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WhyamIaSpoon Jan 2012
Awesome Alliterations
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.

My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.

A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.

A devilish ******* of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.

Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.

A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.

Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.

Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.

Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.

A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.

A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)

A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.

A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.

A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.

An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.

A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.

A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.

Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.

A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.

Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
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Vivian Sep 2013
9/18
"What's wrong with you?" he asked through a chuckle, and then it hit me. I knew exactly what was wrong with me. I was passionate about things, and never about people. I had loved people, but always platonically, or platonic and gilded with a crush or wrapped in lust that I always brushed off with innuendos and flippancy. I had never loved another person the way I loved twisting my brain around a calculus problem or constructing a flame chart. I had thought of people in a romantic sense more than I had evaluated people for science bowl, but lust and love had never consumed me as the issue of organizing practice and evaluation and cuts within the handspan of a month. I always fell in love with things, and never with people, and that's why already, not even 16 yet, I've reconciled myself to die alone.
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Joseph Sinclair Nov 2017
On Last Looking Into the Kama Sutra – a flippancy
It was a sudden impulse that
directed me to stir myself
and remove a well-thumbed dusty
volume from its shelf.

I opened it with fingers that
lacked the youthful dexterity
before osteo-arthritis had
curbed celerity.

I started to turn pages with
a reminiscence of delight
until becoming bothered by its,
failure to excite.

What is the cause of this despair
the loss of Nature’s circuit board,
a fevered stirring in the *****
fails to be restored.

Must I now accept as fact
that there are simply no springs left
in my body’s potency?
Is all now bereft?

Those springs may now be lacking in
my physical displays.
But please grant a mental Spring
in the
Autumn of my days.
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md-writer Mar 2016
I, P0p$tar
I’m sick of it,
The blasted hordes like dried-out gourds
Screaming, cawing for more water.
Feed the flesh, delight the eyes
Give us our shining fantasy. With flippancy
Strip down past all the layers of
My skill my voice my person,
And then take me, break me, make me
Into someone I am not.
Into something that is not.

Pull the paints out.
Imperfections had their day
Yesterday.
Today we’re going all the way.
Make or break you,
Take and shape you:
Tonight you’ll be the idol of the world.

Set the lights, hold your poise.
There’s a goddess on the stage tonight.
Not a person. Not a voice.
It’s the *** doll’s dance tonight.

But we’ll call it art.

I’m sick of it,
The cursed curve,
Numbers up, so clothes come down; and to think I started out
So innocent.
But the eye of the tiger is broken,
The clearness of crystal is crushed -

and those shards just make the perfect dress!

Crystalize, sterilize,
Put me on a different plane.
Separate, distillate,
Don’t let them see your pain.
“If you have to show you’re broken,
It’s gotta be so you can gain.”
Strip away. Everything.
Don’t show them who you really are.
We need an image for the covers
Not a person. Not a windowpane
Into your soul.

So break free, defying,
Undying.
You’re like a god.
No more trying. True flying
Means no more rules for me.
Don’t let them try to
Defy you:

You are now allowed to breathe free.

But only if you push the line. Flaunt your paints and shine your sparkles, leave behind your decency. You stand before a watching globe It is your job to entertain. So really, you are not your own.

The masses are the masters, though they pay.

So no, there’s no way out for you. There’s only forward
Which is downward. And no chance
To just be you. Because
Your freedom isn’t free.

They just can’t take a faulty human. It would be a let-down,
A break-down.
So let us shove you in a box.
Tell you how you have to be.
If you’re gonna keep your money
And your parody of free.
Then take the stage
Play the part.
There’s no more music
No more art.
Just a mad house, a cat house
Diced up platters serving meat.
Kiss my chains, take my gains,
For all my pains
I still ain’t free.

But still. We’ll call it art.
Can we all just take a moment to hate on the modern music industry (fed and created by the general consensus of consumption) and the abuse it puts (especially female) artists through?
#art #music #sickofit #popstar #notruefreedom
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jeremy wyatt Dec 2010
14
Pressaging doom,
girls will swoon,
the number was there,
can't write too soon.
Not suspicious?
Nah not me...
well yes,
actually.
Something down,
any crap,
feeling worn,
need my nap.
got that number in my mind,
now something in the dark will find....
me.
The Bin-bags will attack,
circle drive them back.
Being flippant,
yeah thats hoping.
Take the mickey,
lay wide open.
To Them. It.
******.
Only wanted,
to have 14.
Poems.
Now It may come again.
Duvet!
Light on?
Best!
Pray?
Yup!
Circle,
That will be dandy.
Pay for flippancy,
deserve it.
Sorry.
Got pals,
big pals.
Oh dear, got in a mess. Playing the fool can kick back. Rather just had 13 and not known.
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Helen Sep 2014
I don't HATE God, I just don't know him
I have a neighbour, he's going on 98
I don't really know him but I don't hate
how he gets up every morning at 6am
and rambles in his garden even when
I'm trying to sleep late
I walk my dog around my neighbourhood
and people nod and say hello
but I'm no more interested in their lives
then a passing glance and smile
as I walk towards my humble home
I live amongst many lives
that fracture against themselves
they may be semi religious, or zealots
but I could never tell
Just as I walk these streets
uncaring of a Diety
I couldn't give a single thought
to if you went to church this morning
I couldn't care less if your knees are bruised
from going down in prayer several times
I don't give a passing flippancy
If you woke this morning at 10am
and your first drink was Wine
I don't particularly know my neighbours
except for passing smiles and nods
I don't particularly care for religion
and I don't care to know God
I should write a note here...
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Tyler Maurer Jan 2012
Shallow
I sit in the puddle of mediocrity

My heartless lies pound an bleed across my sides

I linger in the shadows of the forgotten my fears leaving all of this rotten

i crave the hunger of ambition an the fruits of pride

Yet my apathy turns my hands to flippancy

An i force myself to deride

I make petty lines flowing down into shallow signs

The creature of my fury rests inside my chest

shallow breathes leave me gasping for more
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Mia Jun 2013
Broken
I wonder how you do it, the callousness and flippancy.
Breaking my heart in one fluid move and crossing over to someone else.
Do you love her? Is she a toy like I was?
A passing fancy for a day, a discarded rag the next.
I wracked my mind in search of a clue, that you loved me a little.
It's hard to watch her cry the same over you.
To roll herself in a ball of agony am comfortable enough to call home.
Beating up herself with thoughts that she wasn't enough,
That somehow she is flawed.
I know you're the broken one,
You try to *** your cracks with broken pieces of us.
It's not enough, it never is.
I shudder to think that others will know this pain.
And yet if you came by and asked me to come back,
I would leap like the flick of a guilty pleasure into your arms.
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neth jones Apr 6
aerosol
all my past
      imposes on my breath today

i enter a grand mosaic public building
        and on goes my medical face mask
i join the back of the queue with my documents in one hand
            and my numbered butcher ticket
                          in the other
i admire the mosaics
               a jarring tide of art against the bureaucratic purpose
                     of these rooms
gauzed in with own product exhaust
       all my past  is attending    
exhumed
  patted  into my breath
    baiting remembrance with unsubtle notes
for example :
   integrated spittings of 'drum' tobacco (i quit a decade ago)
horning catches of cologne every boy used as a teen
seasonal scents  unweaned from deep in my system
(some reigned in from the different countries
                                                    i lived in or visited)
then i am frisked back to infancy   with breast milk and rusks
it's all there    a basking flippancy
all there in musk about my face
  one fragrance after another

