thoroughly, they both of them wept about Ulysses,
threw their arms round him and kissed his head and shoulders, while
Ulysses kissed their hands and faces in return. The sun would have
gone down upon their mourning if Ulysses had not checked them and
said:
  “Cease your weeping, lest some one should come outside and see us,
and tell those who a are within. When you go in, do so separately, not
both together; I will go first, and do you follow afterwards; Let this
moreover be the token between us; the suitors will all of them try
to prevent me from getting hold of the bow and quiver; do you,
therefore, Eumaeus, place it in my hands when you are carrying it
about, and tell the women to close the doors of their apartment. If
they hear any groaning or uproar as of men fighting about the house,
they must not come out; they must keep quiet, and stay where they
are at their work. And I charge you, Philoetius, to make fast the
doors of the outer court, and to bind them securely at once.”
  When he had thus spoken, he went back to the house and took the seat
that he had left. Presently, his two servants followed him inside.
  At this moment the bow was in the hands of Eurymachus, who was
warming it by the fire, but even so he could not string it, and he was
greatly grieved. He heaved a deep sigh and said, “I grieve for
myself and for us all; I grieve that I shall have to forgo the
marriage, but I do not care nearly so much about this, for there are
plenty of other women in Ithaca and elsewhere; what I feel most is the
fact of our being so inferior to Ulysses in strength that we cannot
string his bow. This will disgrace us in the eyes of those who are yet
unborn.”
  “It shall not be so, Eurymachus,” said Antinous, “and you know it
yourself. To-day is the feast of Apollo throughout all the land; who
can string a bow on such a day as this? Put it on one side—as for the
axes they can stay where they are, for no one is likely to come to the
house and take them away: let the cupbearer go round with his cups,
that we may make our drink-offerings and drop this matter of the
bow; we will tell Melanthius to bring us in some goats to-morrow-
the best he has; we can then offer thigh bones to Apollo the mighty
archer, and again make trial of the bow, so as to bring the contest to
an end.”
  The rest approved his words, and thereon men servants poured water
over the hands of the guests, while pages filled the mixing-bowls with
wine and water and handed it round after giving every man his
drink-offering. Then, when they had made their offerings and had drunk
each as much as he desired, Ulysses craftily said:
  “Suitors of the illustrious queen, listen that I may speak even as I
am minded. I appeal more especially to Eurymachus, and to Antinous who
has just spoken with so much reason. Cease shooting for the present
and leave the matter to the gods, but in the morning let heaven give
victory to whom it will. For the moment, however, give me the bow that
I may prove the power of my hands among you all, and see whether I
still have as much strength as I used to have, or whether travel and
neglect have made an end of it.”
  This made them all very angry, for they feared he might string the
bow; Antinous therefore rebuked him fiercely saying, “Wretched
creature, you have not so much as a grain of sense in your whole body;
you ought to think yourself lucky in being allowed to dine unharmed
among your betters, without having any smaller portion served you than
we others have had, and in being allowed to hear our conversation.
No other beggar or stranger has been allowed to hear what we say among
ourselves; the wine must have been doing you a mischief, as it does
with all those drink immoderately. It was wine that inflamed the
Centaur Eurytion when he was staying with Peirithous among the
Lapithae. When the wine had got into his head he went mad and did
ill deeds about the house of Peirithous; this angered the heroes who
were there assembled, so they rushed at him and cut off his ears and
nostrils; then they dragged him through the doorway out of the
house, so he went away crazed, and bore the burden of his crime,
bereft of understanding. Henceforth, therefore, there was war
between mankind and the centaurs, but he brought it upon himself
through his own drunkenness. In like manner I can tell you that it
will go hardly with you if you string the bow: you will find no
mercy from any one here, for we shall at once ship you off to king
Echetus, who kills every one that comes near him: you will never get
away alive, so drink and keep quiet without getting into a quarrel
with men younger than yourself.”
  Penelope then spoke to him. “Antinous,” said she, “it is not right
that you should ill-treat any guest of Telemachus who comes to this
house. If the stranger should prove strong enough to string the mighty
bow of Ulysses, can you suppose that he would take me home with him
and make me his wife? Even the man hi
ConnectHook Apr 2016
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 *****-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.
♂✿∅☢♂☯✰✿☠♂☯✰
a  poem a day for NaPoWriMo2016
            ✿
www.connecthook.wordpress.com
            ☮
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.
Ben Brinkburn Jan 2013
Forget the post code lottery
and go for some sort of
Middle England coterie
beware of the railway towns
and all they used to promise
avoid the light industrial towns
the ones that make biscuits
and plastic windows and trap your
children in call centres
the comfort of non-jobs
selling nothing to people who
are nonetheless convinced
they need it
and avoid cities with cathedrals
and universities
they are artifice personified they
have only one aim to debilitate you
with pretense and false hope
and sophistry deep in Middle England and
Do Not Go To Cities With Ports
they are as thieves in the night
forever looking for opportunity
eternally gazing outward beyond
the boundary of shores unwaveringly
scathing of convention and respectable
behaviour
And ignore dormitory towns exurbia and similar
designed only to eat and sleep in
and cut the grass although
the swinging scene
may have its diversions
and then those army towns cowering
below the shambling spectre of
beaten squaddie pubs concrete and
brick boxes with overflowing bottle banks
and what of flower filled market towns
with neat shops and bi-weekly markets
and Friday night louts and teeming
takeaways and broken windows but
you can escape
to a suburban bungalow
lock the gate feed the carp
watch wildlife progammes and
laugh
then running running running
you find
a suitable small mountain village
where you unwittingly
unexpectedly after stroking a
black and white cat
get run over by a drunken postman
in a neat
little red van.
eileen mcgreevy Jul 2010
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.....
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!
YOU GOTTA HAVE A BEER ON AUSTRALIA DAY, MATEY



HI DUDES, IT’S JANUARY 26TH, AND WE MUST CELEBRATE

THE DAY WE WERE INVADED BY CONVICTS, YA SEE MATE

WE ALL LIVE IN THE CONVICT COLONY, THE CONVICT COLONY THE CONVICT COLONY

AND BECAUSE OF THAT IT’S IN OUR CULTURE TO DRINK

JUST LIKE I DID, I HEAR MATES SAYING, YOU GOTTA HAVE A BEER FOR AUSTRALIA DAY, WHY

WHAT IS WRONG WITH COKE, COKE IS FROM AUSTRALIA

AND THE MEN SAID, WE MUST DRINK BEER, WE MUST DRINK BEER

WE ARE DESCENDANT FROM CONVICTS, AND IT’S IN OUR CULTURE TO DRINK

WE LIVE IN THE CONVICT COLONY

OH YEAH, BOW BOW, WE DRINK EVERY BEER UNDER THE TABLE, AND GET BLIND

YEAHH GET WASTED, MAN, WASTED, MAN

AND THEN COOK A BEAUTIFUL LAMB CHOP ON THE BBQ, DUDES

YEAH IT SOUNDS RADICAL, SO RADICAL, LIVING IN AUSTRALIA, WITH A CAN OF BEER AND A NICE LAMB

EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME, THERE ARE 2 LAMBS HERE

YEAH, IF THEY ARE BOTHERING YA, WE’LL HAVE ‘EM REMOVED

WE ALL LIVE IN THE CONVICT COLONY, THE CONVICT COLONY

THE ONLY REASON I LIKE AUSTRALIA DAY IF, IS THE NICE AUSTRALIA DAY BBQ BREAKFAST AT COMMONWEALTH PARK, IT SOUNDS SO RAD

AUSTRALIANS DRINK THEIR BEER, AND PROUD TO DRINK THEIR BEER

GET BLIND AND END UP IN THE DITCH, I LIKE HOW AUSTRALIANS PARTY ON AUSTRALIA DAY, IT’S COOL

BUT THEN THEY STILL THINK IT’S COOL TO DRIVE HOME DRUNK, NO IT’S NOT COOL TO DRIVE HOME DRUNK

BUDDHA DOESN’T APPROVE OF DRINKING LOUTS, EITHER DOES CRONUS, WHO IS ME

NO, I BELIEVE IN A GOOD CLEAN PARTY, A PARTY, WHERE EVERYONE, I MEAN EVERYONE RICH OR POOR ARE SAFE

I AM THE COOL PEOPLE’S LITTLE SKATEGOAT, AND I AM A BIT OF A SILLY GOAT

CAUSE, I KNOW MY STORIES ARE HELPING A LOT OF PEOPLE

WE DO LIVE HERE IN AUSTRALIA, MATE, WHERE WE LIVE IN A CULTURE OF REAL COOL PARTY GOERS

AND THE PROBLEM IS, THEY TAKE THE PARTY ON TO BEING KILLED OR KILLING SOME INNOCENT FAMILY

AND CRONUS, WHO IS ME DOESN’T ALOOW THIS, I AM NO OLD FOGIE I JUST CARE FOR THE WELLBEING OF MY FELLOW, MAN

I LIKE THE IDEA, OF PEOPLE LEAVINGT EACH OTHER ALONE, IF I DON’T WANT TO DRINK WITH YOU, I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO

CARE FOR YA FELLOW MAN, THAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN MY PHILOSOPHY

I RESPECT YOU AS LONG AS YOU FOLLOW THE PARTY CODE, LIKE ME

WE ALL LIVE IN THE CONVICT COLONY, THE CONVICT COLONY THE CONVICT COLONY

IT’S IN AUSTRALIA’S CULTURE TO HAVE A FEW BEERS, YEAH MATE YEAH YEAH I’M RAD

AND THEN MR FRED HAMILTON, WHO IS A FIRM BELIEVER IN POOR RIGHTS

SAW SOME DRUNKS PICKING ON A HOMELESS MAN, SAYING, YOU ARE NOT A REGULAR AUSTRALIAN, YOU HAVEN’T GOT A BEER

AND FRED CAME UP AND SAID, YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU BUNCH OF CRAZY DRUNKS

HE IS HOMELESS, HE CAN’T AFFORD BEER, HE CAN’T AFRORD WINE, LEAVE HIM ALONE AND FRED GAVE THE HOMELESS MAN $50 TO SPEND HOW HE SEES FIT

FRED SANG WE ALL LIVE IN THE CONVICT COLONY, THE CONVICT COLONY THE CONVICT COLONY

IT’S IN OUR CULTURE IN AUSTRALIA TO DRINK AND TREAT THE HOMELESS PEOPLE LIKE DIRT, THE HOMELESS ARE JUST TRYING TO FIT IN

AND THEY BECAUSE OF TONY ABBOTT, THEY ARE FORCED TO EAT THEIR ******* FROM A BIN

THEY ARE TRYING TO FIT IN, TO SOCIETY, WHEN NOBODY GIVES A WINK

WE ALL LIVE IN THE CONVICT COLONY, THE CONVICT COLONY THE CONVICT COLONY

IT’S IN AUSTRALIA’S CULTURE TO DRINK ON AUSTRALIA DAY, HAVE A BEER, AND GET INTO A FIGHT, MAKES YOU A REAL AUSTRALIAN, I DON’T BELIEVE IN VIOLENCE IN THAT WAY

ENJOY DRINKING AND GETTING ******, BUT I SAY, NO VIOLENCE, I SAY NO VIOLENCE

WHY DO YOU WANT VIOLENCE ANY WAY, PEOPLE JUST END UP GETTING HURT, IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE

IF YA WANNA FIGHT, TAKE UP BOXING, WHERE THE OTHER PERSON WANTS TO FIGHT ALSO

TOO MANY PEOPLE GET KILLED FROM ILLEGAL FIGHTING, TOO MANY PEOPLE GET KILLED FROM ILLEGAL FIGHTING TOO MANY PEOPLE GET KILLED FROM ILLEGAL FIGHTING

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH CELEBRATING AUSTRALIA DAY, MATE, BUT KEEP THE VIOLENCE OFF THE STREET, UMMMMMMM ME WHO IS CRONUS HAS SPOKEN AND SPOKEN I SHALL

WE ALL LIVE IN THE CONVICT COLONY THE CONVICT COLONY THE CONVICT COLONY

IT’S AUSTRALIA DAY MATE, BY ALL MEANS PARTY, HAVE A BBQ, ENJOY THE FESTIVITIIES, JUST LIKE ME

BUT BE GOOD PEOPLE, YOU ****** WELL SEE

AND THEN I WALKED IN THE ROOM, CRACKED OPEN A COKE CAN AND SAY HAPPY AUSTRALIA DAY EVERYONE, AND BE GOOD
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.
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.
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.
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 ******* 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 *******
Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
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 ****** 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!
spysgrandson May 2017
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
two minute poem--two minute poem has no guidelines other than it must be written in 2 minutes or less--editing is permitted, but no words may be added after the initial 2 minutes
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
Shruti Dadhich Feb 2019
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...
My Prince of Preetiest Charms is MOON!!!:-)
Sam Temple May 2015
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 –
Emmy Mar 2018
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?
Francie Lynch May 2023
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.
I needed to get this on paper. I have a friend who is a musicist. He drides Motown, blues, jazz, classical, country, hip hop, rap... you name it. All he listens to is folk and classic rock.
Mark Sep 2019
Yo, word up with you, my drug running mule  
It'll cost $30.00 ok? I've got it right here, so don't drool  
Put that **** in your mouth, too *****  
Yo get bumped with that ****, yo aren't gonna get any Cuban cigar  
Done, another bag of crack, sold  
Be on ya way, you've been told  
 
I'm Skillet and I'm 19, I've been doing this ****, since I was 15, man  
You've gotta feed yourself, 'cos nobody else going to be able to do it, like I can  
We grew up without mothers and fathers around us, do you feel me?
You've got to be your own father figure and steal, you see  
Get your own money out here, however you like  
'Cos no one's gonna to give it to you, not even brother Mike  
  
I get crack on credit, and sell it for $10.00 a rock  
After a long day of moving product, back at the trap house, we use a big lock  
The real work begins, splitting the take. 1st up, the crew take their cut  
Between the 3 of us, we're gonna split a $400 profit, off the ounce  
It works out at about $13.00 an hour, not bad for a daily rut  
We count on volume to make ends meet, for me and my louts  
 
It's not too much, but it's about the quick flip  
We aren't really thinking about making too much money, it's just a real trip  
We're worried about getting it in and getting it off  
So we can stay with it, you feel me you toff?  
The rest of the cash goes up the chain, to the crews drug supplier  
He's a regional distributor, that works with the cartel, it's a no brainer  
  
You have to pay him or you'll be six feet under, you'll be smoke man  
******* smoking for that account man and his Mexican clan  
Where we're from you've gotta keep it with you, not he  
Or somebody will run in your trap or something, you feel me?  
In 2014 there were over 2,500 shootings in Chicagoland  
Everybody out here are either thirsty, robbers, killers or Alice in ******* wonderland  
 
You gotta keep your eyes open for the haters, you might see  
They'll try and take you down, 'cos they ain't eating, you feel me?  
It's all out war everywhere, except ******* communist North Vietnam  
That's why we call it Chiraq, because it's so ****** up over here, ****  
You don't know where it's coming from, man  
Your ***** would cross you for a couple of bucks  
That's how it is, yo gotta keep your pistol close, even when you call the ******* waiter  
If not, ya gonna get got, much sooner, than later.  
 
Skillets homeboy Breeze, is always ready with a gun  
He's had plenty of practice and not just for fun  
I use this all the time. ****, if I had to swap with someone, that belong  
**** be getting hot, you can't keep the hot ones for too long  
There's my baby though, as McDonalds say, 'I'm loving it'  
All we need is that money, man, that's all we care about and ***** ****.
Big Virge Dec 2019
These Days I'm AMAZED ... !!!
In .... " SO MANY WAYS " ... !!!

People Seem To Think ...
That Things Are OKAY ... ?!?

A Law Passed Today ...
Has Left Me ... AMAZED ... !!!

The Government Say Adoption's Okay ...
For People NOT Married And Those Who Are Gay ...

Now Let's Look At THAT ...

If You're A Man Who Likes To *** MAN ...
Where Does A Kid Fit INTO Your Stance ... ?!?

Unless Things Have CHANGED ...
In How Kids Are ... " Made " ... !?!

It Must Be ME ... !!!

But Now It Would Seem ...
Some Women Have A DIFFERENT ... " Dream " ...
of Having A Child ............. WITHOUT A Man ... ?!?

OFF To The ***** Bank To FILL UP Their Tank ...

Women Like THESE Now AMAZE Me ... !!!

They Say There's NO MEN So Become Lesbians ... ?!?

So Where's The Logic Behind Their Actions ...

But CLEARLY Some Men Have ... "little sense" ... ?!?
Here's A Story About ... One of Them ...

A Guy I Once Knew Will Give You Some Proof ...
So Check Out This Story Cos' This One Is TRUE ... !!!

We're Drinking One Night And Jokes Are In Flight ...

He Tells Us About A Night On The Town ...
He's Out In A Bar And Having A Laugh ...
But Felt Down Below Was Ready To BLOW ... !!!
He Looked For The Toilet So That He Could Go ...

He Then Saw A Sign So Moved DOUBLE TIME ... !!!!!

As He Got Close A Man Then Approached ...
The Closer He Got The Man Tried To BLOCK ... ?!?

My Mate Stepped .... ASIDE ....
When He Thought They'd COLLIDE ... !!!

Then The Door OPENED It Was Made of ... GLASS ... !!!
It Was His REFLECTION He Tried To Let ... Pass ... !?!?!?!?!

It's NOT That He Did It ...
That Made My Sides ... S P L I T ... !!!!!
  
But That He Had ... " Let " ...
These Words Pass Through His Lips ... !!!!!!
My Mates And I Sat There And Burst Into ... " FITS " ... !!!!!!!

See ... Some DO AMAZE With Things That They Say ... !!!!

It's Clear That Some Drugs Are Worse Than ******* ...
And CLEARLY Make Some People Act Quite INSANE ... !!!!!

Now Check Out This Script For More Proof of This ... !!!

My Friend's In A World With A ... " Coc'd Up Girl " ... !!!
She's Now Had His Child But Lives Pretty WILD ... !!!

She Used To LAP DANCE ... You Get The Profile ... !!!

One Night She Decides To ...
Jump In The Car But DOESN'T Go Far ... !!!

The Top of The Road To Pick Up A Curry ...
But When She Gets Home She's Clearly Quite WORRIED ... !?!

She Says To My Friend ...

"I went in the car, but when I came out, forgot where I parked !"

My Friend Said To Her ... "You're having a laugh !"

They Walked Up The Road And What Do You Know ...
The Car Was There SNIFFING A FAT LINE of Coc' ... !!!!!

Of Course That's A JOKE But Think of It Folks ...
SHE'S Raising A Kid AMAZING But ... SICK ... !!!
That's Child Gonna See Some ... AMAZING Things ... !!!

I'm Now Quite Amazed By TV Today ... !!!
And By Modern Music That FILLS Our Airwaves ... ?!?

Violence And *** Are Now The NEW FLEX ... !!!
From TV To BIG SCREEN ... To CD's With Decks ...
I'm Wondering Now What's Coming ... Next ... ?!?!?

Alcohol Now Is Fed Til' Some ... "DROWN" ... !!!
While Governments FROWN On Drunken Louts ... !!!

What Is THAT About ... !?!
Whom EXACTLY Are They Trying To Kid ... ?!?
That Laws Like THIS Will Make Young Drunks ...
Wisely RESTRAIN From Drinking Til' They Drown Their Brain ...

Things Like THIS Truly Amaze ... !!!
Cash Is CLEARLY Such Laws AIM ... !!!

Here's One More Story About A Nightclub ...
South Africans ... Aussies And Kiwis ENTER ...

An Englishman Told Me He Was Quite AMAZED ... !!!
By Things That He SAW INSIDE This Place ...

He Told Me Straight He Felt So ASHAMED ... !!!!!

He Liked A Good Drink ...
But What He SAW Made Him FEEL SICK ... !!!!!

He Witnessed Some Things He Could NOT BELIEVE ... !!!

Last Orders Had Gone But Some Wanted MORE ... !!!!!
Believe It or NOT He Said He Was SHOCKED ...
With What He THEN Saw ... !!!!!
Some People Resorted To LICKING THE FLOOR ... !!!!!!!!!!!

AMAZING ... INDEED ...
A ... DISGUSTING BREED ... !!!!!

What Kind of Germs LIVE In ... " THEIR JAWS " ... !?!?!
Be CAREFUL BEFORE ... You KISS Them Fa' SURE ... !!!
You May Get MUCH WORSE Than The  Odd COLD SORE ... !!!

See ... That's What I Mean ...
Some People Do Things That Are BEYOND Belief ... !?!

AMAZING Indeed Like ... SLAVERY ... !!!
Or LUSTING For GREED When Most Are In NEED ...
of Finding A Way To AVOID ....... Poverty ... !!!

I Guess It's Just ME Who Chooses To SEE ...
Things Such As These In How People Be ...

And INCLUDES Them IN ... " My Poetry " ......

Well I'm One of A Few Who's Quick To USE ...
AMAZING Things That People DO ... !!!

They May Seem FUNNY In DIFFERENT Ways ...
But STUNTS Like THESE Are .... REALITY .... !!!!!

Government Ways And FOOLISH DISPLAYS ...
And NOW Who Will Raise Our Children These Days ... ?!?

