Long Dolt Poems
Long Dolt Poems. Below are the most popular long Dolt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dolt poems by poem length and keyword.
A Pint of lager.
I did my best
To be a middle-class person
Drank good wine
That is what people of elevated taste do
I never liked wine
Upmarket vinaigrette
I only drink beer these days
Finding my way back to my roots
Those days, when we drank big glasses of lager
And criticized a fine writer
Someone as holy as Knut Hamsun.
We wanted to impress the girls, so I wore
A French beret, a serious intellectual who read
Every article I could come across before
Voicing an opinion
So we said many stupid things
But you cannot be wise if you have
Never been a dolt.
I have lost my precious
mien, it is so
Tiring to be serious about oneself.
During my elementary, high school and college educational quest,
I struggled to do my very best on every mathematical test.
I was a "B" student in English, History and Art as I recall,
But I never mastered the mysteries of mathematics at all!
Basic arithmetic such as division and multiplication left me at sea.
Even simple addition and subtraction overwhelmed me to a degree!
Trying to conquer the times-table gave me a shocking jolt!
Alas, teachers considered me a hopeless mathematical dolt!
Geometry baffled me as to which were acute and obtuse angles,
And even more perplexing were isosceles and scalene triangles!
Beyond me were the formulas for figuring the areas of hexagons,
Trapezoids, pyramids, circles, cubes and five-sided pentagons!
Teachers told me that for my future, algebra was indispensable.
Maybe so, but variables and coefficients were incomprehensible!
My limited intellect couldn't comprehend quotients and binomials,
Nor integrers, exponents, irrational numbers and trinomials!
Needless to say, I didn't attempt calculus or trigonometry!
Those disciplines were as foreign to me as parabolic geometry!
I'm eternally grateful to that selfless, ingenioius creator,
Who eased my plight by inventing the handy calculator!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My name is Christopher Hobart,
and it would be a real safe bet
to say most of what I’ve done in life,
I have come to truly regret.
There’s lots of thing that I could blame,
I was raised in a trailer park,
my dad died of an overdose,
and mother had an evil heart.
I’m sure that all contributed,
but now that I’ve reached mid-twenties,
I have realized that in the end
my faults begin and end with me.
I regret that first cigarette,
hell, I was only twelve-years old,
I hate that I stole from people
to pay that addiction’s high toll.
I regret the first time I drank,
that it became my bosom friends,
I regret the slurs I shouted
when the court system forced its end.
I regret all the pot I smoke,
and selling it to that young kid;
smashing up that vacation home…
so many dumb things I did.
I regret smashing up three cars,
it’s a miracle nobody died,
honestly, the whole of my youth,
there’s nothing I can point to with pride.
I regret knocking up my girl
when both of us were but seventeen,
then doing the same to her best friend,
I still can remember the screams…
And though I regret those actions,
acting like such a worthless dolt,
I have to make just one thing clear:
I will never regret the result.
My girlfriend bore me a little girl,
and barely one month after her,
the ex-friend also gave to me
another cute, little daughter.
Neither was looking for children,
and signed their rights away freely,
the task of raising two young girls
fell now entirely on me.
For those first three months of so,
I’ll admit I was quite scared,
I don’t know what I would’ve done,
if my parents had not been there.
But those two girls gave me something
that I think before I did lack,
because every time I looked at them
something so wonderful looked back..
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Don’t try to reason with them
or you will be called ULTA MAGA!
Never try facts or logic to dissuade them
or you will be labeled ULTRA MAGA!!
Forget discussing social issues with them,
for you will be called a racist and an extreme
ULTRA MAGA!
Don’t you dare wear a red hat -you’re a sexist,
Irredeemable, deplorable white supremacist,
even if you’re black, that’s no excuse,
you are definitely, Irrefutably
an ULTRA MAGA!
Don’t fly the stars and stripes, own a gun,
own a truck, love the Lord,
deplore the murder of babies….
You dolt, you redneck, You Illiterate yahoo,
you’re just an ignorant ULTRA MAGA!
Never express an opposite opinion,
for that will enrage the censors,
and never tell the truth
or you will be cancelled,
deemed an ULTRA MAGA!
Know your place in this Liberal New World Order.
You’re not a globalist , you’re a rabid Nationalist.
Worse, you may even be a patriot.
You must just shut up.
Obey or be attacked by your betters.
Your beliefs are all backward.
You are an ULTRA MAGA!
Never disagree with our experts,
our corporate media,
our woke faith in more than two sexes.
Never admit that you know what a women is.
You’re a sexist, a toxic male explainer.
Shut up at once. You are ULTRA MAGA!
The economy is doing great, the earth is doomed,
don’t have children but if you do,
hand them over
to our socialist brain-washing teachers
for suitable indoctrination.
They are ours not yours,
and if you insist on home-schooling
we will dox you and ridicule your smart kids.
The southern border is Closed!
Don’t believe your lying eyes.
You will be forever known as an ULTRA MAGA!
The Constitution is old, and we should rewrite it,
so it better reflects our socialist forwards looking views.
The Supreme Court must be silenced.
Disagree and you are obviously an ULTRA MAGA!
You may only speak at the polls
(though we are working on that),
and never question if they are rigged, never.
We are watching you closely.
You, you, ULTRA MAGA!
English sonnet
I'm way down here, once more ensnared in pits of my own choice
because I picked that shovel up, my shovel of revolt.
Lord, did you hear me thrash about, unmindful of Your voice,
when I began to tunnel down, the tunnel of a dolt?
Like Jonah long ago, I plunged and trouble follows me.
While in the deep, I find myself quite paralyzed by screams.
But when the dream is done, thank God, your eyes have helped me see.
Once I awake, Your light exposes foolish, willful schemes.
If I'd not made the journey down to worry, guilt and doubt,
I could not see Your advent bright in rays of morning sun,
I would not know Your upward pull and what You're all about -
forgiveness, grace, a clear, straight path. My nights of mourning gone.
When debt and darkness, fear and flight detain me in their sway
I pause awhile to recognize - the Truth, the Light, the Way.
Save Yourself
My soul they took for all it was worth,
These demons of the underworld
Who inflicted rules I shouldn’t have shunned.
But I dismissed their advice and chose fun,
And jeered at their jest and mocked their pun.
The elements fade the tombstone’s name.
Some ask, “Who there lies in that grave?”
And I yell from the depths of hell,
“Unhappy are they who come closer;
Run away from impending disaster!”
There is no hope of ever turning back.
There is no joy to partake in, just punishment,
Obstinate fool that I was, brash and relaxed.
And now I suffer in the aftermath of my acts.
“Save yourself from such a fate!”
The stranger drew near like a vacuous dullard,
Fresh as June, without a care in the world.
If only the prying dolt realized the stakes in play
And would heed the warning I’m giving
To avoid the misfortune of dire straits,
Rather than to embark on an immutable journey
To go up there, just to be sent down here.
Horror, my friend, your eyes will see,
Irrelevant as your name will be.
I tried to escape but lost the race.
He was a handsome man with a face full of strength
We all thought he was marvelous, a king on the brink.
He will become famous, we assured one another.
He had a sultan for a father and a celebrity mother.
But is he genuine? A dolt asked me, not understanding him.
I knew she was asking not out of concern, only a fleeting whim.
He has been more than real to me, I wanted to say.
But I kept this humble opinion from her, far away.
I wanted to keep this majestic king to be to myself.
I put him in my dreams, way up high on my shelf.
I still have memories of him sweeping me away in the night.
On a marvelous magic carpet, with his arms wrapped around tight.
I open my bleary eyes,
To the beautiful sheaf of sunlight.
Book lying beside me sighs!
And whooshing sound of papers rant, as they fly by.
Baby! Why you left me without saying good bye!
What do I tell you about my epeolatry?
With people around, I can’t witter for too long.
My lust for the books is just too strong!
Slowly, I scud away at the first chance.
And skulk into books, before anyone’s glance.
Contentment latches the door; the silence is profound.
Books, joy and peace all around.
My books leave me spellbound.
Redolence of papers and ink so sound,
It creeps in like ethanol into my mind.
Fragrance of musty papers takes my charge, as it surrounds.
Inside my self is a loquacious place.
Cogent and scrupulous, solving mysteries with authors pace.
Don’t you think that I am a dolt!
It is just that the story, slowly unfolds.
Yes! I feel deeply, I feel fiercely.
Yes! I emend, I recapitulate and iterate.
Yes! I do read and re read.
Yes! I am a book worm and this is my treat.
08/03/2019
The Book Worm Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Looking for money the easiest way -
Impossibly shameless, he searched for his prey.
Cleverly creeping, he’d spy a poor dolt,
Kill them with kindness and gain sympathy.
Embezzlement was his great specialty -
Trickery too, and the talent to bolt!
Yes, when he fled, he gave them a jolt.
Slimy was he, being slickety-slick,
Prospering from every poor soul he duped.
Lickety split, he was quicker than quick.
In a lurch he would leave them. How low he stooped!
Then off he’d be running, fresh patsies to pick.
April 13, 2018 for Deb Guzzi's Lickety-Split Acrostic Contest
Second, third, fourth... stimulus check(s)...
ah... the stuff a dream come true would be made!
Such would constitute,
the closest phenomena
approximating winning the lottery
cuz yours truly never blessed
winning sizable, nor
minuscule amount of money
beset with one after another setback
token scapegoat (no kidding),
plus puny size linkedin
with spindle shank legs
always bullied and
derided as laughingstock.
Whether rich or dirt poor...
since being young unemployed adult
(yupper, poverty mine bane and,
red badge of courage) the end result...
thus, aye cannot imagine state of euphoria
(yea right Matthew Scott), so just halt
such fantastical thinking,
before being totally shushed up,
nevertheless such luck
would invariably catapult
me into doing a sommersault,
pulling my weak back,
(I got a week back) out in the process,
how mine lovely bones would exult
similarly and/or hypothetically
if lottery numbers I chose matched,
more likely greater chance me getting struck
while inside courtesy lightning bolt,
or got automatically generated did score
winning ticket - suddenly this dolt,
would find himself mobbed by strangers
worse case scenario lured
by paranormal and/or occult,
perhaps stunned with
tranquilizing gun subsequently kidnapped
courtesy sinister satanic cult
comprised of rainbow goblins
trumpeting moral turpitude,
hence words of wisdom
occurred best not to insult.
When awakened hours, days, weeks later
parents (if still living at home)
would spring into action
renting out my former bedroom
to another heavily tattooed and pierced
long haired pencil necked geek
sporting dreadlocks
the late Bob Marley would envy
if still alive.
Castles in the air
suckers' poor me,
thought cha might care
to dangle false promises
and deliberately ensnare
buzzfeeding gussied up
glittering essentially bupkis
that doth blindingly glare
finding meek geezer passively submitting
theme of mein kampf -
never ask for grandeur,
which outcome would interfere
with grist crafting poems.