Louts Poems | Examples

Magic Minichu

This funny magician
can make you  a crawling snow white with big dark spots
dalmatian

His best magic
turns louts into huge pots
so quick

His spell
blows fart in slots
smells

This funny magician
turns louts into huge pots
smells

The Last Organ Grinder

Bedraggled the old man sat, monkey on his lap.
However could he recover from this mishap?
Louts took his organ and attacked him with a bat.
Monkey on his lap, bedraggled the old man sat.

His old heart gutted, his mind totally wrenched.
Rain yesterday had left him quite drenched.
We are OK my darlin, to his monkey he muttered.
His mind totally wrenched, his old heart gutted.

The rooftop a safe haven, for he and his pet.
Not much chance of another organ, he will get.
He was an expert on the organ, a regular Maven.
For he and his pet, the rooftop was a safe haven.

He can still sing, dance and tap the old soft shoe.
He was the best organ grinder New York ever knew.
Shoes are worn, organ gone, his monkey is everything.
Dance and tap the old soft shoe, he can still sing.

An Inconvenient Truth

Pro-Palestinians shout
     What about?
   "How can you support
     Gaza's occupier?"

   Those who shout
     are rather dumb louts
   Gaza's occupier since 2007
     is (surprise!) ~ Hamas!

   Israel withdrew in 2005
     eighteen years ago
   Ever since then Gaza has been
     100 percent Palestinian

Guillotine

I heard screams from those marked for a guillotine death
No compromises for their cries before taking a last breath
Words of repentance for dastardly crimes were bemoaned
Begging for mercy with fear and tears, curses were groaned

My blade is always kept whetted for those who regretted
and my cutthroat job is thought to be brutally inhumane
"Oh, please!" I wanted to shout at the louts who fretted,
"For only the briefest moment will I cause you any pain!"

In modern days I would be aptly labeled a "French Press."
Humorous, the thought, but I'd still create a bloody mess
Hence, never should I ever be used inside of an abattoir
Before I take a life, I always remember to say, "Au revoir."

I abhor the taste of blood in my mouth and on my teeth
Love to be cleaned before my blades are again in sheath
When my deadly decapitation chore is over and complete
heads I felled roll to lie supine at the executioner's feet

People then clear the scene, to flee from me, the guillotine
As if what they'd witnessed me do would wash them clean
Maybe it was the act of my beheading they were dreading
Hoping tomorrow it wouldn't be theirs that I'd be shredding

My Town

The town I was born into was a grit incubating slum.

It was the worst of places yet had some gruff-faced
high-headed days.

On those few times
(days that did not seek to hammer me down
into the brick and rubble strewn ground),
I would walk like a lord-ling
in my own spit-rinsed and grubby manor.

I would swagger, daring all to cut the throat
of any withering word
or to blast the staring eyes and ogle-mouthed louts
as they came at me, only to ski-daggle or sidle.

In those long hours, in those dank drenched daylights
I would fight knuckle-hardy and win
then wear a trophy cut on my chin
that ached in the stony-breathed air.

I was a tough and scrawny king atop of his small heap
and the town bowed down to me until the next day
when it sought once more
                                  to murder my rough-hewn soul.

Litter

Litter here, litter there
Piles of litter everywhere.
Bins half empty or piled high
Too much packaging in supply.  

Plastic, paper, metal cans
Liquid spillage in sea and lands.
Waters full of micro beads
Man-made plastic, choking seeds. 

Wasted food turns to stench and rot
Flies and rats love those spots.
Wrappers, *** butts, strewn about
Selfish litter louts without a doubt.
 
Dumping rubbish is our failure
A lazy, filthy human behaviour.
We are failing earth and nature
Can we change or even save her?
 
Written 01.04.23  (Not For Contest)

Hocus Pocus

Hocus Pocus, Balderdash,
Newspapers print horror and trash.
Oligarchs hungry for extra cash,
To add to their enormous stash.

Nervous police officers feel the heat,
When they caution terrorists in the street,
They no longer walk the beat,
They have cars with safety seats.

Police cars drive around at night,
Warning louts that curse and fight,
Often these thugs take flight
Making the cops chase them with all their might.

Sadly the world needs cops.
We will need them until the crime rate stops.
When you see someone coming, a cropper
Phone the station, and they will send a copper.

Booze You Lose

You watch the news and see all those louts
who drink and abuse, by making fools of themselves

To fix their spews, so they don’t go south
let’s not sell them booze, to feed their mouth

T'Is Poem

t'is poem ain't about
jolting jiggery-pokery, moaning mayhem, pored pouts 
shrewd shenanigans, fractured fossils
masticated mood or callous confetti

t'is poem ain't about
punctured politics, la-de-da louts
taunted touts, bruised blitzkrieg
wanky warriors, or perforated police

t'is poem ain't about
burnished braces, damp doubts
whooshing wind, nocturnal nature
gaunt gloom groomed, or lanky leisure

t'is poem is about that thing
wanky wits tosses and drips.
      '20:05:23:11:42

Note: of airy acumen.

An Odd Note For Someone Named Hosen

Who are these lug nuts?
Who are these featherweights?
Who are these slum bums?
Who are these cretins?
Who are these dimwits?
Who are these bird brains?
Who are these crumb critters?
Who are these sad sacks?
Who are these dullards?
Who are these rum raisins?
Who are these nincompoops?
Who are these louts?
Who are these Jim Dandies?
Who are these meat heads?
Who are these brow beaters?
Who are these fuddy duddies?
They all live in my bones
And sing like Tom Jones.
We are the chosen.
Later, Hosen.

The Beach

Along the water's edge, the grey waves
Break noisily in a white foam spray,
Curling carefully like well-permed hair.
Driftwood carried on to the shingle
Envelops the wind-blown plastic and
Frames torn pictures from worn magazines.
Gifts such as these on the rising tide,
Heaps and tangles of modern life,
Invade the left-lying debris, the 
Jumbled remains of day-trippers.

Kindred souls and urban litter louts
Leave the evidence of their presence,
Making the beach dirty and desolate.
No one finds beauty among such dross;
Only the screaming seagulls come to 
Pick through the scattered waste but leave
Quite aggrieved and wailing plaintively.
Returning to the rooftops, they wait
Statue-like for the home-coming boats,
To scoop up fish spilling from the nets.

Unsullied shingle emerges as the
Vast armies of tourists disappear.
Winter's tidal surges help the
Xenophobic beach to purge itself.
Year end renewal refreshes the
Zest for life along the water's edge.

Large Sin Small Thought

Large sin small thought 

I love you it's true 
I do care thats also true 
We play in the colors of rise 

We touch the story of books 
Gangs or gangster hang to fight with goon 
Giggles tooth brush down when I remembered 
The slap of you but smoking tounge smile 

Now we talk about the sand of race 
Wind the therapy be stand in pink louts 
Where is me under a coconut so 
Ones it's fall down on me and I say this 
It's not because gravity 

Reason is my large sin and small thought 
Because I was trying to keep you in shadow 
Of coconut tree by forgetting  about the leaf 


With love all 
Jagdish Bajantri

Shadows of the Living Nightmares Escape

The brainwashing of non believers has begun 
backwards peddling parties on the streets 
taking away all basic rights under a family structure 
imposing ridiculous arguments hell bent within such destruction

This new age occult removes freedom of speech 
where good values have become imprisoned facts
impaired visions caught inside the dark web

Judged by those promoting sinful acts woe behold 
educational standards fall dramatically backwards 
liars sit on the seats of the state's offices thieving clowns 
spreading corrupt pagan literature this vulgarity shape shifts

The truth runs a red light and turns it green 
fornicators stealing every humane virtue drunken louts 
pushing a strange lifestyle foreign to the majority 
tolerance has just jack knifed away from love

Equality has lost all foundations killing the innocent's word 
when the temple of our Lord Most High Spirit 
is shunned and burdened by man's awful silence 
and complete disobedience each one afraid to condemn 
what's wrong will never be right
yet they will never stand for what is right and just
instruct the ignorant has now become the policy under clouds

Cockeyed Weathervane

Cockeyed Weathervane

Whizzing along on an old time train,
I looked out the window at a cockeyed weathervane.
The engineer saw it, too, stepped on the whoo whoo!
To call our attention to this historical hen aroo.


Seems of all the weather predicted hereabouts,
That hen's eye cocked fooled all of the louts,
They planted during rain, and picked corn from the snow,
Just cause they believed that hen's eye where it'd go.


Worked pretty well, though, for many a yar,
Tractors went sideways and so did the cars.
Barns's roofs were crooked, and so were the houses.
That cockeyed weathervane even fooled horses.


Wagons drove in circles, and the kids grew up twisted,
Moms baked bagels that looked double fisted.
But the town folks all laughed all the way to the bank,
They had all the tourists who laughed at them to thank

Vegetales Four

beets and brussel sprouts
were really on the outs
sprouts got spoiled
beets got boiled
—aromatically challenged louts

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