"nobs" poems
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
She's a crazy blonde and she's funny
She can do no right and she can do no wrong
An astronaut and a 2000 year old genie
In a bottle and somehow they've to get along
Barbara Eden and Larry Hagman are the stars
Of the show hilarious in awkward moments
"Is my master upset with me?" She always asks
Yet coy when he can get whatever he wants
Winks and nobs transformed in the blink of an eye
Appear or disappear "your wish is my command"
Or "master I'm at your service." She'd say but sly
Pony tailed girlish genie often can't comprehend
Master's orders disobeyed as he acts a fool
Uncorrupted innocently gazed hands in my chin
On deserted island genie ******** clad beautiful
I was too young to know to wish for to imagine
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
Yellow-tinted-noxious-lung-warf-stunk-salty-oysters-stolen-rotten.
Where am I? but the driftwood castle promenade, fish market gardens.
Congo jungle, steam ship sunken in crying river, village elder persists at warning.
Hear the fiddle burning, drug sullen quarter note steadily, it's veracious creak reverberates through me, the loveliness reveals me, and yet I cannot behold the.
Negligent narcissus subdue me, hurry up and ***** me.
Here is the birthplace of living curse, whats bottles up by living thirst, awakening face down in a black-bellied hearse.
Driven hard line through desert ambit , throttle locked at 85, no control, levers, nobs, or nodes.
Half a Cuban snuffed out poorly, sleeping in gaping jowls, I could not believe this thing even had an ash tray.
Death had bailed and locked the doors, filled the tank, and whipped the devils horse.
I worn the blinders and found my pockets stuffed with carrots and a lighter.
Then i smoked what was left without protest, I was not about to ask what came next.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
I joust myself into jovial life
Jocose tatterdemalion and stygian salaciousness
Umbrage abrogating merit like swamping locusts
The mammoth chip on shouldered kids starving for life
I'm waiting on purgatory, and I'll wait for you with knives out
Cemetry of the artist stubbed beards and pubescence in the Phoenician Lands
He said she should have left the house
Tomahawks can still cut the vineyard, make my loquacity into beer-tap poetry
Flowery, murmur, kumbaya, kalimba de la soul and all thoughts aside
You're hoping music brings the song to my speechless heart
Your dance sounds light the motionless night, only the tapping of starry footsteps
Hob-nobs, more and more, knobs of heaven's doors open to every hippie with angel hair
Crossing the wires of substrates
Sonatas and partitas can be lugubrious, yet, elegantly examined
Nocturnes, from the centuries
Of ten old centurions
Came down to the Colosseum
Gladiator enthralled the chariots of fire
I was with ten ants, burning under the microscope
Tenants of this Roman Empire
Fighting for your rights
Fighting for the people who cannot fight
For the weak, requires peace and understanding
Shiny, homeless people lost the soul to the drugs and marijuana smoke under streetlamps stretching to infinity
This earth is an orchard of flowers
Slightly plump in the middle, it's mother nature
Not zaftig, it has latitudes and longitudes
Lavish life, garish fiefdom, stretches across the bent imagination of perverse minds
Looking for a kiosk in the peak of red skies that do not know blood and aggravation
New Year's Day, the cyka cry Mother Russia and SOS
Shooting flares into the sky
To reach so low, and to reach so high
Shouting slogans, written by the poets
Passion, prejudice, sensibility, comradery these are metiers of poets
Secrets strewed across the bloodless sky
Wishful thinking tantamount to head in the clouds
The clouds have different shapes and size, the fire of the greater existence lends us words in thoughts
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 1:01 PM UTC
Who is to blame?
who are the giants who manipulate the game?
corporations ******* our lives dry and desperation, plastic bags,
deforestation
it's given me an inflammation
what in tarnation are we going to do?
You and the Who may be one and the same,
we all have some part in the terrible game
and I'm in the frame for it,
done for a little bit, sat and
watched people ****
all over nature.
The visionary drones on like he sees it with headphones on reading a script while the planet's being ripped out from under our feet,
a bit like, 'meet the Flintstones' and it's in bedrock we'll build our next homes and another generation will fill the forests, harvest vegetation, and the corporation will rise again, tell of its corporate lies again and we'll all believe that they're all sane men.
Who is to blame?
the blind men who read the bible and curse which the deaf man can't hear, but which is the worse.
Rant for a bit
and cogitate,
wait for a bit
and rant a bit more,
bits and bobs and the 'nobs hold the aces
the deck was rigged
just look at their faces.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
I get my fire-tongue from my mother.
I’m proud of the power I can hold
When I spit out flames in spite.
But sometimes I cannot tame it.
The fire starts to roar
And sparks fly as I try to hold
the flames back in-between my teeth.
I’d sew my lips together with steel thread
But the fire would melt it away carelessly.
I burn my skin and take extinguishers to my tongue
Just to keep the flames back.
I wish this power came with nobs
That could adjust the flames from high to low;
But I’ll have to tame my spit-fire the hard way.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Livin in that enthroned slum I'm dancin like a mischief creep
Steady mobbin arriving sometime-ish, I roll deep
I got a hot skull, I cause an eruption, everybody tweeked their nobs
With vices of virtue, I dont wanna hurt you shifty switch we mob
In chaotic bliss, what did I get myself into this time?
All of this grand design, the full experience
Go get some wisdom, it makes no sense. I wouldnt get myself out of this one
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
Dissected lip served in grained and pictured fixtures cracked
Spider webbed and spider trapped
Talking in forgots named of slayed littler things, as strewn about in the worms in hand
Slight of seethe in bulls horned speak
In Blackened eyes and turns of cheeks
In seek if speak of need
Weaker keyed of broken nobs in a doorless windows dream
Sing in singing
Sang to other trees
Trees of broken branches
Rootless mud of rockied roads, detoured to a cliff slide view
Face the rain with open eyes and not blink
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
Like the bankers bunch of wankers buying immunity, taking the community chest and passing go.
Monopoly funny but it's your ******* money they're moving around.
Swimming pools and Eve St Laurent,
the perfume of being right when you're wrong and
just pay the fine,
defraud and
***** the public purse.
The social spike ain't going to jail,too many posh nobs ******* on the pay trail,
feeding on the poor sure is filling,
Negotiate a settlement it doesn't matter that we're bent we're bankers,tossers,selling off our losses,calling in the debts,
millions ,billions,
we'll make a few gazillions and the pillars of society can kiss our **** we're the ******* barbie dolls,the bearded ******* billy goat trolls,
Investors **** us up,digest and get their dividend,we get,we lend,this gravy train will never end.
No shysters were injured during the making of this poem because they've got a guarantee
'steal the money and stay free'
The social spike will be the death of me and then they can steal my annuity.
********
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
I check the door locks,
the gas stove nobs,
and the tail pipe of my car.
I roll my tongue to make sure I’m not having a stroke,
and when I drink alcohol, I make sure to drink water right after.
I don’t sleep well because I have intense dreams of what I’ve done in the past or what I will do in the future.
I have a lot going on, and carry it all in the bags under my blue eyes.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 12:21 AM UTC