"drivel" poems
The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach,
The Ogre cannot master Speech:
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.
8.6k
How dare you treat me like this?
You must be taking the ****
Have you no respect to pay?
Will you just send me
On my way?
The problem’s Yours my friend.
With you I can’t contend.
You are just me, me, me.
You’ve left me totally free.
I’m better off alone,
With no-one in my zone.
You’re such a bigot and a snob
And nothing but a ****
Who fobs me off
With drivel
From your gob.
Your haughty arrogance makes me mad
As you are nothing but a cad.
Okay so you have all the power,
And over me you sure do tower.
But don’t be thinking that I’ll cower:
I glower waiting for my hour,
For my dog’s day
When You I shall devour!
Paul Butters
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
Massive egos shine
Mostly drivel on HP
Just Poetastery
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Silently the social media hero strikes again
The swift and ruthless keyboard warrior
Crushing political correctness
Debunking liberal drivel
Overpowering the opinions of the obsolete
He grows and grows
With every post
And tweets make him feel
Like the torrent of thoroughness
Raging through a landscape
That needs to be cleansed
Outside lies a hostile world
With prying, judging eyes
Online, a world of possibilities
Where virtual battle cries
Are the prelude of a rally
Between the devoid and the deluded
But through his own gaze
Focused on the reflection
On the computer screen
A social media hero rises
While outside, the world passes him by
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
~~~
for Matt
~~~
*"My suspect credibility upon the rockets of birds,
the soft parts of people,
the oceans’ inevitable, cyclical weeping,*
Who has time for poetry has more time than they deserve"
Breaking Spring by Matt Hart
~~~
your words warp me,
the woven texture of your composition,
Matt,
dumbfounding the sweeping, weeping, instant recognition in
the soft parts' of
Nat,
where credibility
long past being suspected,
simply arrested for statutory dark room
torrented questioning
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse
You Jacob, wrestle with this angel witch curveball!
'tis better to give or receive
this poetry admonishment?
for who knows where the time goes,
when the fix is in,
the addiction itch,
commands and commends,
*feed the poetry *****
write or die*
one fix, one poem,
carousel leads to another,
yet,
with only time to live,
pay the bills
for renting the space you Earth occupy,
no time for illegal
compulsive word blending
the interrogator demands
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse?
*who is your supplier?
who is your time stealer?*
by the ocean, weeping,
you plead innocence,
just ill drivel, needy for expulsion,
deserving of repulsion,
swear repeatedly,
never again, imbibe, scribe
*but the ***** coos in my ear,
reaching beneath
the vulnerable soft tissued skin and cells:
write or die
I thieve your time,
'tis nothing you deserve,
I am Poetry,
just your mistress,
better served*
deserve poetry
deserve blessing
deserve curse
~~~
June 25, 2016
written by the ocean, weeping
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
there was once a man who lived
in burnt rocky hills
village farmer frail and tilt
humble down to strips
and one day his wife fell sick
he took her in his hands
but in path for miles thick
one huge hill did stand
he knew but closest path to town
would take whole day on foot
if it weren't this hill around
get there sooner he could
even though he tried his best
kept his faith alive
yet he failed the time's test
could not save his wife
abruptly in his mind
did one thought arise
through conflicting reasons
to himself he surmised
"there'll always be dreams to live
tears to wipe, things to moan
to witness coiling stillness give
reason to your lonesome tone"
with this thought himself he backed
and let go of his fears
whom neither Gods could distract
he faced the mountain near
a modest hammer in hand
not for once dismayed
unfazed by its candid stand
he stood not once afraid
"for he was just some lunatic
who sold his goats for a chisel
for no man can do such trick
surely its all such drivel"
inch by inch he chipped away
just one stroke a time
when scorching sun endowed the day
heat fueled up his mind
seasons came and seasons went
men who mocked him too
turned to dust who crossed his way
yet he went going through
long before his life would cease
two decades marked his trial
all in sweat on forehead crease
and scratched on time's dial
and then arrived this moment
it surely had to come
for in pools of anguish spent
lilies of faith bear from
speak your will and do your speak
says the farmer's life
say you're strong when you feel weak
marching through your strife
for no paths does life forbid
it takes no account
keep on moving as he did
man who moved the mount
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
with a little bit of dust
under yer skin, you
sense something ancient
and dead-yet-still-living in
everything. The love tapestry
on the walls of your mind beg
to differ, complete- who was
that sunuvabitch and what
why did he stop the music?
is he waiting for a drivel?
or a smile?
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
I’m never ever going to get any work done sitting at a computer
rather than with a pen in my hand and a thought on my mind.
In Arial black I will waste away my time
by sitting on a website designed to keep my mouth shut and my eyes glued
to the glowing screen of the worlds media, that I don’t really care about,
but yet I care too much about.
I open all of the tabs and write down very few words
and what ever happened to writing complete and utter nonsense
just for the hell of it?
And why did I ever open this laptop to write a poem
that will be cut off by a website calling for me to look at its pretty pictures
and witty text posts.
And why will this drivel make me feel so **** happy
when all it does is waste my time and lower my grades
and destroy my self esteem
that has already been mostly deleted?
Why do I decide to waste all of these moments with wishes
when I could go out and make them realities?
I sit on this computer and stare at the blankness of other peoples thoughts
and mock the imbeciles for wasting all of their time coming up with stupid rhymes
and sarcastic remarks that they think are hilarious ,
but really they are pointless.
And though I laugh at their foolishness;
they are no worse
than I.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
I'm just a simple dreamer
With thoughts and passions
Bigger than my body
Thoughts uncontrolled,
Unbridled, run across
Plains of white,
Mountains of shadows
A dreamer who had
Rather look up at the skies
Whether there be grey clouds,
Starry nights, harsh sunlight
Someone who had rather spend
Midnight, looking and talking
to the moon, pretending to hear
A response to all the mindless drivel
My thoughts go unheard
As they run across those
snow-white plains, across
towering shadows, till one day
The plains crumble to give way
The shadows burn
Just an orange flame left
Where they once existed
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 1:51 PM UTC
Our silly state of paranoia,
Are leaders here to annoy ya?
Ghosts of government past,
We've had enough drivel to last!
Our systems need to improve,
Building bias, not a good groove.
Kids are born colour-blind,
They teach oldies their great minds,
We're ashamed of our politicians,
Any excuse today? Like superstition,
Then there's youth unemployment,
Disaffected youth for deployment,
Mendicants at charity, welfare dependents.
Our silly state of paranoia,
Are politicians sent to annoy ya!
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
how much fluid is left in you?
drool
drool
drool, all drool
drivel
supply and demand
quench the incessant assembly line thirst
i keep most of it in my sock drawer
and i carry the other half around with me
everywhere i go
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
Please excuse my drivel of words as I ascertain my inexcusable lustless love life.
However,
humor me for a second…
But I’m looking for Miss Alabama Worley.
Mississippi Isabel,
**** it, Lady Macbeth would do.
That ***** knows crazy.
Where is the incomprehensible insufferable beast?
That will take my heart in one foul swipe and refuse
Me rest till I’ve given her lust the spearing of a hungry tribesman.
I want the lock and chain around my ***** because my naked vulnerability
Is hers for the taking.
Beat me,
Oh monstrosity of the bedroom
Let the blood drip as I lick your foot.
Indulge me with the endless sweat and tears of the night.
And **** me like a rock star
Till I taste the rubber.
Where is the whirlwind passion?
Love at first sight.
And not the giddy looks of something Michael Cera starred in.
I am talking tattoos on the first date,
Reckless marriage doomed by the 50 pound ring on her finger.
Put me in a ****** east end flat,
Let me starve because ******* is food for the brain,
And her ***** tastes delectable when I’m high.
**** my brother in our bed,
I never liked him anyway.
A best friend is a man who’s shared the same hole.
And trust me, we’re closer than ever.
You’ll be all I’ve got.
I’ll sleep on the couch and crawl back to you,
Because I'm wrong,
I am always wrong.
Laugh at the scars on my wrists
Pity isn’t there for the taking.
Leave me shaking in the corners of my mind,
Let lust grow like anger and revenge
Let anger and revenge grow
When I go soft on you,
Put those cigarettes out on my chest,
And choke me; asphyxiate me from the inside out.
I want to burn in the hellish rapture
Betwixt your thighs.
******* fire in half an hour,
God knows where you got it from.
But those who care share, right?
But then,
Perhaps I’ll just end up like my parents,
Settle down with a nice girl.
A nice normal girl,
Missionary position isn’t that bad I ‘spose.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
An open letter
to those poets
who align
to the center:
*When prose sits in the middle
it resembles gift-card drivel.
It cheapens your work;
your use of italics irks.*
Choose a side.
I don’t care if it’s
left or right,
Or center-right
or alt-right
(whatever that is).
The indecisive
have a lot to answer for
us being divisive.
Did that centered
poem you wrote
distract you from
casting a vote?
Stop fence-sitting
in-between
and enjoy a
splintered 2017,
from one side.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,
—Pity me?
Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
—Being—who?
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.
No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed—fight on, fare ever
There as here!”
2k
Only Angel
Don't you run away;
You're running from your only saviour
Don't you know you're looking into the eyes
Of the only angel on your road?
This is the only time;
You gotta find your light on your way
You're never, no, you're never...
Never gonna find another angel on your road.
Baby, don't you know you're turning away from the Light
You're never gonna have this chance no more
Don't you know you're looking into the eyes
Oh G-d, you gotta move that bad from your door!
Don't you turn away;
Don't you go on spitting
In the face of an angel
Never gonna find another angel in your road
Refrain (spoken):
May the Light shine in any dark corner of your heart
And banish all negative, weak thoughts.
May your steps still be ever-so gentle
On the sometimes tricky path of life.
Seek not always activity to stop the gaps
They are the breathing spaces meant for peace and inner dwelling.
Water your little flowers on the arid plain of Life
For I see them blossom in your eyes.
It's hard to fix a broken road
So step out and carve out a new way.
Feel. Really feel the pain and chase it not.
It is not the foe, just a momentary spot of too-bright light.
The real enemy sits in your midst
Lingers on your fears and blots out your sun.....
It is thought.
Too much of it can **** a man!
Mind you keep the untame drivel well clear of your heart
Lest you wish a choking visit.
Be real with yourself
And be kinder to your spirit.
Battle not too sore with the winds
As your silver light shows you the way to a purer, clearer life.
May the stars of tranquil dawn usher calm
And soothe your battered soul.
Ask not for obstacles to be removed
They are for learning and teaching; progress.
Pray instead for safety, health and dignity
And hang onto that necklace of peace.
True amity is such that having never yet met
We can embrace in kindred spirit.
Have the heart to welcome a stranded soul
And spare anyone lame excuses.
Lessons await you patiently
Neglect none; accept or pay dear.
Take time to discover yet....the REAL you.
Enlightenment is tough work!
Peace to you, dear friend.
(Dedicated to Esme Ruth)
By Star Toucher, 31 January 2013
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
Oh I wonder if I mean pounding
Or maybe it's pondering
Hell what do I know, spelling isn't my strong point
I've always been envious of all those brainy lot
To see me you'll know why I can never be an alfa male
So its better I hide behind a keyboard and troll
I can't help feeling inadequate when I read the good poems
All I do is steal words and ideas then twist them around
I pownd and pownd and pownd till I drive them away
I am a Pownder that pownd and get a pound for every pownding
I am a little person with a little mind and something else bothers me so much it leaves me with a Napoleonic complex
But I hope other men don't know about it but anytime I see a hot dog, wish I could just disappear and die cause I know that's one pownding That leaves me unpownded.
Excuse me I got a job to do
There's a poet here, I've got to drive him away from here
He's Benson or something like that and I just feel so small
Can never write like him and being a stinking bully and a Hater
I feel so inadequate and it's stressing me out, how good he is
He leaves me feeling so carri gibbanoius and useless pownding about
My job and aim is to oppose anything positive and good
I was born to destroy cause I can't do better
guess that's why I can't even spell an ordinary word like
POUNDING....
That benson fellow will soon leave and coward inadequate me
will rule with my mediocre drivel again or go copy from someone
and pretend its my work like I did at Junior High and college.
My good friend below wrote this to me:
Karijinbba › In His Grace..............
I hear the pownding waves of God in every day or written silences. I hear Gods loving waves in everyday's life's harships and struggles; even when God in his silence blessess, me in imagined lovers arms, and in dreams, when my breath away.....is taken.
He copied a poem written by me and improved on it and then
posted it back to me to show me how to improve on my work.
So I must learn from him and be a better writer
And stop feeling bad and envious about other people's poems
And writing privately to them to intimidate them and making
them quitting this site.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
*The weakly poet
In praise of Joshua Haines
Drivel and Drek shines*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
_Munching, crunching on a bone,
The trolls of Langwood growl and moan.
Through feral mutterings and drivel,
They gulp and choke down last night's grizzle.
In their cave on rocky mountains high,
Their scaly skin cracks from air so dry.
Once human men poisoned by greed,
Transformed into ogres for their misdeeds.
They prayed on people of modest means,
Until our good sorceress intervened.
She protects our land and keeps us safe,
From warlords and bankers filled with hate.
Condemned to live long foul lives,
The trolls of Langwood miss their wives.
For they now resemble their truer selves,
Forever denied the beauty of men and elves._
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
I saw Agnes outside Harrods
Looking tres chic, le chic
I say darling, what's happening, sweetie
where's your Wainpatrik from the sticks
our erudite writer who thinks aspic is pate
I gave that hick the 'go find your level'
Agnes replied with a smile
You know how it is with him and his drivel
that coarse, crude, pretentious oik without a shovel
He tries to be intelligent but his head is full of gravel
bathes once a fortnight and has a todger like a weasel
You can't beat good breeding, she continues
those reconstituted barrow-boys
with B-Tech English thinking they are now genuine
Lacks confidence, style, self assurance, wet as the Rhine
******* in the boudoir, sloppy kisser, todger like a string
Bully and a coward trolling on his stolen PC, has no spine
Hey, lets **** down round my pad, she purred
You may be out of shape at the moment
But who's cooler, more charismatic and interesting than vous
Do you know you're the best I have ever had and I mean it too
You're head and shoulders above Wainputrid and that's so true
The twerp is so envious of you, he and his barrow mates stew
Tales of your exploits and size just leaves them aghast and askew
Hahaha...haha..she laughs as she linked arms, a glint in her eyes!
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
I am an idiot when I see you
Oh how I drivel and babble
My thoughts scatter I'm not alright
I plan some words and plan awry
Train of thought spiral into daydream
Making sure I say what I mean
to say. Because my word I chose
I'm one bizarre
muse
I am an idiot when I hear you
Sonorous and soft sense
Blast I've become too tense
Dismantle me with words
Ones that yearn to be
heard
I am an idiot when I touch you
See how I tremble
Hands touch too tender
Hands touch too excessive
I feel I may be oppressive
I dance fingers with wonder
I am an idiot when I think you
One giant fantastic
Simple things odd things
Honestly anything
It comes to mind
And I turn to find
That I am much too silly
An idiot is what you do to me.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 10:47 PM 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
In the nightmare
we lose ourselves
not wishing to look in each other’s eyes
left versus right
only millionaires and billionaires can afford to fight
male versus female
transphobic
Bigoted
drop the hate to relate
life sold cheaply over internet wars
our nation
a nation of locked doors
and hate driven speaking drivel
People
I love you all but your minds locked into
Facebook culture wars
media ******
ratings soar
go viral be the virus
or inspire us
it’s your choice
war is afforded to the rich
if your poor dig your grave or ditch.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 5:00 AM UTC