"twaddle" poems
It was at the party that you would see,
the nonconformist spirit of Ernest Hokum was alive and well.
He would not strive for mademoiselles
Since that would be dishonest, and Ernest was a honest man.
Not Iago honest for his desires did not lay doggo.
However, Hokum was known to succumb to a glass of ***
resulting in Hokum to become squiffy.
And any iffy encounters, he would shake them of with his usual aplomb
remaining so calm they thought he was just bored. Or dead.
And then they would leave poor Hokum to his horde of ***
"Lord, old chum, thank you for this *** Hokum proclaimed.
And he drank til he was famed for his *** drinking.
Thinking they saw him and thought "That's Hokum for you!"
Hokum knew this to be wishful thinking,
and listen to some blues.
Full of innuendos and nonsense.
Hokum's favourite combinations.
He ignored his conscience and allowed the blues to occupy his mind
Dwelling on such twaddle until he finds another distraction.
Probable *** if he was being honest, which, as previously stated he is.
Hokum didn't take life too serious
for that would be to make life into work
Any work is tedious at best, so why be so serious?
Hokum enjoyed the simple pleasures of strong alcohol and humorous inappropriate songs,
And such that was the hundum life of Ernest Hokum.
A man with a charming smile that spoke blarney with such conviction
turning fiction into facts you would believe it, just for a little while.
Why wouldn't you? That's Hokum for you, afterall.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:26 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
It’s simply amazing what phrases pop into one’s head and stick - and as they stay there they develop, and as they develop the inner life takes over and what started out a superficial bit of twaddle turns into poetry of some substance, proving anything can become anything with a little bit of reflection.
I Am A Housewife
I am a housewife.
Organize and deputize,
Buy and cook,
See that everything’s delicious,
Making dishes at my best,
Matching wish of man and guest.
Preserving and conserving, I economize,
Hunting down the clever buys
So there’s savings at year’s end.
Mix and blend creatively,
And when I shop
I stop and hesitate; contemplate
And seldom buy on impulse.
That said, I occasionally fall and do.
But mostly, shopping for our food’s
A yoga. So’s the
Washing, cooking, dusting…more;
The most and best health giving chore:
Hands cleaner in the water,
Waistline smaller, reaching up and for…
No breadwinner,
But a winner baking bread.
Cakes and cookies all included.
For, of course, the friends and husband
Whom I feed,
Try to supply each need
Not because it is ‘the done thing’
But because it is the fun thing.
Then there’s me. Filled with creativity.
Actually, a private soul
With my own needs to feel whole.
I do not underplay the housewife role
As many in society
Who downplay tractability and duty.
For to me it stands for beauty,
Not for slavery.
I am a being who serves house,
Deserves the house, My house! Our house!
No mouse by any means
But combination heroine
And superstar,
Dishing out the wonder
Of existence
With insistence and persistence
For a comfy coexistence
Dishing out the dishes
And a family’s wishes.
I Am A Housewife 12.23.2018 Circling Around Woman II; Arlene over Woman II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 6:18 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
Heaven has fallen,
The angels are bawling,
God is cremated,
Jesus is hated,
His throne surrounded by bottles.
Lucifer rots,
His evil blood clots,
Hell freezes solid
The mouth growing squalid,
Where blue lips doth mottle.
The humans in the middle
Intellectually twiddle
Twaddle their minds
Waiting for times
Eras that will not come
Prophecies undone.
The rapture was never,
The primates glimpse forever,
But alas, once again,
The apes now turn,
Deeply fearing death,
To the lies
Religious yearn.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 6:30 PM UTC
wink twiddlers and tiddly winkers
slinking drinkers
in summer linger
loveluscious men hungry *******
those ladies are so
and dirtygorgeous loveless
twaddle with irate squirming
*******
by docks and alley backways
nestled dankness warmly
coils moist pools of
amberest light
in them drinks painful women
things incommensurable
uninnocent girl parts
prattle **** pieces
but some got pretty fast hot skin
belching from the hot music
coffins in short little
skirts covered *****
barley
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 9:22 PM UTC
I really really
must not scratch
this itchy itchy itch
but what to do
when all your hands
just want to do is scratch
Diagnosed this morning
by Doctor Wicky Wong
I don't like the look of those
he said
Neither do I
I wished him wrong
Back I went this evening
as more spots they had appeared
He looked a little closer
muttered words I could barely hear
off work 3 days not 1 he said
Contagious these may spread
So here I am at home alone
with nowt to do but write
a load of twaddle on the page
as shingles rages rife
when what I'd really love to do
is sleep say nighty night
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
a man cloaked in dust bitten rays skip down the rude lit hall
as a voice calls to him run your fitful bow across my cracked
teacup mouth and draw forth a loosed leaf smile at first
i dismiss it as contrived twaddle one might hear in settings
where silk roses bloom on synthetic counter islands or
a cloth lily wrecks on its maiden voyage mid-way through
a copper sink’s bounded blue but cigarette tip joy burns
peep holes into my cottony resistance it’s a compact thrill
as dense as the peach pit my tooth struck to chip that once
such piquant frissons dissipate into damply aromatic trickles
when the man replies with a tartly rolled lavender bud ready
to burst its pink i’ve the heart of a wobbly kneed boy about
to pull back the tulle cloud on an auburn morn’s feathery
bathers petaled girdle strewn on the slippery rock path
leads up to her dewy lap where luminescent splayed fingers
lay printed hymns when ash trimmed logs fall from his fatty
lips i take the house sparrow’s hasty cue to flap a skyward
exit out from the bony white glow of his unfulfilling promises
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 8:54 AM UTC
♠ ♣ ♥ ♦
Here’s to avant-cryptic stanzas
Nihil-angst extravaganzas,
Ghazal, Pantoum, endless Haiku…
such may cause the Muse to strike you.
Dada, Tanka, cinquains, Centos
existential verse mementos –
yes, they’re mildly amusing forms
but finally fail to transcend norms
of poetry-induced despair
(a common modern-day affair)
brought on by formless abstract lines
of current verse. The warning signs:
eye-rolling, growling, throwing books
yelling at websites, ***** looks
at writers with advanced degrees,
a raging sense of vague unease
with life and letters. **** what’s new…
one wonders what we’re coming to.
When meaning is replaced by style
and editors extol the vile
you know that doom is on its way.
The poets don’t know what to say
but fool around, devoid of rhythm
(that’s why no one wants to hear them
let alone READ them). What a lark;
like rain-soaked matches in the dark.
Poetic dullness thus delays
to kindle light or spark a blaze.
Sad vocation: analyzing
wordy scribbles. Agonizing
over esoteric twaddle
(makes one want to hit the bottle –
or the poet). Was it ever
this way? Will the next endeavor
lift us toward the lyric splendor
or return us back to sender…
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
.
O the trender souls who keep
Spewing their ladled ornaments,
Words even a dull, starving bird
Would not gobble, plastic pieces,
Rambles of thought, unthought,
Pretty sounding, shiny trinkets,
Merely nailed by some old book,
Or a dog eared dictionary, maybe,
Some pulpy article wherein hacks,
Dreamt with loss, sad aspirations,
These are the dug trailings of fools,
Lazy, writers who fancy themselves,
Fancying themselves, in a black mirror,
Merciful as imagination and delusion,
O how the neophyte sings without any
Voice, nor depth, nor taste, nor blood,
Conscious revels in unconsciousness,
O but lame awaits the vain, the shallow,
The self proclaimed, the peacock, but, their
Showtime is only something base, something
Not and ghost peculiar, something only a carny
Would know to mock, revile as he promotes.
How glittering are the newest word baubles,
Blathering speak to mask all faceless souls,
Twaddle, twitterings, revered by simpletons.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
The Right believes it is right
And so by default we are left
To fight both day and night, bereft
Of the loving eye of Propriety.
Denied by those with single site
Those who once believed in divine right
Even though that was never right
Never really acceptable
Mostly reprehensible
Spouting their religious twaddle
They were always ready to fight
For what they were told was right.
The Right listens to entertainment
And claims they are news shows.
And regard the truth with amazement
But that is just the way it goes
When you are raised by dunderheads
Who think education is a waste.
Listening to people like that
Will always leave a horrible taste
For those who prefer research
And knowing what is going on.
But don’t expect the Right to see
Charlatans and say “Move on!”
The idea is to listen to the words
And find the ones you want to hear
And then parrot back the lies
Smiling broadly from ear to ear.
Every time you repeat untruths
They gain a bit more credibility
And it matters not one whit
That the words don’t mach reality.
So, the Right keeps up the fight
For anger and hatred to win.
And every time the truth arises
The Right will fight it once again.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Denial gets you nowhere.
When there's a problem, face it.
If it's a major challenge,
Open your mind and embrace it.
The trouble is a problem
Won't go away on its own.
Don't wait until
The flower is overblown.
If a situation
Affects our national security,
Can a solution wait
For some remote futurity?
Bury your head in the sand
If your mind is closed.
But if you do, remember:
Your rear will be exposed.
How to solve a problem
When our leaders drub
Twaddle into our heads?
Ah, that's the rub!
How to get to the bottom
Of what is happening around us
Is problematic when
Efforts are made to confound us.
What is clear to some,
To others is quite blurry.
Suspicions arise when something
Is covered up in a scurry.
To know or not to know?
Is that the question that taunts us?
Why didn't we stop it?
Will be the question that haunts us.
- by Bob B (3-30-17)
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
~~~
Traditions lead to streets of dream
to scant abodes
beneath the green
So tiny
small
'neath gardens tall
with russet
stacked
above them all
~
Their chimneys waft
of fire's stoke
the meek step forth
though bashful folk
The pitter pat
of little feet
arise
the length
of Little Street
~
They take my hand as pipers chant
descend the street
with river's dance
Around about
the dancers croon
to every home
I'm blessed ...
buffoon
~
Tranquil glade amongst the heather
sparks ignite
the moods in feather
Flames leap forth
as cauldrons
coddle
tubers roast
as whispers twaddle
Pipes
I fill
and pints
I swallow
Tip 'em Back
their chant
seems hollow
~
Breaking bread
their stew
yumm - titious
though
in my head
their brew
grows vicious
~
Little Street
a fading glow
still ...
I was little once you know
The shutters
close
the visions
wane
their magic
carves
my hiking cane
Another day
another plane
the child inside
asleep
again
~~~
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
I walked through town last week
and a stranger came and spoke to me.
I agreed with many things he said
but I didn't know who he could be.
Interred for spouting to the crowd
is what I read in the daily news.
Religious twaddle said reports
so they locked him up for different views.
He spoke about his fathers house,
he also spoke about the rights for all.
His words were guiding us to follow,
that without our father we would fall.
Holy men from other values
refused to hear what he would say.
Degredation they threw forth
so keen to lock this man away.
I was reminded of the past,
perhaps you might recall this day
when something really similar
happened to he, to whom we now pray.
I don't think he was sent from God
but to quieten him they were intense
and rather than let us use our own minds
they kicked this fellow off the fence.
I know he believed of what he said
and to spread his words is what he tried.
Perhaps this man was just a nut
but was this reaction justified?
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Don’t bring your Bible
To convince me of your choice.
Pick another atheist.
Because this one came with a voice.
This one came with something
That I choose to call a mind.
I don’t like walking around
Intellectually deaf and blind.
Don’t bother telling me what a
Four thousand year old man said.
He either never really existed
Or he is many millennia dead.
I dig that you are reaching for
Some answers as to how and why
And you prefer the old tales
About a big dude in the sky.
But the second round of magic
About walking on water and things
Is far less exciting than tales of
Dragons trolls and magic rings
Since all of those wild yarns
Don’t claim to be true stories
And don’t ask us to blindly believe
And hope for only heavenly glory.
Many decades ago I stopped
Believing in superstitious twaddle.
In stead of some tasteless wafers
I much prefer a decent waffle.
If the contradictory book you sell
Is any clue as to lifelong serenity,
Half of what the preachers say
Is nothing but pure duplicity.
Don’t bother telling me what a
Four thousand year old man said.
He either never really existed
Or he is many millennia dead.
I dig that you are reaching for
Some answers as to how and why
And you prefer the old tales
About a big dude in the sky.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
Galoot galoof galore
Open the magic door
Tell me
what you know laddy
Piffle twaddle dee dum
Take a good
look at me
Crambazzle and hobbledehoy
We made a magic boy
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
The empty hand
Life is a black hole and I am forever falling deeper.
Down I go into a light-less hole, no sign of my keeper.
I would say it is nice to see you, but all is mist inside the deep.
When there is no vision to guide my hands, for you I cannot reach.
I reach out into the nothingness and I return not a man.
I cannot give thanx for this cryptic master plan.
I become part of the space between reality and this place.
Forever ****** into the next realm where time has been misplaced.
If I ever return, I will only be love’s skeleton;
No nourishment can sustain my soul when I exist inside oblivion.
As the memories of me fade, in this wide open space;
I cannot recall what a smile is when I see it appear on your face.
It has been so long since I last saw a miracle,
That I do not recall how to make my smile actual.
I must have imagined it when I was a kid;
A head of fantasy creations, like happiness and bliss.
Sure you people talk of love and it sure does sounds nice,
But I can only speak of the love that doesn’t exist in my life
And good things don’t happen in front of my eyes.
I never got to feel what marriage was meant to really be,
Because I am surrounded by my apathy in this reality.
There are dreams, of course, like that dream where I was loved,
But dreams are not real; people are not enough.
They are separate entities; none will ever join me hand in hand.
I will never be standing matrimonially;
Love does not have me in its plans.
I make up words that do not exist,
Like truth and trust, this twaddle is twixt.
The meaning is lost on the journey between foolishness and death.
All this nonsense is irrelevant to a dreamer head.
This bed has no place for another to fit,
For I have never ever been seen to be fit;
So all I do is sleep in it.
Boy am I tired of living this life.
Can I not just grow up and become someone who shines?
It’s been so cold without a woman in my heart.
I have kept her spot warm; waiting in the dark.
I am a single particle in the great mass of the universe.
What chance do I have of meeting my equal; my poetic verse?
What chance do I have of communicating with her,
On a chemical level,
On an intellectual level,
Or any level at all?
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
It was the glen of jabberwocky,
Deep within the twaddle mire.
The gobbledygook was being spewed
By the grand codswallop,
The tripe was drivel
And all manner of blethered haver
Did most piffle & bosh.
The great imperial hooey of guff-phooey
Visited with bunk,
There was to be a festivity of the tommyrot;
On the morrow we would dribble bull
Till the cobblers called tosh, **** cod,
And said their applesauce.
No malarkey here crosses their fingers,
For all the liars have bellywash
And work the flapdoodle with bunkum & bushwa.
All the poppycocks we laid out
For the celebration of the gibberish,
When mumbo jumbo hung a more,
Low & long.
On the fens of the balderdash,
At the mouth of the babble,
We sang the song of argle-bargle
By our native tongue jargon.
It was first rate flummery
By the standards of the order of palaver,
The prime wheedlers of gab & fanster.
Mar 1, 2025
Mar 1, 2025 at 10:01 AM UTC
Wars, the real thing
I like wars, the real thing as it was in Stalingrad
and now Mosul, wish I was there.
War, is ****** messy Sadistic, violent and merciless.
body parts, all over the place bombed out building,
shoot the ******** and if the enemy survives
**** and throw them in the river Tigress.
Their **** ******* ****** had slept with the enemy,
string them up; there is no excuse for youth, hang them
high and let their disgusting corpses twist in the wind
and be eaten by crows.
“Good Morning Vietnam”. Oh, **** off!!!
“Saving Ryan.” What sentimental twaddle.
That's why I dislike American war movies, with a love interest.
The colour full explosion in the jungle, do they think it is 4th of July.
I love real wars it gives spectators and soldiers a meaning.
living at the edge of life and death.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 2:30 PM UTC