Sometimes Leave Me Feeling Bemused And ........

............................. " Amazed " ............................. !?!
Stories are life, and inspire in so many ways. So, from news stories to the average dude, I reflected on a few and thus, here is the piece they inspired.
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
Joel M Frye Apr 2016
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
...and for everything /
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

NaPoWriMo day 3 - a fan "letter".
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
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.
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.
Yenson Jul 2018
The tallest poppy sprout refined and majestic in rarefied inner peace

In wisdom, knowledge and truth he embraces his charismatic rays

Self-assured, confident, stoic and compassionate, sincere in truthful pleas

That duly in the service of others, our world would be a better place

Where each and all finds in true hope, their deserving nirvana undismayed

And with honest toil and gainful endeavour, bright smiles will grace every face



Alas, the land is filled with psychopaths, deviants, louts, charlatans and knaves

Mindless simpletons, arrogant buffoons, deluded malcontents, shepples and fleas

Racists, liars, Lilly-liver ed cowards, inadequate bullies and stained underclass with knives

Hedonists, drunkards, pedophiles, lying hypocritical vicars and inglorious common thieves

Fathers and mothers with no control over off-springs and hapless aged locked away in fear

Whilst the shameless cowardly reprobates, uncouth, unwashed declares, we rule the hives

And as the wont of sad degenerate mediocrities,  mesmerises a gang of fools in similar dire



Some say they are the barbarians of Europe, uncultured, arrogant, mindless, jingoistic ***** dusts

Basking at once, then denigrating a proud history made by the elites, who now patronise them

And indoors, sip iced Bollinger, nibble on caviar, and shake their saloon ed heads in disgust

The educated professionals indulge them and offer liberal platitudes, the problem is at the stem

And the pitiful ingrates, dosed on *******, hyped on beer and moonshine from a Polish den

Stagger and pounce about pathetically, and hiss through yellow uneven teeth, power to the people

"This is Democracy", they pontificate, we can terrorize the likes of the Tallest Poppy, that silly Zen



So how does one explain what 'piffling contempt' means to deranged, deluded, inadequate psychos, then

How do indulgent semi-illiterates class, limited by a benevolent nanny State see they project their angst onto better men

And vent their spleen and the frustrations of their limitations and insignificance on to others who they fear and envy.

The pain and miseries of their unfulfilled, mundane and superficial, empty lives, means others should suffer too

So again, So how does one explain what 'piffling contempt' means to deranged, deluded, inadequate psychos

How do you catch a *****, extricate the coward bully, and revive a dead brain, capable of aspirations and higher ideals
Anton Snert May 2020
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 *******’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
Ryan O'Leary Mar 2019
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.
Big Virge Sep 2021
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 !!! “
People can really be something else, so, as the poem suggest, it really is wise to.......
Yenson Sep 2019
I will tell them back in Rhodesia
that the wazungus who called themselves Superiors
who barked orders and strode around like Atlas
who took all from us because we didn't know better
who lived on the hills and never came to the shanty
who ate with silver cutlery on silver plates
and drove in cars that shone like gold
that those wazungus are cheap common liars
where I live among in their towns
they are ***** unwashed and miserable
they don't have money, steal like pikins in the shanties
they even envy us who have made it in their town
they are reduce to harassing and hounding us like street dogs
imagine a wazungu now having the time to do this
they are not all educated, infact most don't go to University
they still drink and talk *******
now they are all mostly common lot struggling in buses and queues
wearing jeans all the time, some beg for money on street corners
like the boys from Kakatoya used to do
Remember them wazungu, so principled and incorruptible
it was all a facade, they are liars, cheats, unpleasant, conniving
corrupt-able, indiscipline, unthinking, thuggish, hooliganistic louts
I wish granpa could see them and what they really are like
he used to wash and iron his suit six times to go to see Mr Ponce
the tobacco Merchant at Sanagogo Trading Post.
They're still racist and ignorant but its done underhand now
They will pick on successful conscious blacks and say they are greedy,
can you imagine wazungu who took all from us saying this
and they say its a revolution, that black man is taking from poor
they call it revolution....hahahaha....I know  you are laughing now
Ah, this is serious matter, you won't believe...
Lets talk again soon....Stay away from Federal Palace Hotel
not a good place for a black man...they destroy them there..
even if you are a paid guest....

— The End —