Flout Poems | Examples

Holding the Bag

If you own a dog, at some point you
Will be carrying a bag of poo,
At least if you’re considerate 
And follow laws regarding s#%*.
There are some, though, who flout the rules
And think that bagging crap’s for fools.

A joke said, aliens did land
And, struggling to understand,
Determined that the smarter race
Were not the humans, for their place
Was picking up whatever lot
Their masters left with every squat.

In any case, when doggies do
Their business, making number two,
Their owners might hold back a gag
But will be left to hold the bag,
Unless, of course, that they refuse 
And leave the mess for others’ shoes.

Not A Coward

He took the coward’s way out
Over and over they flout.
Only those who tried to end
Can comprehend the blend.
For truly committing to no return
Is rooted in constant yearn.
Trying to cross the other side
Requires the loss of pride.
The irony of being a suicide
Is the longing to survive.

The burning desire to be loved.
Hope simply caught in rope.

Do Your Worst

Perhaps you think I’m sitting here, amazed.
Egregious as the test you set me is,
the truth is, I am utterly unfazed.

Desultory, to me, this kind of quiz.    
Of course I like a challenge. Don’t we all?
God’s chosen one? The lawyer. He gets his.

Concupiscence I’ll use (I have the gall):   
attendant difficulties, I ignore.
Tough polysyllables? The merest squall 

before the sunshine. What I most adore,   
objectively, is playing with your mind:
you throw me junk, I somehow make it soar.  

So do your worst. I thrive on rotten rind.    
Opprobrium I effortlessly flout,
neglect embrace: contumely, leave behind.

The rancour’s like the Russians, put to rout, 
or North Koreans, tied up, tamed and  tazed.   
You’ll try, but you will never catch me out.

Unsent Letters

Just like George Jones when 
He Stopped Loving Her,
death, the only thing that could occur
To enact what only this loss could secure
(Killing the love he had for her)

 I've counted and underlined in red 
each time an “I love you” was said

Until the pages, written in blue ink
Resembled nothing more I think

Than a passionate patriotic prose
Red white and blue superimposed

Over words of love and promises not kept
Sprinkled liberally with the tears I've wept

For you were not nearly as noble as
That great country singer gentleman
For whom only his untimely death can
Erase his love and promises. 

All it took for you, Great Lout,
Was a younger face and lips that pout
They always say that sin will out
 One who for others don't care about
And the keeping of your word you flout

So although now I know the truth
I act more like George than I care to do
How I wish that I could forget you too
For all these letters I won't send to you
Are filled with my love in red white and blue.

Life With Pain

Life With Pain

I live with pain every day of my life
Silently praying and smiling throughout,
And cry myself to sleep every night.

How quaint I may appear, but without spite
And `rise to labour day in and day out
I live in pain every day of my life.

I hurt tearfully without reprieve in sight
And struggle the dressing and undressing bout
And cry myself to sleep every night.

Trite games people engage in with delight
And disavow all consequential rout
I live in pain every day of my life.

I resigned to fate and accept the blight
And cannot undo that which has been brought
And cry myself to sleep every night.

Healthy people expose spirits contrite
When they see my predicament and flout
I live with pain every day of my life
And cry myself to sleep every night.

Spring

Some letters seem superfluous, you’ll cede:
but with no tulips, spring would not be spring.
We’re used to think in terms of things we need.
Desiring counts for more; it bids us sing.

I find my mind more keenly focuses
on simple schemes: the white-on-green of flocks,
or under trees, those shy, but lovely, crocuses
whose joy it is to greet the equinox.

Who’d miss a ‘b’? But bees provide our fruit.
They fertilise our shrubs, to help us thrive.
‘C’ is not useful. Yet no surly brute
would brook the brine. We need both tide and hive. 

Some things, we find, we smoothly do without,
but spring’s the thing we’d never wish to flout.

Jail Bird

You spend all the day sneaking about
but you'll pay for each rule you now flout

You can bet that sweet tail,
you're the next cat to jail

and you'll sing like a bird to get out!

Knowing by becoming

Each morn we ready ourself for a bout
Flouting laws of God without feeling shame
Conscience that once whispered, begins to shout
But we heed it not, unable to tame
Ego urge that offers excuses lame
So we dwell in darkness without a clue
That deluded is ego’s claim to fame
Diffused komorebi light will not do

Partial awakenings shroud mind in doubt
Heart knows for sure when soul becomes the flame
Divine love, light and bliss begins to spout
Held flicker-free in our mind-body frame
Distanced from thrust of lust that tends to maim
Whence we garner wisdom known to but few
Knowing for our follies we are to blame
Diffused komorebi light will not do

Recognising God’s laws we ought not flout
We see God’s light in all souls as the same 
Then gentling our touch, as we go about
We breeze through life as though it is a game
Yet holding firm focus and our soul’s aim
Making our heart pure like fresh morning dew
Eternal light of Self, we thus reclaim
Diffused komorebi light will not do

Transmuted as living light, we exclaim
If thoughts be but still, we’ll get a clear view
Of heaven within heart, scriptures acclaim
Diffused komorebi light will not do

Oblivion

  When truth becomes a dying star
  and lies shine brightly as the sun
 That means we have lost the way
 as webs of deceit  are spun 

 Some remain in oblivion
 and continue to cling to the lie
 Others embrace the truth
 Using its armor to fortify

 The light  of truth continues to dim
 As the truth many flout
 But what will we do
 When the light of truth goes out?

Diesel Spray

Diesel spray for Christmas
Butt-face bar of soap for birthday, it's no small joke
On isthmus

They laughed out loud
Though on emotions 'bout to choke
You're ploughed

Watch out!
Charma evokes.
Flout~
     
Diesel spray for Christmas
Though on emotions 'bout to choke
Flout~~

Pierre Maruse

Pierre Maruse lived in a house that wasn't like any other.
     One window down lived the queen and her crown,
     Right next to her world-famous brother.
     Oh, brother of mine, I'd give you a dime!
     For Booette's kisses to you.
     Please don't pout or flout about,
     I could not afford all the love I see,
     So, give her a kiss for me!


     On the third floor down was a clutch of clowns.
     The three elves: Wish, Promise, and Hold.
     Their faces were square,
     And they were always fair.
     They would smile rather than scold.


     The fourth floor down was below the ground,
     And somewhat damp and cold.
     There lived a slew of grumps.
     In window one, Bad Breath, king of the evil smell would appear.
     Window two had China Doll,
     Whose eyes were squinched enough for two.
     Window three was the home of Min Chee,
     Of the pointy beard and rumpled nose.
     And last of all, mumbling across the hall,
     Was Cross Talk the irritable.


     Outside, in a crack of the stoop,
     Waved the sunshine flower,
     Who bloomed once, every hour!


     Pierre Maruse had a very odd house.

The Falsest Forecast

Mark’s bold forecasts were greeted with doubt
One of his hearers braving “Get out!”
Not just saying it: An exploded shout!
He’d seen, Mark with a bottle of stout,
A celebrant’s gulp and a drunk’s pout…

“Drunkard, no plant does well in harsh drought,
Just as no laborer with a gout.”

But - God! - What force had made him come out!
Hunger for the fame gods talk about
As things all men could do without,
Warning that taking it far rules flout
And whoever does “Consummate lout…
 
Ben Mark who would other’s views tout,
Letting his lips take on a pig’s snout.
He had the forecast heard from a scout
And now must beat others in a bout…

Some folk is ready for own forecast,
The farmers present for its broadcast
About Ben Mark he could still clout
For wanting to farms hurt and yield rout:
“This week, Mark shall be an outcast
On Earth as forecaster miscast.”

The Yearning Soul

Regardless of my mother's death,
One hope, obduracy, and words otiose breath

The wheels of progress never stop turning
The times shift, and my sad heart is yearning

The world continues to burst forth in beauty
To regain faith, one can never flout divine duty

Lemons had just started to turn yellow
The sky is azure, and there are plains in view

Conjointly to the bewildered trout
Somehow, the spark of passion faded out

Even as yearning is freed from restraint
I saw years slip by without one complaint

There is still plenty of love in us to pass around
I can stand with my feet sustained on the ground

And savor the peaches as a warm embrace
Where the imprint of love may leave a trace.

Written: May 26, 2023

What Groups Cannot Do Without

What could they be all about?
I'd tell you: For what we'd scout,
When our passions for them shout.
What groups cannot do without;
Once one neglects each a flout...

Cash crop farms say fertile lands,
The Builder Mason Good Sands,
Marching-to-War Soldiers: bands,
The Ring Fighter: two hands,
All Seasoned Smokers: their brands,
Newspaper Vendors: news-stands.

Book of Records: What is grand,
South Africa, now: The Rand.

A Woman Approached By a Man

At first Sheila hesitates,
Then, towards Bruce gravitates.
After all, she’s still a Miss;
The fears of Madam dismiss…

A lady gives chance to a man,
He spoils it, proclaims his bun
She’s now qualified to shout
And end it with a “Get out!”
Now, rules of decorum flout
Tell Bruce to his face “Lout!”
Now licensed to at Bruce glare;
If Bruce touches her, then flare:
Out like radio the thing blare
Or Bruce ask “So, you could dare?
Or all the while Bruce talks, bad stare!

• Short Flout Poems
• Famous Flout Poems
• Best Flout Poems
• Read Flout Poems
• Long Flout Poems
• Flout Quotes