"gobbledygook" poems
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful
ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think
can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology
is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension
if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality
imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival
time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light
everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation
yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******
if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater
is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?
we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions
not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies
we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
Words, once obedient servants
Now claim suzerainty over ideas.
The age of meaningful verse has yielded
To gobbledygook.
Poetry, a grey mist half-understood
Through which I stumble blindly,
A mirage I chase through the sands...
The wells of creativity run dry.
Neither outpourings of emotion nor tender murmurs;
Mere craftsmanship remains.
Lines dolled up in ****** baubles
Literary ****** soliciting passing readers,
Fireflies, impotent
In the face of the darkness within.
The autumn harvest of verbosity is ripe
For the scythe of the Grim Reaper
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 1:02 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
My mind is a bin
A very large bin
Filled with a huge amount of junks
And it doesn't even need to wear a trunk
It is exposed to the gobbledygook
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Fingers locked
in female hands
a riddle
like legs free of clothes
crumpled jumpers
in a corner
resembling a salad
of what-the-hell-went-on
last night greeny-reds.
Dolled up
bees' knees
next time
not a person to impress
or dazzle with a fedora
top-shelf aftershave
charcoal-black shoes
gobbling this week's wages.
Miss your mouth
completely
see if you tick
the thirty-one boxes
know nail polish
birthdays
better than second-hand
lips and teeth and tongues
and lips
stash wit in a drawer
humour under the bed.
Spot the odd one out
like finding a disease
in a bloodstream
always observe
an owl in the room
watch others hurl feelings
I miss you's about
gobbledygook
resort to stories
only your pillow knows
they want the fire
not a lonely snowman.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Talking Turkey
gobble gobble gobble
it may sound like giberish to you
or sometimes called gobbledygook
nonsensical in thought it's true
the genesis of language
was born here though at least it seems
the northern mesopotamian birthplace
the birthplace of our dreams
the beginnings of modern man
the farmer now the gatherer no longer
communication skills needed more
the thoughts so much stronger
this bipedal ***** standing creature
descendant of humanoids now gone
move north out of Baghdad
and learned to sing a song
the music still playing in our ears
lingers on from these Turkish rants
poetry in another form
words of the future cants
Gomer LePoet....
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
*I ne'er half thought of you as best
Painted, frozen on canvas, still, set?
Static & unmoving... but I do rest
In my bet you feign'd it. The man Thus, he is as a criminal! If hold he Must you as possession -Beauty's Pageant.
A sun proving to ne'er grow Stagnant.
Go'th then, swept in wind, smooth &
Seminole, with no frame to so seal In
YOUth within his lines -rather reel In
Lines of my rhymes to sustain YOU Ever
Both A's & Q's. No pause, Sure Forever.
Inks & links rather than oils soon Cracked &
Dried out, faded with careless Neglect
And old Time, proving Spell checked
Words, ripen'd on a vine, (freely repro-
Duced,) is better than stretchers 2 show
In one place, wired/hooked on a dim wall
Of your captor. His penchant 2 refuse call,
Or to face, why your smile wert so small.
Unbeknownst to the brushed up painter,
Who with gobbledygook stained your
Heart, but took you as his Sitter bitterly.
So if your Silence art your bitter Mystery,
Then book Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall
As my pen chants only 4u -a wonderwall.*
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
Pardon please my pedantry,
But I espied sir that in your rhapsody
You sometimes overlook crossing all your “t’s.”
If a point should be taken, then please let it be
That these consequential “t’s” should not be jotted down so flippantly.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Polysyllabic
Gobbledygook and such like
Black's white and down's up
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:14 PM UTC
He was a sad sort of man
And we let him exist
On the corner of our consciousness.
ignoring all his nastiness
And jokes calling women broads
And how he wanted to ******
And pinch them and stare
At them when they were naked.
We giggled at his ugliness
And displays of tacky wealth
And how he has so little
Of anything called class.
We called him an ***
And wrote him off in the seventies
As a silly arriviste fool
Who played around in school
And dodged the draft.
He was a joke fore and aft
But we underestimated
The danger of a snake
Slithering in the silence.
It can bite us just because
We were not looking at it.
And it is no help to ignore it.
No matter the excuses we make.
It is still a slithering snake.
We forgot to take into account
That some people like snakes
And take them as pets
Despite all the epithets
Of their neighbors and family.
They do so happily
Because there is something wrong
With people who handle snakes
And they usually shout about Jesus
Which I am sure he would hate.
But no problem, it seems of late
To them, Jesus was a bigot, a hater.
They must have read later
Some Bible we never saw
With a different set of laws
And advice. Really not nice.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
King wing nut fancied himself a fashion savant. No one was ballsy enough to tell him "you caahnt".
He sewed a nice shirt from riverbed dirt.
"Wonderful sire was the obliging blurt.
He stitched a cocked hat made from rooster
Fat.
"Mahvelous sire was the rat a tat tat.
He sewed wooden trousers
to so many wowsers !!!
His stockings were crafted from gobbledygook.
Superlative sire!! and "Oh goodness look"
The Vapid sot laid down on a cot for a nap.
He woke at two,recharged an refreshed.
He stripped down to the skin and proceeded to sew a suit from the thinnest of air.
He stepped to his throne from the twilight zone.
bemused and with hardly a care.
What say ye now said the simplified oaf.
All eyes drifted skyward as he strutted about.
to applause and stifled guffaws.
"Your majesty has outdone himself".
"Leave the rest of your clothes in the closets and shelves.
Nothing more needs be said.
Gassed up and content with an over-sized head.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
the night
had many eyes,
and spoke
in sounds that
a kid would be
interested.
the boy was
fascinated
by the secrets
of night.
but they told:
"don't keep awake
or look through
the window glass
you would hear
frightening voices,
and animal sounds
of many kind.
ghosts,
wander
at night.
so, sleep
safe under bed sheets
but night
the enticing witch,
with long dark hair
that cover pretty much everything,
came near the window
and asked
"why don't you
open the window
and see my garden
full of magical flowers"
the stars were happy
to see the child's face
they smiled,
night
looked happy in this turn,
they spoke in a tongue
understood by one another.
the boy was happy that he has nailed the lie.
"they said, you aren't nice,
eat kids,
i don't believe that now.
they don't know a thing
i love night sounds;
so soothing
like mother's heart beat"
the kid loved to
sleep near mother
listening to the beats
of her heart.
but they said,
it was bad, he has to sleep
alone, even if he wets bed.
Then
he heard the ghosts speak
in gobbledygook
that made him
uneasy and confused
when listened
it sounded like the
squeak of the moving bed.
to the edge
of the room,
he tip-toed,
and peeped in
through the half closed door.
" a secret world was opened
in front of my eyes"
he later remembered
though the significance
then eluded him.
there was a dreamy light in the room.
two figures, clothes shed,
were in bed,
trying to overpower each other,
with a kind of ***** greed,
that was all he could then think,
then the scene became tense,
one got up on the other,
trying to get in to it,
"ghosts! they eat each other"
the boy thought with disgust.
he tip-toed back
to his bed,
and pretended dead,
to avoid the eye of ghosts,
as he was admonished,
and went to sleep,
to the tune of the lullaby,
the bed moving in unison, created.
OOO
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
You talk about agape
And leave me agape.
Really Beulah
Go peel me a grape.
At least you’d be useful
Because now you are not.
A bunch of superstitions
That is all you have got.
A badly written compendium
Of fairy tales for adults.
The kind of book of spells
A witch might consult.
Gobbledygook and folderol
All except the dead cats.
This kind of mumbo jumbo
Tells us exactly where you’re at.
If you came to me and said
I really dig Carlos Castaneda
And I want you to live by him
And his rules, I’d say, “Later!”
The same would be true if
You told me to dance in skin
Under the light of the moon
In the direction: widdershins.
If you came to me with a rock
And said the thing was breathing
You might as well claim it a baby
And tell me the rock is teething.
If you tell me waving your hands
Makes my bad mood go away
I might, out of pure courtesy
Not have that much to say.
But if you tell me I must talk
To infantile pieces of stone
And wave my hands at you
I’ll tell you to leave me alone.
The same thing goes for folks
That read misquoted old books
And when I say I don’t believe
They shoot me evil looks.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
noise and confusion front
centre of pure light
rolling grey mass obscures
it
mills white into frequency
that has peaks touching
lows
it
steals night pricked into
spectral stall spaced out
on god labels and sci-
gobbledygook
so
dreamers can dance
fragile hearts into hope
lies
grey is white
rainbows are gold
names are cures
passionates lean hard
fragments that lore's
peddle as jigsaws
boxed with image
of whole
complex puzzles rattle
the futility of :
cover
whole and virtuous
open
inside is the same : broken
fix
me
(no bits missing
the grey is my underside)
frustration until
completion then
frustration with
maintenance of
completeness
(Back in the box)
reality reels results in
fondness for familiarity
played on
simpler puzzles
when we knew the shapes
by touch
and we put ourselves together
in the dark
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
Tell. me you love me again.
As you run your fingers through my hair.
While touching your temples with my pen.
As I touch yours with new born grace.
Once kisses of power.
My heart was devoured.
Blood flow blue.
Royal blue my lord.
I shall write my words for you.
As I write my words for all and sundry.
The girl whose heart turned cold and blue.
In a mismatch of a hotchpotch.
Of gobbledygook mistaken.
On a crisp cold winters day.
She begs for nothing.
Nothing at all.
Perhaps pride came before her fall.
Her fall from grace entirely dropped.
Discarded in dreams puddles.
Her poems now extended.
Too many months descended.
To put my words in consonants and vowels.
To fill the cracks with trowels.
No, not mine you fool.
Words are my nourishment.
Sometimes my punishment.
As the book of revelations.
I lay open.
Not signalling Armageddon.
Nor the end of my world.
Without you!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
Milk
and
Honey
gamble away the
t
i
m
e.
In a y e a r we will fl y
into the s a and
e
s o a r over your smile.
Nobody speak.
This
is
just
another
day in Spite.
a
r n
In F. ce
Shall we
sow
ee
the s ds of your t i m e?
my time?
its\ /time.
been a long
Milk
and
Honey
a b e
g m l away our t ime.
Maybe
in
a year
or so. I
wont want the grass
to grow.
Because
it w-o-n't allow
s e
your m l to s o a r.
i
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
It has been said to me
That poetry
Is but Words
And Gobbledygook.
So how can I explain
What poetry is?
It’s something intangible,
An atmosphere,
A spiritual thing.
Poetry is essence,
Touching the soul.
A kind of Magic,
As Queen used to sing.
It makes you tingle
And shudder
And glow.
Much more than a shopping list
Or legal decree
Poetry flows from the heart,
Lyrically lancing
Through space and time
To create a universe
Of bountiful beauty,
Where even the ugliest monstrosity
Is transformed
Into heaven
On Earth.
It saddens me to think
That seemingly soulless people
Miss out
On this.
So all I can do
Is keep on singing,
Carry on writing
In the enduring hope
That one day
They will see the light.
Paul Butters
© PB 2\1\2019.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 8:56 AM UTC
What to use for gibberish
Gobbledygook is a useful word
Find it in your double-talk
Brian Hill - 2019 - # 268
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
the words are sewn into skin
a cloak, earrings
body armour, a helmet
lips like a sentence
tongue of gobbledygook
mind gone sane with diction
over the edge and back again
for one last paragraph
of living with a forced language
Until silence wraps me up
carries me off as her lover
her prize her plaything
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
You can try to justify your policies
that is not what bothers me,
what bothers and is bothering me is
the fact you can decide on a policy
that affects our liberty,
is this democracy?
I cannot decide nor decipher whether
it's hot air or just bluster, but
buster
you'd better be aware
we all live here and I don't care if
Sunil speaks Tamil or gobbledygook.
I suspect this is not about the language
and more to do with the way people look.
j
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
Once there was a nation, which
Boasted of its wealth and size.
In that nation lies became truth,
And truth became known as lies.
Thus, the country corroborated
An expert's wise and salient prediction
That soon the people everywhere
Wouldn't know fact from fiction.
"Science is irrelevant,"
The leaders of the land decreed.
"Clamp down on critical thinking
And we'll maintain control indeed."
The people became MORE baffled,
MORE confused, MORE perplexed,
And wondered what kind of craziness
They were going to encounter next.
The art of political doublespeak
Was praised, encouraged and expanded.
If you called it gobbledygook,
You were severely reprimanded.
Reporters who sought facts were called
"Purveyors of mendacity,"
While those who were irrational
Were "pillars of veracity."
The general rule was answer a question
With a question, or try to deflect
Any queries toward dead ends.
The tactic was called "Misdirect."
The leader was an expert at
Duplicity and subterfuge.
Ruling without intelligence
Can work when a person's ego is HUGE.
Sad it was to see such a land
Change from what it once had been.
Not until people opened their eyes
Would things improve. Not until then.
- by Bob B (3-21-17)
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
It all appears to me to be
gobbledygook,
I look
try to see but
it means nothing to me.
Perhaps it's my age and
I can't see so clearly the
words on the page but I
have this idea that
all I can see here is..
..can't see to spell but this word certainly
smells ripe.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
to avoid the pitfall of prospective homelessness
which near future prospect
induces existential angst i confess.
Today (end of rope rhyme rote
approximately deux orbitz round the sun),
i wanted ta die and bid god riddance grandly
going gamesomely gra grave,
de deum, and cymbal crash
to Bing mulct emotionally, physically and spiritually -
all the grinding hardships would be gone in a flash
how tempting to seek ot a solution sans hemlock
or other deadly potion,
whereby toothless mouth need not gnash
boot simply swallow and drink from the goblet of
mortal freedoms renting psych *** under
with purposelessness mine hash
tag, which bout with suicide
while n the edge of thirteen -
Anorexia nervosa defeated -
then as now experience
10,000 banshee maniacs whip lash
lacerating, flagellating,
and repeatedly rousing thoughts
shin to circle back to why death be not proud
when life on par with a mash
up of ennui, futile gobbledygook housing incubus
analogous luft waffe bombardiers quash
the joie de vivre per je ne sais quois spritely spring
in step happy jollity,
and levity attempt to make light
of psychological me's mental illness rash
whence thru the (then) lvii roam min years
as chief garbage taster of trash
hurled my way gnome matter
the gremlins dwelt within the Wabash
distance to inflict din er of dissonance
targeted this mortal for'er abash
as soon as he got expelled
from the womb, his reddened ears did bash
from sonic screaming boom causing astir the nurses
into the maternity ward
of me late mum sped like dash
her, and fast as a comet Prancer doth emulate
a con ***** dancer, cuz ova this rude half
re: that came a boot
from genetic chromosomal dna wash.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:56 AM UTC
Seems the best music is
Coming out of Sweden these days
Iceland and Sweden
Nordic strains for angels to sing
Cleverly hidden love songs to the
Real God who listens
Who understands the language
And recognizes each emotional inflection
In the voice even when the language
Is gibberish, gobbledygook
Smiles thought it all
Revealing these ice white molars
He seems so proud of
Truth be told he's proud of Imannu El
And Sigur Ros
They represent they heavenly choir
On earth quite well
They are his gift to a tired people
To the jaded and cynical
May their innocence bring a moments
Bliss
To the beaten down and ready-to-die
May their harmonious melodies
Shine a light on one more joy filled day
To took forward to
And if that fails let the be joy and bliss
Within themselves
To keep the poor man company
Thus fulfilling the will of the Lord
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC