"imbecility" poems
People live forever in Jacksonville and St. Petersburg and Tampa,
But you don't have to live forever to become a grampa.
The entrance requirements for grampahood are comparatively mild,
You only have to live until your child has a child.
From that point on you start looking both ways over your shoulder,
Because sometimes you feel thirty years younger and sometimes
thirty years older.
Now you begin to realize who it was that reached the height of
imbecility,
It was whoever said that grandparents have all the fun and none of
the responsibility.
This is the most enticing spiderwebs of a tarradiddle ever spun,
Because everybody would love to have a baby around who was no
responsibility and lots of fun,
But I can think of no one but a mooncalf or a gaby
Who would trust their own child to raise a baby.
So you have to personally superintend your grandchild from diapers
to pants and from bottle to spoon,
Because you know that your own child hasn't sense enough to come
in out of a typhoon.
You don't have to live forever to become a grampa, but if you do
want to live forever,
Don't try to be clever;
If you wish to reach the end of the trail with an uncut throat,
Don't go around saying Quote I don't mind being a grampa but I
hate being married to a gramma Unquote.
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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
a circling vortex of disarray
starts inside my head
clasped by unsure
yet supportive hands
the helpless recesses of which
lets the sycophantic white light of my desktop monitor
summoned upon a wretched click
scatter on this scattered face
forming a weak shield
amalgamated by the desolation
and imbecility of a roadside orphan
ignorant but lasting
on the crumbs left over
from a stranger's life
a familiar unsettling sound
cracks open this pale shield
and my brooding eyes open
to see her making contact
one instant
one magical instant,
and die the next
leaving my impressioned eyes
wanting more
i lie, lie to myself
when the truth is
there woud be no more
of her tonight
retreating never meant giving up
and i do retreat,
to escape the insanity
of her charm get to me
amidst real affection
to run away while wanting to look back
when an embrace is just outside my door
desperately wanting to hear that unsettling sound
which drowns the familiar sounds of laughter
the circling vortex now inherent
inside my head
clasped by my helpless
supportive hands
the helpless recesses of which
lets the servile white light of a numb monitor
trace my tears
oh how I weep
to be her onscreen ******
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.
My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.
It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.
Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.
If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.
If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.
Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!
These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.
I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
It's been over thirteen billion years
since we big banged into existence.
The universe is starting to get cold.
And like waiting toys abandoned
by some attention-deficient Owner,
things are starting to get cold.
We make our little bonfire of religion,
of science, of philosophy (other planks of wood)
to keep warm. Ah, warmth at last.
That He'd save us,
or We'd save ourselves,
or we'd explain everything away.
The night is cold. Stars. Are they
God's watchful eyes? But we do not
need a God
to know that they are
spheres of gravity-bound (but what
is our centre of gravity?) plasma.
Whatever empty space someone forgotten to fill,
we like liquids rush to fill up the vacuity.
But it's an artifice. The train is civilisation-bound.
Our hands and feet are tied to the cold, steel tracks.
We struggle against our lives to escape.
But the train is civilisation-bound.
So that when we look to our children
to inherit this world - which is false,
which is as concocted as myth -
it must be bittersweet to give them a better world.
This world we created can crumble like a candy empire.
Child-like imbecility. No happily-ever-afters.
The night is cold, still.
Stars.
Thirteen billion years.
We deny that it's Cold.
We explain it away.
Existential therapy.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
My innocence nudges me
As she points to the creases of my bedding on the ground.
While the bed itself, with the imbecility of its sheets,
Lies rejected in the corner of the room.
My parents’ smiles widen with the stupidity of the covers.
They alone, and the bed
proved to me my innocence and the idiocy of a tidy bed.
Even if I inherited the furniture, children
And the creases under the eyes,
Every time my bed rubs in the carpet’s weave,
I am still baffled by the wideness of their smiles,
As I lie between my children
On a stupid, tidy bed.
By Faleeha Hassan
Translated by Dikra Ridha
© Copyright 2016, by Faleeha Hassan. All rights reserved under the Copyright laws of the United States of America and international copyright agreements. No portion of this book maybe reproduced in any form, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author. Email: [email protected]
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
He chirps his last voice,
Clinging onto limbo,
Awaiting his judgement;
The caged.
Shackled by his thoughts,
Bound to torture by choice,
Sulking on putrid grace,
A monstrous mongrel, indeed!
"He is but but a wasted chronicle!",
"Letting himself be battered!";
"Why is he so weak?!",
"Why does he strive to live then?"
They cannot see,
They cannot understand,
The imbecility he does,
Has a grim reason behind it.
His demons cackle in his head:
"Die, you oaf! Lay lifeless in your cowardice!"
He struggles to become whole;
He struggles to be fine.
He screams silently:
"Help me end this sadness!",
He cyphers his voice over vision,
He cyphers his voice over words.
He reaches his hand out,
Hoping someone to answer;
He is beaten black and blue,
Yet he tries to plea.
As his voice begins to fade,
As his body lies down, helplessly,
As his mind goes blank with darkness,
As his hope is violently eradicated.
Please. Help. Me.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
The dance of ignorance marks our era,
The revelry howls into their ears,
But isn't opening a mind, only a bra.
Smoke is what we learned from Chimera,
Hangovers, falsehood, imbecility - unrestrained
Their most loyal friend, is dear nausea.
Drugs and **** brings them the aurora,
Living is nice, when we are unconscious.
In this reality, we are no Andromeda.
Advocacy of the unknown, is their chroma,
Defines their existence and ensures a legacy.
All is, a pseudo pride, and a fictitious corona.
Injustice, corruption ghosts within the area
Multilateral sins, unilateral sentence,
Flows into their logic like satisfying aria.
Bogus beliefs, to rise, and rule are a plethora,
Empty imposters control, destroy and mooch,
And what we see is an illusion of an aura.
Defiling the Quran, the bible, and the Torah,
With what a gold holder wishes and needs.
Whomever defies them, loses their aorta.
All will be fallen, America, Europe and Russia.
Hatred, arrogance, saturation of trivialities,
Is taken in, in grace, like the seduction of Delilah.
Concerts unify us, not our humanity, it's in coma,
Lack of fellowship, digs deeper into division.
If only books, not Lady gaga, were your holy diva.
The void will swallow us all, the diaspora,
The loss of our identity, truth, entity and ego.
Finding our roots, is our everlasting dilemma.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 4:34 PM UTC
I love to flirt and dance with suicide
Counting death, as if I’ve already died
It’s a fantasy date with destiny
The thrill of that last and final ride….
I’ve gone over the edge… I think
Into a melancholy void I sink
Where flights of imagination take over
Memories and projections, with no apparent link …
Do I long for the end? Sure…
But allas, there is no cure …
Death being but a transitional doorway
Into another state, not necessarily pure…
I cannot shed this sadness
Nor it’s selfendulgent madness
Its all adding up to imbecility
And an attitude of crassness!
Ah! More time spent in morbid revery
Emotional Back-sliding and mental mortality
But never you mind!
The worst catalyst is any sympathy ….
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 6:12 PM UTC
Last night I dreamed a million dreams,
:One for each star shining overhead
A million visions,
:The tidal night washing me away
I lived a million lives
:The lunacy of night
And died a million deaths,
:The imbecility of dawn
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC