Long Flibbertigibbet Poems
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She was a flibbertigibbet from the get-go,
Probably from the day they brought her home from the hospital. I think this
was intentional, no foozle on the faerie's parts as they have a keen sense of humor.
A fopdoodle, some said.
A muckspout, said another.
I am not the kind to know new words right away, so I looked them up.
No one in their right mind could have labeled her a fopdoodle, because
She had a sound philosophy, and a smart-thinking head on her shoulder.
“She is a raggbrush,” someone whispered into my left ear, as I was looking up
The word ‘muckspout’.
“Hold on!” I hissed back. “I cannot look up everything!”
The definition of raggbrush seems to me to not make any sense at all, as the
Dictionary says a raggbrush is a person who is highly disorganized and grumpy.
The only people I know who are grumpy are highly organized, and it is my
keen observation and assertion that the reason for their grouchiness is because they are highly organized.
If I had clean houses, and freshly-sorted drawers, I would be grizzly-grumpy as I despise taking time doing something that perpetually and forever needs re-doing.
I hate to be a cacatuego, but I have to admit I no longer remember what a muckspout is and I looked it up two different times.
The trouble is, I forgot to write it down.
If you discover a really interesting word
For she who forgets to make a note,
Please email me. My email address is: MumbleCrustFopDoodleFlibbergibbetFoozleBerry@gmail.
A flibbertigibbet is a whimsical thing
Made of all kinds of magical stuff
Like cotton balls and carpenter's glue
And bits of belly button fluff
They float above your room at night
Protecting each kiddie from harm
Good thing about flibbertigibbets
They never get scared or alarmed
The only reason that they exist
Is to make you feel cozy and safe
So you can get a good night's sleep
Be all cheery when you awake
A flibbertigibbet doesn't mind at all
If you think her name is silly
They like to see you struggle with it
Till your brain's all willy-nilly
What a hoot, these flibbertigibbets
They're delightful to have around
Makes you feel safe and warm inside
Bestest pal you've ever found
I have a strange malady
curiously effecting me
for I am very susceptible
to words of a variety
Words like cushlamachree
or hobbledehoy
give me such joy...
that my brain begins burbling
at a fantastic rate
things like bamboozle, bumfuzzle
blatteroon, and bombinate!
Bogged down in boondoggled
bedraggled, beware
I'm not making sense
and I really don't care!
Gushing galoot, galumph, galore
something inside crying
more, More, MORE!!!
I'm an insatiable verbavore!
Flippantly tripping through
flibbertigibbet, flumadiddle
filipendulous to the stupendous
sounds of mellifluous eutony
I am getting so tongue-tied here
my mouth is in mutiny!
But, oh my Dearie-
there's whigmaleerie
wifty, whimsical...
mugwump, moppet
words keep wheeling through my head
'though silly, I can't stop it!
For there's slubberdegullion
mollycoddle, hobgoblin
and gumption, too!
With all the splendiferous words about...
what's a logoleptic to do?
C'mon Gimme A Botox Smile!
'Pon bing asked by spouse, while she didst dock
and pooched herself abed
handily at nine o'clock
to see "handsome" pedigree dentastix
dog face of yours truly, me no Kid Rock
yea just a chip off the
ole likeness ice sculptured block,
a sharp pain inexplicably
shoots thru left shoulder blade
generating painful electric shock,
especially after said missus
threw smelly sock
afflicting this muttering chap, where deadlock
partial paralysis analogous to rigor mortis
holding frozen designated
bleep within his flesh bound paddock
(as pop sic hull), non dominant side
of mine body hard as bedrock
(spoiler alert, I write with right hand),
despite best college try, could not extricate...
hell no, this ain't no poppycock
yea, this longfellow felt bewitched by a warlock,
which affliction froze botox smile
engendering gladness to celebrate bajillion
years of blissful wedlock
believe that and I will another truth,
how this lame rhyme stir, he makes buttock
of himself, nonetheless an
oar regional non Jew bull ant debtor,
sans courtesy Shylock
still prone to bouts of flibbertigibbet
ranked as more than schlock,
(no doubt, ye beg to differ)
with mine chock
lot of badinage, basically self mock
curry verging on persiflage, he
freely types what occurs within raw bitstock
of ma noggin akin to babbling
stream of consciousness
initially intending to divulge aftershock
when wife coos this kook
spewing wry verbal
(barley comprehensible) feedstock
as she mimes deadly smooch
inflicting plastered smirk ad hoc
showing pearl white dentures
aiming to entertain, while listening awk
chilly (inspired to contrive
potschke and pastiche) rendered
(if still alive) by P.D.Q. Bach.
A flibbertigibbet is a whimsical thing
Made of all kinds of magical stuff
Like cotton balls and carpenter's glue
And bits of belly button fluff
They float above your room at night
Protecting each kiddie from harm
Good thing about flibbertigibbets
They never get scared or alarmed
The only reason that they exist
Is to make you feel cozy and safe
So you can get a good night's sleep
Be all cheery when you awake
A flibbertigibbet doesn't mind at all
If you think her name is silly
They like to see you struggle with it
Till your brain's all willy-nilly
What a hoot, these flibbertigibbets
They're delightful to have around
Makes you feel safe and warm inside
Bestest pal you've ever found
Just Call Me A F*****G Hip Poke Writ
Oh flibbertigibbet
damn, heil (Stuart Little) let mice
self down dagnabbit,
no matter this lactose intolerant,
conscientious, consumer and avowed kit
and caboodle - ninny vegetarian,
who lacked true grit,
cuz he craved a ham, rabbit
and cheese sandwich that hit
the bunny phone
spot (courtesy pit
tickle yule lee
of The Daily Bread
Community Food Pantry sit
chew waited at 3938 Ridge Pike
Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426)
aye red deli admit
to fear with some darkly knit
shadow of a doubt reddit
lee, about being a boot
being smidgen afrit
of some powerful jinn crit
ture, demon, nor banshee
making mincemeat out of me
(Matthew Scott Harris),
whom now wants
to make quick exit
(and if fye sprouted
wings, would flit)
cuz, yours truly did coe vit
an insatiable app pit
tight carnivorous consumption
where a craving awoke
like an addict hood needs a hit
ma tastebuds writhed with a bit
of minor seizure to let
me dentures bite to edit
mas exclusion of meat, and savor
mouth watering satisfaction
as if masticating an illicit
substance, and all the while
my awareness sans unethical
treatment of animals
went out figurative window
a disc credit
tummy sympathy for
hogtied eggs eck rubble mitt
treatment steer
ring agri business
to the mighty dollar,
where die hard
at least slaughter houses will never quit!
A cartridge filled with a horde of shackled emotions, am I,
Trifle feelings loiter within me, until she elicits them out,
Wizened by time, she knows that otherwise I might turn mordacious...
God guides my pen and has assigned her my way,
~ She is the vociferous voice of my heart ~
She knows my malleable moods and masterfully makes magic
By weaving whispers into wistful words,
~ She is the byzantine boon of my being ~
With cogent candor she cajoles me to compose poesy,
She and I share a companionable camaraderie...
In the mystical moondust of Maker's majestic mercy,
I acquiesce to her ingenious genius,
~ She is an efficacious eclectic enigma ~
For sometimes, she plays truant tricks,
Her surreptitious evanescence is a conspicuous conspiracy,
Abandoned, I have to await her august appearance...
The soft stardust of her sartorial splendor,
Renders me a mere puppet of her puissant prowess,
~ She is a phenomenal Phoenix ~
For she encourages me to endeavor towards excellence,
Her alacrity aggrandizes my acumen,
Having faith in her fortuitous favour, I flourish...
~ She is my God-given "gift of grace" ~
Her multifarious munificence is a monumental mystery,
She has transformed me from a fruitless flibbertigibbet
To a fulfilled female fount with her unfailing finesse...
~ She is my mysterious, magnanimous Muse ~
Feeling forever grateful to God for her grandiloquence.
