"balderdash" poems
As you lay next to me I can’t help but think of you.
You lay sleeping, and I close my eyes and envision you taking me.
To the place that only the weight of your body on mine can bring.
Your hands moving across mine, light as feathers
Your breath on my neck, slowly become more rapid.
The look of love in your eyes,
A look you couldn’t hide with all the will power of your being.
I want to spin with you, lose control, devour the moment.
I crave to make you writhe, twitch, grasp the sheets,
To arc your head back and gasp for air.
Have you lose all barriers and be truly free.
As you lay sleeping, I envision reckless motion
Feelings words can not personify.
Anytime I look in the mirror I see the reality of myself
A reality once only could manifest, yet now is actuality.
My own image brings up feelings of imperfection,
A figure that I am not comfortable with,
Self-esteem that I can not seem to find with out you.
You are my world, my sun, my universe.
My every thought orbits around you
My mind races at the thought of you
Despite all the time that has elapsed
I long for you, I beg of you to wake up
To say balderdash to rest, REM, and energy
And expel it all unto me.
I want you to take all that I am; consume me.
Fore when we connect I am completed
As you lay sleeping, you toss and turn
Growing ever closer too me
Were your eyes open I could tell you
Tell you to take me in any way imaginable.
Not out of primeval hormones,
But for a cluster of fireworks in a darkened sky.
A lustrous swaying of beings that few experience in a lifetime,
But with you it is constant, predictable in a joyous sense.
I am broken, though the patches I’ve created hold to me well,
My mind can not help but regress to old patterns and vices.
At times I wonder if the feeling is mutual
If when we intertwine my experience is the same as yours.
Are there fireworks, or just the "great value" ****** any girl could give you.
Your love is undeniable, however, your anatomy has a satisfaction guaranteed
Though still I wonder about the fireworks
When your inside me do you feel flesh or do you feel alive - the most alive you’ve ever felt.
Does your mind forget, just for that moment, that anything else in the world exists
Just for that moment, are their fireworks?
Because my world changes in those heated moments
It is the only time I feel beautiful.
I worry that because I have changed I can not satisfy you.
Your former mates eclipse me,
You’ve been with those who are beautiful by textbook standards.
You’ve been intertwined with those who I feel I do not compare.
I want to make you feel the way you make me feel
I don’t want you to just *** I want you to have an ******
To feel that explosion of love and satisfaction.
I want to know that the fireworks are not duds.
Because, I would do anything to make you feel beautiful.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.
"Trumpery."
Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?
[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]
trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\
Definition of trumpery
1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>
2
archaic : ****** finery
Origin of trumpery
Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive
First Known Use: 15th century
Examples of trumpery
<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>
Related to trumpery
Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or ******** claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, ******* senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle
Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus
Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
That's
Nonsense!
That's
beans!
babble!
bunkum!
bogus!
baloney!
blither!
blather!
blah blah!
********
balderdash!
blarney!
********
That's
crapola!
claptrap!
codswallop!
That's
drivel!
That's
fiddlesticks!
flapdoodle!
frippery!
folderol!
That's
guff
garbage
gibberish!
gobbledygook!
That's
horse hockey!
hocus-pocus!
hokum!
hogwash!
humbug!
hooey!
humdrum!
That's
jibber-jabber!
jive!
jazz!
That's
malarkey!
mumbo-jumbo!
monkeyshines!
That's
Nuts!
That's
poppycock!
piffle!
prattle!
That, sir, is
******* and
RIGMAROLE!
That's
trash
tripe
and
twaddle
That, sir, is
NONSENSE!
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
The patheticness of the human race has become rather unbearable to me.
Self image and personal wealth have become more popular than shows on daytime TV.
The average American consumes more ******** than their daily food intake.
Letting social networks become our main source of communication was our first mistake.
There is no escape from the sounds of the keyboards endlessly typing out our lies.
We think we are the almighty but every time we speak another one of our brain cells dies.
Look what we've become,
the sum of,
technology and TV.
The right to own a gun,
was fun till,
the gun was pointed at you and me.
Funny how we want to change the world but are not willing to change ourselves.
Blaming the presidents because there was no change and then retiring them to a dusty shelf.
"How many carats is her wedding ring?!", the guests ask, as if that's what a marriage is all about.
At the speed we are heading there is no doubt that we will soon die out.
Look what we've become,
the sum of,
technology and TV.
The right to own a gun,
was fun till,
the gun was pointed at you and me.
The silly nonsense of technology and TV have overrun our lives with dramatic balderdash.
