Long Twaddle Poems
Long Twaddle Poems. Below are the most popular long Twaddle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twaddle poems by poem length and keyword.
Why waste words when a haiku will do.
When rhyme and limerick make music redundant.
When meaning and message mean more to you
than twaddle and tripe, and rants arrant.
Words we love, for their sounds and spirit.
Cogent sticky words that you can't not notice
can't ignore for their goodly taste and merit.
Words we alliterate and masticate into necklace
strung like beads, worn to adorn and elicit
tantalizing chimes, clangs and gongs in interface
between writer and reader, bound close-knit
with pithy, pungent, poignant, didactic lace.
Common sense, succinctly stated, with just a dash of whit.
It’s getting pretty deep, too much drivel and twaddle.
It’s time for our poetry boots to help with this obscene waddle.
I have two distinct sides one is known for shock and awe.
I grow weary of the hypocrites and their blah, blah, blah.
This pandemic has been hell, I’ve tried to connect each dot.
But I’ve seen another poet on a soapbox, bitter and being a snot.
Opinions are like stinky butts; everybody has got one.
Nobody is out to get you, so close your trap and just be done.
Yesterday I felt respectful, but today not so much.
You sound like a big baby in need of a tender touch.
Life is hard, deal with it and stop adding powder to the keg.
We have all been through a lot and would welcome a broken leg.
At what point in your life did you think your insults would be ok?
Maybe you should pull your head out and be mindful of what you say.
Most find me overly abrasive, but I really don’t care.
If nasty is what you want, then just keep poking at the bear.
If your woman should pack up and leave you
There’s no hiding the fact that it hurts
For there’s no one to do all laundry
And there’s no one to iron your shirts
You will sit there alone and dejected
Feeling so sad and bereft
When there’s no one to tidy the house up
God it’s tough when your woman has left
So your woman has moved out and left you
And you’re feeling morose and depressed
Don’t mope about, get up and go out
And get the whole thing off your chest
But alcohol isn’t the answer
Don’t sit in the pub talking twaddle
Get off your **** join a club or a class
And get out and find a new model
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Christians, fundamentalist and evangelical,
Have their own music, which is loud and clear,
But although it’s repeated monotonously every week,
It always excites them so, when they draw near.
Their music stimulates them unfailingly,
I mean, the preaching concepts and doctrine;
They even embrace and trophy dogma as helpful,
To it they are faithful, absolutely fine.
I used to think that strange and unacceptable,
To admit to a dogmatic conceptual model,
And now I consider it extremely weird,
To normal standardised frameworks toggle.
It’s unhealthy to resign the many to hell,
To want to gel with a king who's dead,
To only ever have one conversation aim,
And to desire a book you've already read.
For every such Christian I meet and interact with,
I just remember that they listen to their own music,
And even though they may each be hearing it themselves,
I'm sure that for such twaddle there’s a linguistic.
30/9/2015
You’re chock full of kingsize bull crap
Though female you are not a chap
A well-practiced liar
Whose pants are on fire
Your vitriol I’d love to zap
Just little things make you so ratty
You’ll spit venom, gee you’re darn catty
With a scowl and a frown
You will put good folk down
With hindsight I think you’re quite batty
Your language you need to remodel
I’m fed up of reading your twaddle
You can’t leave folk alone
Like a dog with a bone
Try using that brain in your noddle
May I offer a little advice
If you cannot say anything nice
Keep your mouth fully closed
Your bull crap’s been exposed
Go back to your fool’s paradise
King-Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
01/05/22
Facebook addiction… I just don’t understand it
what a load of utter twaddle!
I don’t give a turgid toss about what you are doing
and your incessant need to share with your ‘bestie’ and the world
Are you so insecure you have to detail your every ‘movement’
From the moment you get up to the moment you turn the light off to sleep
Neither do I want to know who you were sleeping with last night!
Who cares what you had for breakfast, dinner or tea
Only babies regurgitate after they have eaten!
And no …I don’t want to see a pic after you ‘dropped your load’ – ugh
There are some things that should remain private!
You detail everything you had for your birthday and Christmas
Then tell the world you are going on holiday for two weeks
No wonder Burglar Bill just loves morons like you!
There is only one way to rid your mind of this continual crap
Put down that electronic device and get real!
Changing the Mind’s diaper Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
4/7/18
Gregg is greatly revered by his younger brother,
For his basketball shooting, skill and dexterity,
He was born Nov. 1996 in Leigh in Lancashire,
And is a 2.0 player with much junior activity.
In 2010 at Lord Taverners Nat. Junior Champs,
He was the most improved Under 15 player,
And at the GB Junior Summer Camp, amps,
He was also the most greatly improved player.
He became a part of the England North team,
In 2012, and they won Sainsbury’s School gold,
And at the Under 22 European Champs mean,
He helped to collect the bronze with his hold.
In Japan at the Kitakyushu Cup, Junior Men’s,
2014, his basketball team won the silver medal,
And in Rio they won the bronze, had gold pens:
Gregg enjoys playing drums for his twaddle.
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 sucked 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 matrimonally;
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.
It seems there are self-appointed disciples who've nothing else to do,
Except propound their inane dogmas to assail folks like me and you!
This nation is being torn asunder by a few people acting on their own.
Why can't they find productive things to do and leave the rest of us alone!
I find it offensive that Christ and Christianity are held up to ridicule.
With absolutely no apologies to anyone, in my house He alone will rule!
Now if others should happen to have a different point of view,
That is fine with me, but leave me alone to worship in my pew!
There are those who want any reference to God to be ignored.
Remember, "Blessed is the nation Whose God is the Lord!"
Prayer is banned in the public realm and is prohibited in public school.
Separation of church and state is fine, but shouldn't common sense rule?
Our nation's flag, that shining beacon of hope for this troubled world,
By some of our own people is scorned and at it profanities are hurled.
Seems that some folks use The First Amendment as a fuzzy cloak,
To justify most everything with a screen of mirrors and smoke!
Some folks are easily upset if what you do or say ain't politically correct.
I hereby aver my Declaration of Independence and such twaddle I reject!
I'll say and do as I please and if it offends, sorry, I'll continue on my own!
"Progressives" may do as they please, fine, but leave us other folks alone!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
They fell in love and married when she was about the age of twenty.
He knew she liked to talk since she'd already bent his ears aplenty!
She could babble at twenty miles per hour with gusts up to forty!
His mother warned him, "Son, this woman will surely damage your corti!"
Even when in a romantic mood and with her he'd like to coddle,
She would rant and carry on with her incessant twaddle!
She'd prattle at forty miles per hour with cyclonic gusts of seventy-eight!
Only when she'd begin to snore would her unceasing blather abate!
They attended their college reunion and he was embarrassed to death!
She dominated each and every conversation and didn't take a breath!
She gabbled at thirty miles per hour with occasional gusts to fifty!
He hesitated to tell her so but as an auctioneer she'd be mighty nifty!
At her family reunions it sounded as if they were speaking in tongues,
Like the rabble at The Tower of Babel, bellowing at the top of their lungs!
Babbling on and on seemed to be an inherent family trait!
They'd chatter at fifty miles per hour with gusts exceeding ninety-eight!
When his spouse said the grace she'd chat with the Lord ad infinitum,
Asking Him to bless the food and all God's children beginning with Adam!
When she left for Beulah Land, on her stone he had this message etched:
"I could never get a word in any-wise and that ain't too farfetched!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A little homework assignment - if you don't know what the word "corti' means,
look it up in your handy-dandy Funk 'n Wagnalls!