5th January 2023
(alternately titled:
this stoned temple pilot ready for Styx)
I hate tubby a nuisance
boot ma checking account...
suffered a major hit strafed
with a shock king
(difficult to absorb) 'bout
mid morning today August fourteenth,
tooth how sand eighteen
and got rushed with clout
to the nearest emergency triage facility,
the doctors (all
named Piggy Penny Banks)
shook their head with doubt
prognosis for recovery requires more'n
just a dime a dozen,
(or quarter back) appeal,
hence my plea for posting,
this helter skelter heroic measure
summarily and in fact
donate myself (earning Purple Heart
as a non veteran)
bone a (er) fide done deal
yea, aye even forgo thine
cock a doodle doo lil pecker,
which minimally doth
newt rue, stir, nor ring
atrophied house broken
barely visible prick tis docile, and
(like a game cock)
willy nilly able
at a moe mince notice
dir wreck lee (stand stiff)
head over heal
no...no..no, though
strut that eye feel rendered poverty stricken,
a sudden dark mood
finds me less eager tubby alive
asper thine primary (albeit only)
checking account poorly
weathered a kamikaze nose dive
with the plight of pennilessness
unexpectedly looming...
(parental advisory) breaking news at five,
when motley crews auto be buzzing
like a b52 sized bee hive
ah...mine posthumous fame,
and fortune posse sub bully
as palliative relieving
grave gallows humor
small consolation, whereat
I cannot fathom to facebook,
snapchat, nor do the shutterfly jive!
(alternately titled: impossible mission goes awry
probably mortal enemy cast spell binding jinx)
Both mental versus
physical tasks necessitate
laser sharp attentiveness
triggered within blinks
similarly on par when people toast
momentary instance utter silence
before more'n one
wine glass simultaneously clinks
cheering hurray, especially
if delicate circumstance
incorporates telecommunications downlinks
critical vital communique transmitted courtesy
think outlier (christened
Saint Matthew Scott Harris)
with acute instincts
held hostage between warp,
and woof fifth of dimension
far away beyond where
outer limits exhibits kinks
nsync with twilight zone
dwell alienated ratfinks
resembling authentic animated
Doctor Seuss characters
where one after another
third eye blind winks.
Lame excuse told cosmic speck (me)
sending yours truly on wild goose chase
an underhanded way to rub
inept feeble poetaster punster
out webbed wide world existence
purportedly great eats boasted
deep inside black hole sun pub
must make posthaste
to nearest galactic grubhub
mission control haint made no flub
boot deliberately thought
ineffectual doling out futile drub
cuz mister flibbertigibbet (me)
ostracized from highly selective club.
The aforementioned synopsis and
ultimate banishment cheered with big bang
decreed courtesy kangaroo court
constituting beastie boy gang
think star wars movie,
where farcical charges trumped
offering accused two choices,
either to hang
suspended (think piñata) and beat
to (fictional) pulp
torturers obviously ignoring pang
of utter emasculation, but rather sang
a song of sixpence*
while downing flasks of vintage tang
crafty entrepreneur William A. Mitchell in 1957
phallic drinking vessels
resembling Chewbacca's oversize wang.
---------------------------------------------------
*Lyrics
Sing a Song of Sixpence
BY MOTHER GOOSE
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing—
Wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
The king was in the counting-house
Counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlor
Eating bread and honey,
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes.
Along came a blackbird
And snipped off her nose.
Rhyme
is not
the be-all
and the end-all –
the cadence supersedes, mellifluous.
Counting syllables, as superfluous
as the vowels
contained in
the word
queue.
Sounds
in chants
we danced to
before writing –
morae have primacy over meaning.
Rhythm takes precedence, despite your leaning.
And forced rhymes jar:
him and dim
do not
rhyme!
Rules
are made
to askew
and be broken:
double dactyl*:- flib-ber-ti-gib-bet-ing
Defending contests fiercely --- gibbeting.
Breaking your head
to conform
to design,
rhyme.
Puns,
blasé
efforts, but
double entendres,
sexual innuendo in your face.
As some scribbling can at times be quite base,
persecution
should never
stymie
flow.
*a double dactyl: /**|/**
flibbertigibbet: (n) a frivolous, flighty, or excessively talkative person.
__________________________________________________________
FUN FACT
Euclid of Alexandria (Mid-4th century BC—Mid-3rd century BC), the great Classical mathematician, believed that the numbers 1, 2, 3 & 4 must have some mystical significance because their sum total is 10—ten was thought to be a number of power. He called this relationship a tetractys.
Ray Stebbing based his poetic form, Tetractys, on this. No spaces between each stanza and the poem is presented in line with the left-hand margin (or it might be centred) - either way, it would visually give the design of a triangle.