it's an honest relief
     to host an alternative to my 'old man' breath
           but odd and concerning
something of the brain ?
date of original version : 07/11/22
#past #smells #tastes #senses #breath #memories #mask #childhood
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T Jan 2013
Just Another Friday Night Cliche
Music thumps
bass booming through your feet
into your heart
and out to your fingers
that grip your flimsy red cup
filled to the brim with froth
like the room
filled with people
and lots of air
that's filled with sweat and voices
that smell like the alcohol
that no longer sits in the bottles and cans
you see covering every surface
you walk from group to group
taking and adding to each conversation
that passes through your clouding mind
that is still watching
that girl flip her hair
as she talks to the boy
that has his hand
on the *** of another girl
who's laughing with the people
she would never talk to
if she wasn't holding
that cup
that matches yours
and his
and hers
and theirs
that slosh over a little when they
dance all close and grimy
because our culture promotes
flippancy
which feels a lot like
fun
and you're not quite sure
how you've noticed that
everyone is leveled
because they're so
high on life and love
and drinks and drugs
and it doesn't quite make sense
but you come to the conclusion
in your mildly impaired state
that all that stuff in movies
isn't all that fake
No, it's just High School
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Craig Verlin Feb 2014
In Flagrante Delicto
You sit next to me,
most unwillingly,
and I can't help but stare.
You have remade yourself;
a group of working parts
of which I am not apart.
Same beautiful woman.
Same beautiful pride,
with that air of regality
that leaves everyone else
pondering their inferiority.
However, now there
is something new.
An awe inspiring anger
that flushes your cheeks
and clenches your fingers.
You are gorgeous when you're angry.
You have this face that you put on;
a flare in your eyes and a
compression of your lips.
You would never let yourself
come down from this ledge.
--even though if you jumped
I would catch you, I promise--
You have remade yourself
into a new whole and
I have received my eviction notice.
But I know it's not as simple
as you allow it to be,
I can see the digs in the edge
of your thumbnails
where you bite into them with
your index finger.
Signs of stress
to anyone enough to know.
I see it in your flippancy.
You are not a reckless person, always
careful, calculating risk and reward,
but you've thrown
caution to the wind, it seems.
Perhaps an act of revenge,
perhaps of retribution,
it doesn't make a difference.
I only watch in wonder of the woman
I escorted out of my life, as
she sits next to me
unspeaking, unfeeling.
And I've never felt farther
in my life.
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Eli Hashaw Mar 2015
The Hound's Tooth
Blood pours from the wound.
The hounds snarl viciously at him. There are two of them.
Standing over him as his life drains from the hole newly torn in his outer thigh. The tooth is still lodged in his leg.
It is the only reason he is still conscious. The delicate ivory dagger is all that is keeping his femoral artery from emptying itself onto the dusty pine-needle covered ground.
He realizes his peril. His impending departure from this mortal plane instilling in him a new-found appreciation for the life he is about to lose. He feels regret.
He regrets walking into the forest at night alone. He regrets leaving his home in anger and he regrets the last words he spoke to his family.

He is sure this is the end. He has finally done it.

He grows increasingly desperate as moments from his past leap to the forefront of his awareness. Even as these awful beasts circle closer his mind is filled with images unrelated to his current predicament.
But perhaps not so unrelated as it was these blunders that each led him a step closer to this fateful nights error. His attention turns back to the beasts. Each vying to be the first to indulge itself on the flesh of this foolish over-evolved hominid squirming in front of them. But the creatures are no longer what he fears. He can feel the blood draining from his wound. He feels the wetness and the growing chill.
He feels the absence of his future.

He pleads with God to give him one last chance.

One last chance to make something of the life which he has treated with such ungrateful flippancy.
One last chance to keep the spirits of his parents from breaking under the weight of losing their child.
One last chance to find the love he knew he’d never find again.
One last chance to find the courage to create some meaning for himself.
One last chance to die with some small amount of peace in his heart.
#suicide #depression #regret #death
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Amelia Jul 2016
II.
My girl builds coffins
For the days that the sun
doesn't rise
And the night is void of light

She makes a nest, a niche
of some sort
At the bottom of a bottle

Sometimes she goes up in flames.

And then-
She smiles a little too wide
Talks a little too much
Until she falls down in a stupor
Still-
she laughs
She laughs and laughs
Until-
Nothing.

She gazes at her reflection,
Sometimes.
Her eyes are wide and blank
as she stares at the post-apocalyptic wasteland of her soul

And i cry, i cry
I have to cry
For my beloved knows
To what extent sadness goes
But when morning comes
She hides her coffins
Underneath the layers
Of bravado and flippancy-

And smiles,
Just a little bit too little.
#sadness #grief
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Shawn B Jan 2018
The Wreck of the mighy's ambition
I dream of peace and just assurance.
I have stood for it all my life,
with constitution and vigor.

My hope and that which I have defended,
stood bright and noble in the light of love.
It has been as I have seen him
true,
honest,
quietly brave,
a perfect encapsulation.

The wind has not shaken him in his innocence,
he shall stand beside me in nobility
unscathed.

I will defend this glory.

In innocence and grace,
as a child, you stand and walk.
I will work this day in your honor, with ease.

We will watch you in all you stand for victorious.

Together we are ready and true, within and beside you, our hope.

Innocence tempted,
standing unprotected,
with all hope inside, and promise.
All that is of value, tested, to be refined.
The day has passed and that which was gold is a fooled fool.
Standing in temptation as many a desperate ***** desire,
unquenchable.

We cannot lose hope, this is a test.

I must continue, to put you forth to your destiny.
Leaving the darkness into arms much worse, knowing betrayal.
You will go to glory but I must forsake my own, crippled.

I am destitute, in my flippancy,
I realize that sin is a filth not able to be removed.
But I know the code,
the law of fire and grace,
I can use it to my advantage and forsake the trials,
and continue in love, but what love is this?
A mentor lay in my path.

The show must go on.

It is loss to move on,
it is loss to forsake,
is is loss to do nothing.
No bearing of truth do I have now in this gift of victory
unearned.
Move forward to prove. Fall back to loose again?
Or loose all gained by grace's ennoble gain?

He washed us white as snow.

Works or Love?
Entwine the two...
We will carry you, the broken of my deeds,
from white to grey to white, through blood and fire we go,
as you have shown us oh mighty man,
now wasted.
For this is the way understood.

I see you on the edge, not swiftly turning.

What's that you carry?

The wreck of the mighty's ambition.
For it was not just the faithful
who brought me home,
but the vision of might and of noble in glory.
The glimpse of both from which I strayed in vain curiosity
broken.
Now mending myself and you in mighty ambition.

Noble, faithful, and true we carry on.
This is one of those poems that could go on forever but you have to stop and come to a conclusion sometime. So I hope it ended well, in hope in a mixed up life vowed for something better. I know I'm not perfect and but this is my hope that I will stand faithful to what I have given myself in Jesus. This poem is a reflection of my life and it's struggle in poetic form, obviously not literal. Anyway I hope whoever reads it likes and thinks about your life too... :)
#faith #hope #justice #brocken #renewed #love #journey #struggle
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Olivia Kent Feb 2015
WATCHING
To study closely the face of a stranger.
Strategies and patterns carved from well spent living.
Living in a hub-bub of city lights and fancies, strung together with strands of flippancy.
Watch children's faces glowing as they grow from innocence as they grow into experience.
Knowing not what lay in store and adulthood demands creep rapidly into sight.
The girls, they hang about in gangs of giggles.
Behind rose tinted spectacles, snatching quick glimpses of the things to come.
The lads kick language round the park, if they're not kicking each other.
Now and then a ball's in play.
The elderly couple shuffle on, they're on their way home.
The faces hold pictures of a world of their own.
She looked like Audrey Hepburn did.
Once upon a youthful time ago.
She kissed him goodbye as she got on her bus.
I wonder upon reflection.
What it was they made of us.
© LIVVI
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WA West Sep 2018
Tongues given to the withdrawn
Of all the eccentric ways

tongues given to the withdrawn ,

As the day becomes a disease,

never quite what it should be,

Numerous guises intertwined

there is a flippancy of rhythm

Knowing but not,

mouths are soiled and numb,
#ill #tired
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Janal Rajput Nov 2019
Letter To My Heart and His Bad Decisions
I hate you, my heart.
Why can't you learn that these feelings you cling to desperately;
Become my greatest enemy, leaving me in helpless ecstasy?
And we can we talk about your taste in men,
How it messes me over again and again-

Because I feel as if you thrive to see my discomposure,
Making my rationality as useless as cannon fodder,
With your fetish for unrequited affection,
It is as if you're blinded and deaf to a any real connection,
Yet you subvert my own rational objections to peruse a love
Rooted in self-doubt and rejection.

My brain caves to the weight of star-crossed lovers you obsess over,
And I know you just ache for him to be here-with us- and I do too,
He's the bridge to our unstable cliff-sides;
But you need to face reality,
Trust my instincts and those bad vibes,
He doesn't care.
God! Things are so tough,
Why can't being alone be enough!?

You know my insecurities caused by the cavalier passion
You place on our sleeve for all deceive,
You alone saw love that was destined to wilt,
How I find it hard to trust someone else,
Expose the shards of my true self.

You just watch as we go head first unconditionally,
Loving with a restless and reckless flippancy,
With the passion of a great symphony,
Me and you aligned perfectly in alluring clarity,
Bursting with delicious divinity,
Achieving beautiful brilliancy,
We see colours in rays of a passionate soliloquy,
Intoxication to your desolation,
All this absolute affection, met with rejection.
I don't want this!
We do not need this!
I can't bear to see you break again,
Because I'm the ones that picks up your messy pieces,
Nurses your bruises and heals your diseases,
Unleashes adhesive to stick you back in the hole in my chest-
Hoping the aching will stop if you get some rest.

The distance you feel towards him yeah it makes me depressed,
It messes with my mind, makes me so stressed,
Wondering why are you so sentimental
To boys that treat you as if you were a devil
Can't you see we have better things that we could be?
Maybe focusing on that degree,
You'd rather pull me into your warped reality:
Gentle kisses,
Notions of chivalry,
Walks across ******* beaches,
The smell of his skin,
Eyes tearing my soul to pieces,
Love with all its villainy.
You never told me, though, that this was all merely imagery,
Soon fades like a Polaroid with antiquity...

I hate you, my heart,
I can't control you,
I never could,
I'm petrified of the heartbreak you threaten to bring on us,
Your desire the epicenter to an earthquake that will shake these worn in bones...
Please don't lead us into cold decay,
For once let's keep your passions at bay and notions of love away,
For I fear this time,
We will both have a price to pay.
This is about the classic fight between one's heart and mind and how subsequently my heart's bad decisions with boys come with scathing comments from my mind.
#love #regret #romance #poem #heart #mind
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Aditya Roy Jun 2019
Veni Vidi Acid Avicii
Hey Hey Hey
Yip Yip Yoo
True and dare
To go through the place in the zoomed outland
The mumble is bad I can tell
Someone wants to write cheap music
I can tell
There is ****** in the air
And flippancy will end my misery very soon.
#nothing #great
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Dave Robertson May 2020
A last walk
A sum total of immediate family gathered
at a seaside Italian cafe
half loving getting time together
half dreading the weight of the urn

taking turns to tickle flippancy
in an honoured tradition of laughing
in the face of the massive horrors of life,
scales on the crusty familial armadillo

It’s time

Each step beyond the coffee steam
feels further into foreign territory
where defences weaken
even though the climb is sweet

we walk up a hill to reveal a familiar vista
that youth ignored huffily, heartily
and adulthood yearns for,
where memories pepper current steps

The humour shield holds until the ash is cast
when my throat clutches to swallow
knowing that my reasoning can’t break this,
even though you’d wipe it away

You aren’t allowed to soothe these tears,
they serve for the years and years,
pay pennies into arcade machines
and buy novelty rock never eaten

The bedrock and foundation of us
stands on this sometimes sunny head
holding hard to the ropes and lines
until the next handover
Would have been mum’s birthday on Saturday.
#ends #memory #memorial #family #mum #mother
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Zizaloom Oct 2018
Le vent levant
And when our backs are skimmed
And that the dull rain comes crashing down
Our shoulder blades in cascades and lips quivering, jingle bells
Play one of those symphonies, we never forget

And when we speak on a blue day just like the other days
And arms over head and hair tangling
You will bite the hook
Become mediocre and
Hollow in ebony
Look at the sky where we will find ourselves

The enamelled fruits
The fish twirling
Out of gentleness, out of modesty
From flippancy without rebellion
From appearing to being
And the being to appear
We will train ourselves in chains as we will be

It's the man who kills himself
Hanged by his ****** thoughts
Bruised by foolish happiness
And visions without life
At the bottom of the gorge
The color of a rose
The ravines and the good
The bad
And the people
Moans and mooing
A funny grazing cow
Falls and without shame
Gets up and guards
It's udder pink looks
Strange

Our backs are denuded
Sullen rain, Sabbath
Our shoulders clenched and frozen
Our lips covered in frost
Let us play one of these symphonies
The ones we never forget
Since the moment has marked itself,
And will disappear forever with the rain remains and rising winds,
As the end of our days
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Robert Gretczko Dec 2021
eagles... sparrows, and humming birds
soon my children will fly from my firm embrace
to that worldly gaggle of spit, and fire and chance and
unleased all... opportunity, happiness, love, and desire

but for now, I'm holding tight to their smiles and stylings...
and petulance and arguments and laments... pitched battles
that end up soon in smiles and hugs goodnight

and dressing up.. posing and posturing for a tik tok
dance or feisty Instagram... silly but so now...
flippancy and admonishments roll out like a lucky seven

going out, coming in, that's up and then down
here's the doorbell being rung one, two, three times
fast, so fast... "open up Dad keys are in our backpacks"

a blink from diapers to destinations... on their own
with friends and futures in tow... be home soon
maybe midnight, maybe three... really not sure

time waits ready to treat the destiny for each one's
sonnet, symphony... jazz riff or rap synapse...
solely and uniquely fitted like a fine dovetail joint
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Yenson Nov 2019
chill white-walkers....
Winter is coming

and in faded light the white-walkers cry

the drifts are in the drift of things melting

without substance and core agog-ed in chilled flippancy

heads hung in drivel they cast aimless spells in gauze satin

Shapeshifting maiden sacrificed to appease the white walls of pain

inchoate minds drums and beat hides in soundless menace and sins

the salt goddesses pine for fire logs within caves and stallions to ride

feeble and ungainly the white-walkers hurl spittle and bile in rancour

the lickers are licked in mind body and soul in chaste snow-blindness

the black knight in amour an ermine brandishes the sword of swords

and burns the hottest of flames in a kiln so rare and fine

all around the hot air of squawking swirls to nothing

the drifts of drifts hankers in igloos fermenting

winter is coming
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Ellie Aug 2019
Classic
I regret the endless nights
I thought of you
Of how you could maybe like me too
Of the perpetual zugzwang
You made me play
And I can see it now
Spot it from a mild away
Your childishness
That dragged me away
Will be the cause of your pain

And the truth is

I deserve better
I am a perpetual summer
I am a joyful serenade
I can see color in the gray

And in the end
You lose
You will lose her eventually
Due to your flippancy
And you have lost me
An incredible feat
You don't know who you are, but I knooowww
Continue reading...

— The End —