We stare, hypnotized, into the ridiculous lives of those on our TV's.
The plastic ***** and plastic *******
are not better than the rest.
Don't you know you look just as fake as the puppets on the strings.
You're not fooling anyone,
look as you melt in the sun.
But we do not realize their lies, we're the puppets on the strings.
The patheticness of the human race has become rather unbearable to me.
Self image and personal wealth have become more popular than shows on daytime TV.
Look what we've become,
the sum of,
technology and TV.
The right to own a gun,
was fun till,
the gun was pointed at you and me.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
I suffered with You, Belarus, my beloved,
When a police baton *****
You at the police station,
In full drill.
I was there when they fired at You,
When they killed the helpless
On the street without mercy,
In envy, in anger.
I was when they beat with a baton,
When they hit the eyes with a baton
In the police torture
Or in the yard by the wall.
I was when they beat uncontrollably,
When the lying, despite wanting to
Prove his innocence,
Got the fifth stick in the bone.
I was when they took off the woman’s
******* and were pushing a baton there,
And in the man’s ****
It was being inserted - until the whine.
I was when they beat one in the forest,
The spirit still carries me there,
I saw hundreds lying in the alps,
I saw the dead in the halls.
Hospitals ...
It was the baton of Łuka,
Which *****
Which killed,
Which beat,
Which knocked out teeth,
Which bruised,
It was the baton of Łuka.
The bullets were Łuka’s,
The hands were Łuka’s,
I give the large double doors back to Łuka:
Let you be rotten in a bad way.
The baton was Łuka’s.
It was the baton of Łuka.
The baton was Łuka’s.
It was the baton of Łuka.
You wronged a simple man,
And the walls will collapse anyway,
It's not balderdash,
Oh, you ignoramuses,
Oh, you ... stupid.
Oh you the bows! ...
Oh, you, Łuka (the Bow)!
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 3:24 PM UTC
Cut Me Some Slack
the stench rolls
like a Hindu walking stick
columns of balderdash fill the skies
like an accordion of hemlock stems
the squandered overlooks
remain today
squeeze tight
never letting ardent screams
refill the emptied dreamers chalice
this shall remain intact with impact
according to the will of men
and the children
never have been
baalzebub has not been seen
since he left Accaron just to the west
still the flickering of lights and eyes
garments draped down again
over bowed head
Gomer LePoet ....
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
I. Gray
In the dim light of the dusk
fading through the sky
an exhibit on a canvas:
a single strand of graying hair.
The arcane gallery housed
by the serpentine lake of memories.
What an awful lot of balderdash
shrieks an elderly gentleman ahead.
What a masterpiece, I think.
A masterstroke, in fact: just a strand
stuck like a line across the canvass,
this is it: time is catching up.
mortality comes calling
in pieces and strands.
II. Red
What embers, my dear, lie concealed
beneath those heaps of burned
logs deposited in your soul?
Waters healing were poured out
ages ago: was the love
too diluted, that even now the gale winds
of raging events bring those embers
burning from your depths?
I can see them burning in your eyes.
III. Black
Oh his gulf between you and me.
That you carry what is of me
before and hold what is
after I am of the ashes,
I know, in your oceanic vasts
bloom our fleeting island lives.
But what were you, before
you were of flesh? Did Aleph
bring you forth too? Tell me
friend, for this is my quest,
my mortal angst at finding you
nailed on the cross above: or
I must be a necromonger.
Are you the one who does not exist
as we know, or are you who also exists
as we can know: what are you?
That blood flows on this earth pondering
on this question.
In this is concealed the answer
to the question raised by that strand.
Tav is not the answer. Nor is it in the cross.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
A mouth, simply tired
It requires much too much
To open or to produce sound
Let me remain silent
It is the best cure for this
To think rather than react
And to listen rather than spew
Ideas, words, letters, balderdash
For that is all we have ever been
A slapdash mixture to survive
Never to enjoy or to savor
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination.
Winds that billow in bellows of blue balderdash,
that hides these vague souls in the elephant grass,
as white horses run for an unconsecrated pass;
I sit sipping lightning from a small green flask.
I cannot see beyond this collision of cataracts,
sitting in a puddle of Alzheimer's and absent facts,
hard to predict parlor tricks' and posthumous pacts,
metamorphosis of those we ****** on, lies intact.
Veins constricted from catastrophes and contradictions,
synapses sinewed by audacious biannual addictions,
misdemeanors of malicious misnomers and maledictions,
breathing in the beneficent bleating of benedictions.
Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
I fell, hapless, when our souls first met
Just how it happened, oh I will never forget
That wicked one, he worked his charm
Barging into my life, without an alarm
Returned to my senses, when broke, that spell
Trapped as guinea pig, I was, I could tell
His everlasting embrace, it chained my soul
Battered, shattered, half from whole
He left me all alone, but he left me strong
Oh wait, I left him; to say he did, would be wrong
He was but a voice, a frail one, in my head
But I was so affected by all that he said
"You try, you fail, you'll never be good enough
You love, you're hurt, life will always be this rough"
But then I heard my soul so meek
"May I?", he hesitated; I enthused, "sure, speak!"
"You feel like you're dead inside, but look how alive
you sound as you respond with zeal, like you're only about five"
And there released a giggle, a tear
'I found her again, but will I lose her?' I feared
"No, woman, no! The little girl will always be alive"
He said with such credence, "I know she will survive!"
I was falling again, this time, to rise
I turned around to say goodbye, to the one I despise
That voice in my head, refuses to leave
But now, his balderdash, I refuse to believe
He talks, he jabbers, often on mute
I'm lost in sweet spiels, of this new beaut
Now listen, carefully, my stranger friend
If that spiteful voice finds you, shift the trend
Rush out, reach out, to YOU, your soul
protect it from him, maintain your whole
Arduous, it may be, but that voice, do seek to find
For that's true love, not the demeaning voice in your mind
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
Can I make it to
30 tonight or
is all that I've
turned out tonight
just
balderdash
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Lily says I talk too much
and scoffs the word-trip with
know-it-all and get-it-all,
caffeinated hazard.
Now I know Dick's preamble
means comfort for the twisted,
but the rouge on his lips
is a different shade of pink
than the stain on his *******
We're zenith straight and waiting,
the mind is cut in quarters,
here I am, a merry song
of Arvo's mirth and Mansell's
death; quit loathing,
the man is breathing.
Newton's god is clock-work,
balderdash predestined, dumb
by Aristotle, fixed Zeno third-up finding,
a paradox perpetual,
and me, I'm just dumb-founded.
And then there's the cat.
Surely, he must be dead.
But I'm still bearing two minds,
and Achilles hasn't won. The qwiff resides,
the turtle moves,
again the rambling tongue--
is made of one, but now cleft in two.
Or several!
Surely, surely,
he must be alive.
Pandora, just open the box.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
she didn't like the truth to be out in the air
so she hid in her denial liar
her balderdash needed to be seen
so people could see through her thin screen
exposing her lies definitely opened our eyes
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
Not against any good philosophy -
But religion is disgusting.
What's it yous worship anyway?
Superstition - nonsense.
Thinly veiled is your philosophy;
Dogma about me, me, me, me!
Proudly wearin' your mark of beasts.
This the symbol, crucifix;
Nailed up "our" "prophet," we did!
This is the ritual, wine & bread it is;
Cannibal feast of "blood & body."
This the symbolism, con𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯;
Reductionism from philosophies stolen.
This the comedy, tragedy;
Bastardizations from destruction & butcheries.
Like orphan children what livin' off charity;
What's me mother's name? Who's my daddy?
Eschewing everything
Cause you refuse to see, nor to hear.
You worship only yourselves;
This that your balderdash?
Nay. You are your own blasphemies!
There's your "divine" "comedy."
Joke's on you lot
For not just havin' "forgot,"
But for stealin'
And sayin' yous didn't.
Crimes enough
To fill sheets yous call scripture.
No such miracles
For those believers.
Those who worship, only worship nothing -
They will be outside of everything,
"Existing" as nothing.
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 11:55 AM UTC
my mother is losing her words
or at least, misplacing them
(*there may well be,a great pile of them, lying around
lauguishing, somewhere*)
her mind is slipping,
on it's weary and
hard-work-worn cogs.
she sometimes has difficulty,
grasping new concepts,
or attatching two thoughts,
coherently together.
and sometimes the blankness behind her eyes
reaches the horizon and beyond.
(and scares the very dickens out of me)
we have lots more, doovers
and thingies and whatsits,
in the house...
and usage of these and other,
all purpose words,
that lead to subtle guessing games,
has increased manifold,
creating conversations,
that drift, into the territories of
"remember the kid with the
doover thingies,
red....on his head.... on his head" !!!
(*the boy with the beautiful
red curls and corksrew ringlets*)
perhaps having been,
away and now returned....
i see this more clearly.... whereas, whilst, living
with it daily.
....you just compensate ... and move on.
my brothers do not want to know this.... and nor does she want them to....
they,
have busy lives.....
(note the irony lost and languishing here)
i am concerned,
and speak to both her doctor and the bluecare nurse,
who comes to help with her abulutions and dresses the abrasions from her latest fall.
they say things like,
she is, within the healthy range for her age, 85.
however, there is marked
depreceation in certain areas.....
we need to keep an eye on her...
( and i am reminded of my old combi, sad but true)
in the meantime...
mother, no longer does the cryptic crossword, citing it as mere balderdash(these days)
and we often find the daily
incomplete...
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
So far I have picked up
my phone several times
while wondering in between
separate thoughts
what is the nature of his
intentions and why doesn't he respond?
I hate games, I hated Sorry,
Balderdash, Operation
He mentioned that all girls are crazy
hit the right spot,
I don't really think I am
but that doesn't change the fact that it
stuck with me
If I go through motions enough
the should i
could i
no i won't
do you think 21 times would do the trick?
or was it 28 to break a bad habit?
I didn't think he was a bad habit
Oh, he was three jobs, and school
a sport to attend to, more games
more everything else
and I keep considering the scenarios
how do i approach this? How do I seem unlike
the 'crazy' women he's spoken about?
oh, she's positively daft
he must say to himself
I think.
I think
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
Former CIA Director
John Brennan scathing headlines
Washington Post op-ed sharply
published critical accusations
muted excoriation slams
Commander in Chief
volcanic blatant pathological lying
spews like lava his American
foreign policy boilerplate brazenly
bastardizes by banditry blueprint,
balefully balkanizing beautiful bracketed
booming brady bunch brand,
bests best-buy buffer braking balanced
bastion, bolstered beloved benighted
bequeathed bicameral bipartisan bliss,
Baptizing bacchanalian buffoonish bombast,
betokening bobble-headed Bumstead,
barmy bartered bride bravado, bizarrely
brash brassiness, blindsiding behavior,
beetlebrowed bonehead, bafflingly baldfaced,
bankrupting, blithely bollixing,
bombastically belittling, badmouthing,
banally blasting, banana-boat baseless,
bearish blandishments, beastly boastful
boosterism, bellicosely boorish, bug-eyed,
bighearted, bigoted blathering breeding
blunderbuss bloopers, bewildering
bloodletting bellyache blight,
brazenly being bandying bellwether,
blitzing bourgeoisie balderdash,
balking but beaming barbaric
berserk ballyhoo backbiting,
backslapping backstabbing
blacklisting bromides,
besetting basic bestowed blooming,
Bobbitizing bedeviling beneficial
bulwark bereft badinage, ballistically ballooning
betrayal birthing bedlam.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
I have come to the realization,
that you are not who you say you are
I have been stuck in the labyrinth that is my mind
but only because you put me there
I am troubled with thought
at two in the morning
thinking of nothing but you
where we went wrong
what changed
and why you are with her,
when you should be with me
You said to me,
"I can do this forever, but I need to know if you can"
you shouldn't promise someone the words of forever
especially when you do not mean them
I said to you,
"If you are so willing to throw her away, just for me,
then why are you still with her?"
Your reply was every thing but the norm
"Because I can't have you"
you were speaking balderdash
to ease not only mine, but your mind as well
your words superfluous to my sanity
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
A beloved nugget of stripes
In patterns of mishap and balderdash
Feigned frameworks and gaudy hips & knees
Overpowered sugar pops, winsome hard cash
They're blondes and fairly vivid, too
Daffodils, Butterscotch, Tuscan sun, and Flaxen yellow
No blackheart is pale nor blue
Just a poor Biscotti hue
Nobody's bonafide, they're just showing off the mellow
Their words are such sharp needles
It burns, it stings, it maims, and it breaks
Narrowed venoms kindled
Maneuver you in a splendor Kaleidoscope effects
I shrieked, "save the bees!",
For they are in a fathomless pit of catastrophe
Flutter thy pellucid wings over the sly seas
Flummoxed between the avocation and the trickery
I aimed, they dodged
Straightforward to the flames and a scant of birch trees
Overdosed in farcical prescriptions,
Engulfed with many bad decisions,
They hushed me down but in my mind, I would still be yelling,
"Save the bees! Save the bees!"
Women are indeed virtuous
Yet, how come some of them became Bumblebees?
Floret power, sweet & sour
An infrequent version of wannabes
No matter how I try and aid,
It would be cheap and phooey
Only savvy kinsfolk will exploit or capitalize
These honey-bees will still strive for the polished trophies
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
a constitution
inquiring for
debate that
resides there
a book
in prophesy
those coming
years with
barter awhile
that journals
any turn
around that
apocalypse has
with balderdash
then spoken
tracts in
between crosshairs
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
Let's find some words this morning
that will change the world
You know you have them
Right on the tip of your tongue
Scarring your fingertips
Struggling from your veins
And I need them
Now
And more
tomorrow
To fill this rapacious starving ever advancing expanding bottomless endless seemingly infinite
need
To read them and have them change me
while I fight them to the letter
While I write them to be better
In my ear
Where R the right next words
Already
I am hungry
this morning
Roasted vowels
Spicy alliteration
In round sound
Hash
Heartbreak and balderdash
Head break, cutting, musing
And death
And love
That thorny ***** thing
All singing
and swallowed
sigh
Sustained for a while
In the numbscape
I'll
Be back
Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 8:01 AM UTC
Every story has to have a beginning , hustling and rustling & pulling weeds fit my immediate need
Trapped in time is the only crime or a need or inward desire for just more to admire
The smell of grass & gasoline mixed with koolaid ,first cuttings free, for practice to bring me up to speed
Trials are telling of the ways future elders acknowledge your pay,still skipping and dreaming.payment not yet dire
As visions are fed by outsiders & blind fantasy, simple samples may no longer satisfy
Wanting ,willing waiting , but a naive train still needs to be boarded carefully ,slow better than the mish mash
Finally a chance to earn instead of merely learn ,one venture handed forward but now 100 percent expected to ratify
The saying goes, when left to our own devices , now time to play the hand ,make our own brand with no balderdash
First question the hardest, wanting simply to know, what you really do not know ,inexperience already taking it's toll
Timing is now a benefit , straight up and willing to take on any new propositions can be seen as a strength
Not when will you be willing, but WHEN are you willing to throw your soul into the fray ,making new knowledge is now the common goal
Bring it to me you scream ,want is over riding need ,just a first chance to cash in you plead ,just the beginning not seeing the length
Briskly we awake ,wanting to show unknown fortitude, for new lessons being learned ,labors to be rewarded
Sent over there, having no idea what it may impair ,but learn as we go lessons are often left open at both ends
Managed to make a way through those first days ,facing larger obstacles can now be gains to be accorded
Now a on a pace entered into the great race,survival soon to take over,survival or succulence ,searching for the almighty dollar
and the many many way it spends..................R.C.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
I could pen you aesthetic poems, my moon, that may sound out of tune in your ears,
But I will etched it intricately to unveil the runes with the magic of my heart.
I will write painless words in verses about you with my angst about how I feel.
A crude balderdash I will bleed to evince the unspoken message of my love;
‘Cause I love you like my pen I use to cast love dusts to ghoulish mess,
And I love you like how the unlovely chaos turned into divine.
Like masterpieces I have read from famous poets in the land,
That is as beautiful as the way your soul shone upon.
Like the love of a frustrated damsel for her pen and paper,
I long for my name to be immortalized in your memory.
My love, I love you like poems bestrewed with elixir, never-ending,
For as long as I have life, I will inscribe my love for you deep in my soul,
In my mind and my heart, that even death cannot nullify.
Hear the silent intertwining piece of a loving poetess.
~lox albi
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
It was the glen of jabberwocky,
Deep within the twaddle mire.
The gobbledygook was being spewed
By the grand codswallop,
The tripe was drivel
And all manner of blethered haver
Did most piffle & bosh.
The great imperial hooey of guff-phooey
Visited with bunk,
There was to be a festivity of the tommyrot;
On the morrow we would dribble bull
Till the cobblers called tosh, **** cod,
And said their applesauce.
No malarkey here crosses their fingers,
For all the liars have bellywash
And work the flapdoodle with bunkum & bushwa.
All the poppycocks we laid out
For the celebration of the gibberish,
When mumbo jumbo hung a more,
Low & long.
On the fens of the balderdash,
At the mouth of the babble,
We sang the song of argle-bargle
By our native tongue jargon.
It was first rate flummery
By the standards of the order of palaver,
The prime wheedlers of gab & fanster.
Mar 1, 2025
Mar 1, 2025 at 10:01 AM UTC
How can I make you
any promise? Weak
so weak I am-- too many
I made to myself and broke--too ashamed to speak
after the events--damage I would cause you
and your hopes to the ground I'd smash
forgive me, my friend, myself I can't trust
to say further is mere balderdash.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC