Best Rousers Poems
Once there was dingo, rabidly mad as he could be
who thought he was a Bruce of a man by how he spoke
But no man would call him their 'mate,' for you see...
he was a mongrel dog who pretended to be a bloke
The dingo who called himself 'Keefer,' was all talk-no bite
got caught chasing a galah (chicken) for want of a feast.
But ol' Keef got clawed by the rooster night after night
He was a drongo (fool) who thought he was a beast.
"Crikey!" I heard real men screaming from inside a bar
when they laughed at Keef wearing daks (male trousers)
He tucked his tail and ran from feathering with hot tar
"Get out, ya Hoon (hooligan)! We scorn rabble-rousers!
Keef was a loud mouth when he was blotto (inebriated)
Downing snag (sausages) and guzzling frothy (beer).
Tried to mate with a sheila (girl) but he'd been castrated.
Fair dinkum (that's true). He was neutered last year.
Some say he likes wearing female clothes, they swear.
He's such a hostile dingo, telling them to 'Rack OFF!'
But there's pictures of him in knickers (ladie's underwear).
and some of him before his little stub was sawed off.
I guess sometimes he gets to feeling clucky (maternal)
cuz he uses phrases like 'mother this and mother that.'
Looks like he'll end up some place heated and infernal
Dingo Keef's punishment for hurling all those brickbats.
A rabid dingo, that fool proved to be a fizzer (fizzled out)
His rants and threats to beat guys up were just a joke,
who was well-known as a bogan (hick) and a social lout
who accepted the truth. Ol' Keefer is now socially 'woke.'
Last I heard of him, he'd taken up with a mate called, Roo.
Another misfit creature roaming around in the outback
He played for hours each night, blowing into his digeridoo
because he couldn't stand Keef's braggin' and talkin' smack.
Roo felt relieved when the dingo, kinky Keefer disappeared
The one who'd been called 'the blunder from down under.
He'd mumbled for days about Milton Creek and Roo feared
that dingbat dingo would try to tear that town asunder.
Frankie boy, go get my gun
Here comes those
pitchfork carrying citizens
They’re so scary angry and uninformed
Holding torches, they plan on
doing more than burn crosses on our lawn
Frankie boy, load up the old shotgun
Time to send those
trespassing rabble rousers on the run
Lead pellets gonna spray paint the yard
Red is the color
of the devil’s favorite corpse calling card
Frankie boy, tap the trigger on the gun
Time for us to start blending in ...
acting American
Tap the hair trigger on the gun again
Assimilating more metal violence
will make us double blessed American
Frankie boy, you’re my only son
Time to teach you
the wisdom of the smoking gun
See all of those jackrabbits run
Some got unlucky feet,
now they’re dead and done
Frankie boy, cool the gun barrel’s hot metal skin
It’s a frosty good start to blending in ...
acting like real Americans
Frankie boy, I loved you since day one
Go gather the cadavers,
the lightning is soon gonna come
Time for you to have some brothers and sisters galore
So go tell your doctor father and Igor —
we’re Americans, we ain’t acting like monsters no more!
Dog Master
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
Fifty dogs all different in size and shape
Impossible to tell the type of breed, mate
All the dogs have a discriptive and unique name
Irene, knows them all, for none are the same
…
Only Irene can handle and work this team of dogs
They trust and respect her in the paddock, bush and bogs
Their home in the bush a stone throw from the house
Made of tin, steel and hollow logs free of louse
…
Heading, gathering or pushing in the paddocks
In the yard, on the sheep's back, the dogs are no hicks
Commands yelled out amid the noisy barking
The dog master Irene gets the job done, she is king
…
The hounds on the hill get excited and start baying
The rousers stretch their leads in the air they spring
The horse all saddled, the men go forth with guns
Time for a Kangaroo hunt down by the creek run
…
The dogs search for sheep on the plains and hills
They gather, they drive never fearing the terrain or spills
In weather of heat, snow, cold winds or driving rain
They push the mob towards their master, Irene
…
The sheep yard-ed the dogs job is done
Head for home, horse, rider and dogs as one
All the dogs patted when the chains done up
Given a feed of kangaroo and water to warm-up
…
Snug in their kennels, worn out and asleep
Oblivious to the howling wind, cold and sleet
The dogs resting for their work is never done
As their master, Irene heads home on the run
All of Islam deserves our hate
Unlike ours—this faith can’t be great
The ground zero mosque
Is an evil kiosk
Our lord says to obliterate
What’s better than the Ku Klux Klan
And frightens the bad Taliban?
Yes—with a book roast
America will toast
Those evil who read their Koran
Burning books ain’t nothing to fear
Infernos are fun with a beer
So with drink all cheer—(hip hip hooray!)
To hate is nothing qu*eer
Hitler did it—and he we revere
It was on the hanging tree, that we Romans got from the uppity Greeks, that they
pinched from the perishing Persians. A fitting death for a criminal from where else but
Galilee, great for a soldier's leave with its women and their dark dangerous eyes and
the warm sometimes wild weather but the men there weird; notorious for its pathetic
prophets. We can't ignore rabble rousers, especially at Passover too, so we hanged
him with two thieves for company making a chorus of the dying. This 'King of the Jews!
Just three, so nothing really to write home about. One wonders why our officers even
bothered when long ago in putting down Spartacus' revolt we Romans crucified five
thousand or twice as many; our famed Imperial officials must have got so tired or too
bored to be accurate; anyway they were only slaves and if we ever allow scum to win
then our great civilisation, our liberty , would be under threat and we, our families too,
being tortured to death!
A common death, still, what if it is true that this Jesus came alive after three days?
Many shrug their shoulders today as yesterday. How many for Easter Sunday lunch?
What sports on the telly? Others annoyed. Why do these pesky Christians insist
on spoiling our well deserved holiday by marching through places in 'Christian' lands
on - wait for it - 'Good Friday', with their dismal story that is not the Dawkins' truth?
Today Christianity maybe is the world's most popular religion but it all happened so
long, long ago in a land that still festers, annoying other lands, with no sign of justice
and peace in the cradle of Christianity. Yet aptly named Von Ranker, founder of the
scientific study of history, said this of Jesus Christ, "In the annals of world history He
was incomparable!"
Why have you forsaken us?
O season of bloom, what manner of transformation do you seek?
Your concealing actions, in these cloud swept skies, speaks to deception my Lord.
As your humble servant, I beg of you, to please return to your former constitution.
Which bringeth not only I, but the beasts of burden and all the buzzing creatures, plus the wondrous, soaring birds, swooping in like rabble-rousers to a long lost love!
Happiness!
Hear our cries, O season of hope, and bring forth your glory, your Manifest Destiny, to bring life and sustenance, to us all.
An exaggerated style, the zoot suit
was a statement in clothes.
Yet it fell into ill repute,
history shows.
Outlandishly flamboyant and distinct:
comedy was its roots.
Clothes came from the Harlem precinct:
called culture suits.
With their wide lapels and baggy trousers:
they were ostentatious.
And favored by rabble-rousers;
loose and spacious.
Worn by African-American youth
and poor Mexican teens.
They looked rebellious and uncouth;
much more than jeans.
Oft accessorized with a gold key chain:
and a fedora hat.
Frisco sailors showed their disdain;
armed with a bat.
More about color than flashy fashion:
racial riots broke out.
All those beat without compassion:
left little doubt.
The insurrectionists of January 6 are NOT patriots!
They are criminals of the lowest amoeba-types
Most patriots were at work improving the G.N.P.
Not carousing and malingering to air their gripes.
Can you imagine an American president colluding,
Encouraging rabble-rousers to storm the Capitol,
Giving tacit approval to hanging his vice-president?
In my opinion, his behavior was clearly lunatical!
And, he is still clamoring for the nation’s attention
Bloviating far and wide, spouting despicable lies,
I’m flabbergasted that so many are on his team
Celebrating and cheering on our nation’s demise.
A long-time presidential aficionado, I hasten to say,
That Donald Trump’s picture among our presidents
Is utterly disgraceful, a travesty of the worst kind,
He should be prosecuted to law's fullest extents.
Written July 30, 2022
Ominous Foreboding Augurs...
Innocuously incubated kindled
imperceptible dire strait
restlessness like tinder
with pinterest Deutsche agitate
barreling like a freight
train running so much
faster than an eight
track uber twittering,
rumbling, quickening and inculcate
dissension among dissolute
rabble rousers, who
do obediently initiate
rank and file will not abate,
boot re:reed out (bus) soon,
thence coalesces into ablegate
insidious encroachments
no longer patiently await...
ideal conditions to hatch
schism within parched
soil perfect for hate
mongers of democracy
breeds anarchy to facilitate
chaos, which quickly spreads
like kudzu, or wildfire Arson
Welles immediately forcing leader
of free world to abnegate,
(heard to trumpet "FORGET
THE WALL" mate),
(despite being caught in his
pink frilly underwear), to late
for Mar a Lago escape, where
formerly great wealth did
pool lightly coagulate
elite class heard faint stir of echoes,
then earsplitting clangorous louder
than an ICBM din (er bell)
rent asunder forcing
freedom of "FAKE
MEDIA" to abdicate
all the while pointing beringed
index finger to accentuate
his Taj Mahal ululation
interspersed veni, vedi,
veci stopping for spate
to coif (died in the will)
hirsute and aerate
said wind swept hairdo
pausing every now and again to snap
selfie portraits, plus
instagram loved ones to alleviate
that pompous, outsize,
and humongous ego fast deflate
ting into a shriveled up POTUS
float hissing boilerplate
hot airy premature ejaculations,
he would not capitulate
(sooner be rocketed
to Pyongyang and cell bate
good times with Kim
Jong-un to emasculate!
I now absolve myself
that aforementioned jest,
a tongue in cheek diatribe belies
my means to predict any forecast,
yet if any resemblance
of chance events
materializes between
my pablum childishness at best
there could arise fruitful market
for kitsch sheen collectors items
high as Mount Everest!
Why have you forsaken us
O season of bloom
what manner of transformation do you seek?
Your concealing actions in these cloud swept skies
speaks to deception my Lord,
As your humble servant
I beg of you to please return, to your former constitution
which bringeth not only I but the beasts of burden
and all the buzzing creatures
plus the wondrous soaring birds swooping in like rabble-rousers to a long lost love!
Hear our cries
O Season of Hope
and bring forth your Glory
your Manifest Destiny,
to bring Life and Sustenance
to us All
This is How
(the Dastardly Deed Went Down)
Brown shirts, black boots
Shaved conscience, paramilitary spooks
Marching turncoat lockstep to the Bennie Arn band,
following the Herr Leader’s double-agent command
Bearing arms for the Oval Overthrow Cause,
strangling free speech with Second Amendment clause
Rabble rousers on the mamba move at the rallying point;
a Cottonmouth King, they’re ready to seditiously anoint
This is how
dumbfounded Democracy got
buried in the ground
This is how
closed eyes saw the fascist shot
Deafen by the sound
This is how
the Dastardly Deed went down
Robo-calls for a ban on the mail-in vote,
defacto declare prez election was a hoax
Populist rebels said power got ballot stolen by the dark skins,
neo-Prussian heads blitzkrieg slid down duchy Alps Austrian
Make common the use of violent protest,
let the gunpowder lungs spark a lip resist
Alabaster grassroots cast asunder long-revered Liberties;
Con-federate voices, the militia masses do Führer appease
This is how
a confounded Democracy besieged got
buried under the ground
This is how
waxed ears heard the candle snuff shot
Deafen by the dark sound
This is treacherously how
the Dastardly Deed went down
10-13-21
When we’re young and prefer sagging trousers,
we're left-wingers, we're hippies, carousers.
Then we age and grow wise,
cause our trousers to rise,
and send soldiers to shoot rabble-rousers.
Women of the early 1900’s should have been justifiably outraged
Owned like chattel by their men
Elections were held willy nilly
And if you did not have a willy, you were eliminated
The rare woman who thought she should be
a voter, was not even a contender for a listening ear.
Treated rather like a hog, pig, or a cow.
Ostracized by both men and other women.
Women who were given a glimpse of what
could be, by stand-up liberated women like
Susan B. Anthony did not automatically jump on the bandwagon of liberation. These loud obnoxious free-thinking women were no doubt annoying to socialized women whose February was filled with valentine chocolates and love notes rather than protests and marches. Why did the uppity women insist on equal rights and the right to vote?
Many of the well-behaved women were irritated and outraged
by the uppity attitude of these liberated women, encouraging their men
to throw these loud vulgar rabble rousers into jails.
They strongly encouraged the punitive efforts enforced on these troublemakers. Glaringly on board and fearful of change, many women were not yet ready to admit they were equal in wisdom or feelings of their men.
Sadly they did not recognize their worth or take a stand against oppression and did not insist on the right to vote for many years. Adding to the confusion of our masochistic society which even today has not allowed a woman to be President.
Quarrelsome Questions
quickly quirky quips
quash quandaries quietly
quells querulous qualms
Right Results
rapid repartee
repress rhetorical rants
ribs rabble - rousers
Sweet Success
swiftly satires skill
silences sophistries spin
stuns subversive scorn
8 / 4 / 2020.
the problem with me and you
is that our tattoos
look like their tattoos
and their tattoos do
look like ours too
which keeps us all a bit confused
we were individuals when we started this
rebel rousers, outskirt kids
making a statement with how we lived
now the statement is
look at this
we now look like all the other kids
cause his tattoo and her tattoo
look like mine and your tattoo
i might just get my tattoo removed
and go back to before i knew
you don't need a tattoo
to be an individual too