"inanity" poems
Here on planet earth
we’re all
‘B’ Movie Makers
marketing inanity
flirting with insanity
breaking down reality
seeking peas we cannot see
When we search beneath the cup
we find that
only empty space and air
fill it up
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC
The Banker's Fate
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
And the Banker, inspired with a courage so new
It was matter for general remark,
Rushed madly ahead and was lost to their view
In his zeal to discover the Snark.
But while he was seeking with thimbles and care,
A Bandersnatch swiftly drew nigh
And grabbed at the Banker, who shrieked in despair,
For he knew it was useless to fly.
He offered large discount--he offered a cheque
(Drawn "to bearer") for seven-pounds-ten:
But the Bandersnatch merely extended its neck
And grabbed at the Banker again.
Without rest or pause--while those frumious jaws
Went savagely snapping around--
He skipped and he hopped, and he floundered and flopped,
Till fainting he fell to the ground.
The Bandersnatch fled as the others appeared
Led on by that fear-stricken yell:
And the Bellman remarked "It is just as I feared!"
And solemnly tolled on his bell.
He was black in the face, and they scarcely could trace
The least likeness to what he had been:
While so great was the fright that his waistcoat turned white--
A wonderful thing to be seen!
To the horror of all who were present that day,
He uprose in full evening dress,
And with senseless grimaces endeavoured to say
What his tongue could no longer express.
Down he sank in a chair--ran his hands through his hair--
And chanted in mimsiest tones
Words whose utter inanity proved his insanity,
While he rattled a couple of bones.
"Leave him here to his fate--it is getting so late!"
The Bellman exclaimed in a fright.
"We have lost half a day. Any further delay,
And we sha'n't catch a Snark before night!"
2.1k
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
First, let’s talk about some of the lies
Uttered by the nefarious and unwise
Of a peculiar type of mindless insanity
Created and backed by the inanity
Of the Madison Avenue careerists
And hordes of conspiracy theorists
Who have taken the issue of a ****
And buried it in misconduct and greed.
It is important not to fall for the joke
That it is quite all right to smoke
Because smoking anything you pass
A dose of something called cyanic gas
Into your lungs, and perhaps minimal,
It’s the gas they use to execute criminals.
But, other uses for this homegrown stuff
Can help people whose lives are tough.
But the whole shooting match is a dodge
Started out by rich men in their fancy lodge
Fueled by ignorance and false piety
Written into law by a strangers to sobriety
That somehow had no problem with drinking
But thought being ****** was stinking thinking.
So they created movies and legends galore.
But repression is all the lies were ever for.
(There’s an old joke about a boss’s decree
About employees drinking ***** daily.
He issued the rule on the smell-free *****
That was drunk at lunch time by his crews,
Because he didn’t want customers hazy
Thinking his employees were going crazy.
He preferred they know they were inebriated
Rather than a staff full of the grossly pixilated.)
It was that kind of thinking that created
A fervor that up until today has not abated,
That named an easily grown garden plant
Into some kind of major anti-opium rant,
While opiates are endorsed by the AMA.
And hundreds of versions are here today
To cure the same ailments as cannabis
Without the side effects that are a nemesis.
Medical science is finally ignoring
A sacred cow that needed goring;
Suggesting to the country as a whole
That this simple plant can play a role
In helping those who need relief
And are being criminalized by a belief
That, accompanied with such sadness,
Was the true definition of ****** madness.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
Recreational Insanity
Unconditional Inanity
Impractical Commonality
Warm Welcome to the Family
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 9:14 PM UTC
A conflict crippling beyond my will,
My mind, my own capacity,
Abating to the point of dread
A broken soul, now broken inanity
The words I can't resist to restate
Again and again and about
Can I have the will to keep it--
The meaning, now to saturate
I sit in my muddled state of disarray
Contemplating the worst--
Or perhaps,
Just honesty
I love my scattered, esoteric mind
I love to squirm as I think at night
Alone, I know, not just in presence
But in ethos, judgement, sense--all the rest,
Still who can help but want another
A mind to love for lonely days
Any mind vaguely the same, just wise
Who could think in ways of deep insight
Can both be given?
In my life of ungraciousness
My world of willful sorrow
My feeble ways of petty days
A weight held fast in the heart
That's what my conflict is made of.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
To the once blooming violet, is it true?
Will she succumb her petals to the burden of time?
Will I be witness to the ripples of this crime?
Is the storm to drown her in skies darkened blue?
Why is the savior the one to endanger?
Why is the heartsease the one heartbreaker?
Why is the kind spirit the true soul shaker?
Why is my best friend to become a stranger?
How can she lose against the clutches of temptation?
When was the divine cursed with humanity?
How could the listener speak with inanity?
When was our friendship twisted into damnation?
Will an invasive **** be victorious in his heist?
Is the **** to convince her of his illusive might?
Is he ******* her salve, to my abysmal fright?
Will I rot of envy from the disgraceful tryst?
Why is life’s story a destiny written in stone?
Why can’t I change the demise plagued within?
Why should her scent become my eternal toxin?
Why shall it degrade me from my flesh ‘til my bone?
How was I yearning for the bliss of her design?
When was I seeded with this addiction?
How was it dreamt into endless affliction?
When did Violet and Lost Girl begin to intertwine?
Epilogue:
And did the lost girl tiptoed through the darkened fields?
Was her in search of the warmth of the sun’s yield?
Did she reach the water? Was it her escape?
Was a giant lily in the wait?
Was it a doomed attempt? No heat, no win?
Were her burdens too heavy? Did she sink in?
And forever bound, was this betrayal to restrain her way?
Or was it a promise of the past to save her day?
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:46 AM UTC
The truth is turning plastic
And politicians spastic
As they dream up fantastic
Ways to be bombastic.
The anti-intellectuals,
Their rhetoric effectual,
Demand a perpetual
And lucrative processional
To a place they know the score
Where they can amass more
Of money and stores
In disregarding the mores
They were elected for
And continue waging war
Like high-priced political ******
The truth has no chance
In this genocidal dance
Of unfortunate circumstance
Created to enhance
Resultant happenstance
When, by the seat of his pants
When we happened to glance
Away for a particular moment
And were swamped by the foment
Of eight long years of torment;
Freedoms arteries turned to cement
And any chance of sanity
For American humanity
Got buried in some inanity
About hanging chads and counts
Giving a fool a chance to pounce;
To squeeze the last pure ounce
Of dignity out of the Presidency
By merely taking up residency.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
together now
let us sing
the song of inanity
the song of no meaning
it is the song of the no-light
the song of the ludicrous
the ludicrous become meaning
meaning become ludicrous
This become that
That become this
*ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!*
everything has penetrated its opposite
and the world become beastly
no beginning, no end
no origins
let us sing now
the world topsy-turvy
the brain in a soup,
the mind’s one word: baa-baa-baa
you sing one line
the other another
and then all together
the song of bad breath and yawns
*ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!*
we see King Lear walking
naked in the plains
and we have the Imposter
with his heavy **** on the Throne
which is a Toilet with automated cistern
let us sing then
not then, but now
together now
let us sing
the song of inanity
the song of no meaning
it is the song of the no-light
the song of the ludicrous
the ludicrous become meaning
*ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!*
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "Fumility"
I am a tróubled Tróll, yes I be
draped in bonds of turgid fumility
endowed with a mind's inanity!
Indeed, I fantasize the glóry of Thee
floating like a cork in lunacy
at the edges of the dredges of futility!
But then, as I hallucinate visions of greatness in I and me,
the Vóices come, singing fóllies of my destiny
buzzing in my head like a bumblebee!
The mystic maggóts envelop the I, the fartistic see
birdies tweet to coo coos in the jujube tree
while the lónely Lóg swims in I and Thee,
counting buttons, deviant in insanity!
Some souls are just simply shallower than others. There is no shame in recognizing I's ówn drabness, and appreciating the bóredóm Thee'self has unleashed upon the world. When Thee writes crap about the greatness of I, Thee is displaying I's disappointment for I's lack of gifts...
Would you yourself not feel pity for the finest fartist alive?
*Original ('Humility') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
maturely premature thoughts preexist inside
waiting to explode and marvel
at the symmetry of our meetings,
asymmetrical
incongruities.
unthought veils bearing everything
mysterious. magic rarely happens
when eyes open slowly for the
first time. life hatefully
spiteful, vengefully
insipid, unknowing
uncaring,
who cares, time
lost,
repent,
recant,
re-imagined revisions,
systems breaking human
conditions, connections. see
past the humanity,
inanity and insanity are deliberate
malfunctions- there is beauty
inside every action, movement, and
word.
torrents of half thought forms cascade
over fickle answers,
responses to help your quest. yet
in the same ****** breath you say
‘you’ve thought too much;
imagined
enough-
excuses are all
you need’ while
i cry to you in silence,
you’re missing the beat, the
form, the aspect and motivation
of the intellect that you
so silently yearn
for in your verbal
abuses.
this will only get you so far before
you see as i see
or not at all
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 3:45 PM UTC
jesus is dead
corporate financial thieves are given
billions of dollars
and you
(powerless)
as slaves
--------
writing poetry
telling tales of
petty foolish puppy love
raised to the nth degree
of inanity
-------
jesus is dead
god is silent
except in the occasional bursts of inspiration
when someone
remembers
to be human
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
there are some facts that will my anger trigger
as when a child eats ******* from a skip
or dumb inanity escapes some lip
or when the worst express themselves with vigour
for i love best good honest thought and rigour
and want life to improve at a smart clip
to have a world with neither chain nor whip
where no one will be called a slave or ******
this is a future all can understand
and tightly hold in each understanding
where gold is not a synonym for worth
and help is to be found from every hand
while every boat comes tinto a safe landing
and every child is welcomed at their birth
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
for Maria
you want to ask,
knowing in advance,
the answer is a scream
even if it is silent traveling,
on a frequency transversing,
that humans cannot discern
so strange is it,
that the imposition
of the interrogatory
is the almost harder part
of the two dance partners,
question and answer
a simple
"how are you"
is simply inadequate
in every respect,
it is almost,
disrespectful
for there is no how or are
and for sure, there is no
you anymore
how could there be,
when pieces of your flesh
by hot combs inquisitioner pierced,
levying cuts impervious to
medicinal magic
asking
how was your weekend,
beyond absurd,
what matters the day of the week,
when the unrepairable ailment of thy soul
has a permanence that makes
calendars superfluous
but on certain days,
certain worse than others,
because they freshly dress
the still red scars,
fresh bright pained painted with
unrepressable, unsurpassable memory agonistes
of seeds and wine
so you ask dumb,
you ask blind,
waiting for a
shotgun blast reply,
hoping you will be
the forgiving kind,
but prefacing the inanity with
a forgiveness plea confession,
"I don't know how to ask"
and you reply
*"there is no correct way,
and
there is no correct answer"*
and neither the interrogator
or the interrogee is content,
the Yankee boy and the Southern gal,
unless it is to scream,
till the air in the lungs depleted,
and when replenished,
having screamed to the heart's content,
the heart impaired,
cannot ever be contented
your own insane humanity prompts
to ask again, no matter,
for the only correct thing
is the asking~caring,
even though advance notice
has been given,
there is no correct answer
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Silence feeds the soul...
amidst the raucous noise of commerce,
-rushing orders, calming nerves, selling slick solutions-
the cry & hue of human drama rises
with disparate dreams & goals,
conflicting heart & understanding;
we hear the news of war and rumors of increasing terror,
and as the arguments of fools rise & fall,
reciting inanity as their sacred mantras,
I pause.
A soft wind rises,
blowing through the the silent air.
Leaves rustle in the simple sunlight
as time is still.
I rest on softness,
and my soul is restored.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 10:56 PM UTC
What a sublime impermanence is to be found
In this cavalcade of inanity we know as love.
What once heralded joy, pledged promise divine
Now spawns a spurn that admonishes mine.
What delicious torture a man must bear
If he is of the lover's ilk - Cupid's doll.
What must one do to abolish the scars
Left by the ravages that heartbreak can mar?
What tumult must be borne within the mortal soul
In order to appease the convolutions of the human psyche.
What a breath a malaise for a logic gone dead,
The emotional hierophant left in its stead.
What is the purpose to the words I am writing,
The ramblings so obfuscated on which my time is wasted?
What a beacon they serve to those jaded and lost -
To those that have loved and tasted the cost.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
I've always been a good diver
but somehow my boundaries
took to the river
and I feel like I'm always
forcing my own way upstream
Instead of letting my dreams
float, steer and catch hold of
the things that are good for me.
Lost in the the undertoe
I begin to shiver and quake
while bits of me break off
and flake and dissolve
in the acidic oceans of inanity
that engulf us all.
So, I'm left catching hold
of pieces by each finger and toe
hoping to no one in particular
that I never let go
Control is an issue, I'm aware
that you can't hold it all
together on your own
but the current pushes on
and on and on
As I try not to fall asleep
and drown, choked by the weeds
the silt and stifling mud
of my own insecurities
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 11:24 PM UTC
Dyslexia, mixed messages
Everything so confusing
Susceptible to misusing;
A 'B' becomes a 'D' instantaneously
And screws things up simultaneously.
A short trip from insanity to inanity.
Fiscal confuses with physical
Turning laudable into laughable
So quickly eyes can't disguise
Whether one means the skies
Or perhaps one means this guy's.
If read, confusion and contusion
Seem like quibbling over siblings
But things like read and read
Only different when they're said
Take un-signalled turns in the head
And instead come out backward,
Which should be spelled backword.
Muddling and confuddling resides
Issuing thundering broadsides,
Rendering and sundering any
Blundering inadept ineptitudes
Like some kind of garbled beatitudes.
Some take hostile attitudes.
Wheedling and wheeling away
Beetling and saying it wrong;
Maybe a song can be written
And some tongues can be bitten,
Taken aback by words taken back,
As the Raven said "Never more!"
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
And with this world I am done
Made to survive boredom on my own.
Told smile and make merry with bumbling fools
And kept from entertainment by idiotic rules.
You would believe your life meant much
Wrapped in ego, esteem, and nonsense like such.
You would see the world from your eyes alone
And from your own views, refuse to roam.
Five universes away, look there, I beseech you
Feel dwarfed by the insignificance born you were born into.
Earth spins on a mobile, a game for the largest child
And we beings are dust; unclean and wild.
Do you see yourself now, inane and useless?
That you would recognize the ridiculous gravity of this.
You mean and are worth nothing at all
On a cosmic spectrum you are infinitesimally small.
What can be done under the weight of inanity?
Nothing at all, live life striving for goals doggedly.
Whisper importance against a mirror by yourself
And not a thing you say will affect a **** thing else.
*This is disillusionment, I beseech you, I beseech
You insist you are free, you are not free.
This is disenchantment, I preach to you, I preach
You tell me you are saved, you are safe
Unaware it's a lie, you speak, you speak.*
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
My mirth is dark,
inside a brain stem of insane
memories, is a humor,
coursing through
my temples,
straining my neck
eating me inside out.
laughing as i cry
crying as i laugh.
Tearing itself from me, begging
scratching a way to break free, out
laughing at all my inanity and self deprecating
straining.
my side, in pain, as I see
the humor behind me. It , maybe haunts,
my laughs.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
the panel of experts
spoke in learned lexicons
eager to evenly distribute
Gaussian gesticulations
I once struggled to
understand
I would crane my neck
strain my brain
to discern meaning
from these learned men
what was I seeking
to understand
from these crazy
white people?
The main point is
uncertainty
impossibility
of correct
correlation to
improbability
the rising risk
of being sure
VaR is trapped
by history
backward looking
exploring efficient frontiers
"misuse of VaR
is the misuse
of it"
huh
???
***
its my
mistaken
belief
that it is
a useful
indicator
placing
its value
at risk
such tautological inanity
comforts and soothes
Song Selection
Sam Cooke
What a Wonderful World
NYC
10/10/10
jbm
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 3:28 PM UTC
*YOUR EYES, YOUR SMILE
The fragrance you float around
Celestial hearts you bring to soar
Inanity of mind you disappears
And then, you become an illusion
Making us delusional...
To heavenly dreams you impart TRUTH
Fantasy you bring to our beast-hoods
Like flora you furrow my skin
Like a dark stars you twinkle
And then like dark clouds you shower
With your glances
Our hearts you puncture
And LOVE-dances
You make us perform
The crescent moon
You make full
And bring the sun to a shine
In the crevices of my corpuscle
Midst the cobblestones of pain
LOVE joy you create
In my heart!*
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Gleaming white meringue,
What made me buy it?
It's not part of my diet,
I'm inclined to bite it,
But I'm trying to fight it!
My conscience's view of it:-
Sugary,
Sticky,
Synthetic,
Sickly.
My stomach's view of it:-
Scrumptious,
Salivatating,
Seductive,
Sensepulsing.
Actually:-
It's Inanimate,
It's Inconsequential,
It's Inanity
Is Innate.
In ...
Ate ...
Too ...
Late ...
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
The longest sleep,
Awake inside unconscious.
The soft hole.
The world is numb and i feel it all.
Like moth to light,
Back, back and back again.
To what surely only worsens.
Unto the inanity,
To shortly live. As only the observer.
Inside the inside,
Within within,
Exiting the foreground.
In the unadulterated absence,
Present in the vacancy.
Nirvana.
The only peace i'll ever know.
In numbed time,
The pure unaware.
My moth to my light.
The only peace i'll ever know.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC