Juan bought seats for the pickleball tourney
Sonia was glad to go on their journey
Juan showed her his paddle
She made it go ‘twaddle’
Sonia was pleased, said ~ 'Seems you prefer me'
What goes up must come down
or so they do say
and what goes around comes around
or at least it's on the way
meanwhile I'll bide my time
to see if what goes down does come up
altho' I highly doubt it
for in the case of Titanic
there's no two ways about it
and let's see what it takes
to make snowflakes rise again
the same goes for drizzle
hail sleet and rain
but what about man's junk in space
some returns some stays in place
but who are those expert 'they'
and who knows what gave them the right
to advance the twaddle they do say
The Perennial problem
Red squirrels evicted
Grey squirrels stole their nuts
Say the woods are theirs.
The red squirrel is cute, and many
are ready to help eradicate
the gray squirrel, but that is not easy
As the gray gets help from
the continent they came from
where the red squirrel is reduced to
sentimental songs and romantic twaddle.
The problem is survival
The red fell behind time, but scholars
think they should be brought back
to the woods again.
What are we going to do with the gray?
Poisoning them has been tried
It didn’t work
So the red and the gray will have
to find a way
to coexist without us.
What the hell do we know about nuts?
Heard some twaddle ten days ago? some TWOTS with microphones giving it a go.'
Got some SCAZNA waddling in the hills.' 'Johns' Questioning the locals..By order of the shills.' I think there are snipers ? I wonder
Are there some, who gunned down our Koalas; 800 was it the sum.? Geez what a heap of trouble from twenty twenty on.'
Where has my 'easy going homeland gone?' Hey why not give the hunters shovels and picks? so they can dig the final grave
For vic-pol.. Away up there in the sticks.'
Quyeer times emit blazing signs..And some ex-boy friends?
Is this karma divine? mi5 say its Putin..' a prime topic for
Them...And its taken a fortnight with henceforth..No why
Where or whens..From them.' Yet it seems rather sloppy to
Be (a Russian affair?) And arson too primitive.' I think thats
Quite fair.? Just an ass-umption.' To try to open the door.'
Of secrecy thats been holding karmas secret deposits oh
Dear..I guessed such was er?? Coming..Hmm?? I wrote a
Poem before.!! Now its been shat-tered all over the world
And whats more.' Theres an outcome to happen.' Once the
Lube is applied.' As it was maybe in the beginning.?? Or
Will this turn upon lies? Maybe death? Well of the
Truth.' Will be the out-come? Lets await the putrid offerings
Of ( some media bums.?)
A bee’s firmly under my bonnet
I detest each Shakespearean sonnet
And any forced rhyme
To me is a crime
I’ve read them and I want to ‘vomet’
I truly don’t like triolet
The laziest form you can bet
Repeat one line thrice
Another line twice
They’re boring, and not an asset!
Some twaddle is written in rhyme
I’ve witnessed a poetic crime
I don’t get it one bit -
(Add a letter to hit)
Though the poet thinks its sublime
The limerick’s my chosen form
Strict syllable count, I’ll conform
Some themes are not pretty
I think they are witty
And humour for me is the norm
Pens, and pen knives,
minor gadgets and gizmos,
chopsticks
old zippo lighters,
motheaten books
that crumble an old-fashioned wisdom
into the mush of a quaint twaddle,
words to muddle over
on a day locked into a raincloud.
He collected all sorts -
mostly useless things,
mostly the unimportant, the worthless,
gathering together
all the small curiosities of the bygone,
things often broken and long discarded.
His poetry is a collection also,
a jumble of oddments and offbeat widgets,
stuff he finds hazily dreaming
beside unpaved roads.
I delight in your twaddle inside me, young girl.
Restore the golden-pink gleam with a swirl.
Memories of who've died or are close to dying.
Delve deep, according to inner-child supplying.
Taking apart each self that has been dark-dyed
Then, closely dig up the shimmering past's side.
Until we draw a kinder rainbow hue, we must wait.
Vacant space below crops and owned bogs is fate.
I witnessed my parents waiting at the school gate.
I spy my father wandering the area near the grate.
The stems of ivy felt alike wings around her neck.
I can view my mother eschewed quickly to the deck.
ignited by her tenderness and exuberance.
Hijinks start here, unlucky protuberance.
Her giggling sounds akin to the essence of life.
Her grin, which is always braw, stops any strife.
Written: May 1st 2023
Fiddle, Faddle, Fart,
My brain is falling apart.
Tweedle, Twaddle, Dee,
Oh deary me!
Fanny, Dango, and Flirt,
What will go first?
Lassoing my feet with panties,
Just to be neat!
Slinging bras around breasts,
With renewed defeat!
Starting out all curious and gay,
Always cheering on a new day!
Now we are in reverse,
Amazed we made it to a new day!
Now all we have to do,
Is get out of bed and find our shoes!
Heres a man trying to bridge, a route to sanity along a ridge'
He's being hit.' with the same old twaddle'
As his so called betters loudly squabble'
I recall a board and stick' used 2020; they must think think us thick?
That with much mod tech, and breifing easy to do)
Thise ww2 methods, we would not see through?
It shows indeed utter contempt; of humans from the 50s'
The sacrifice, that they were first targeting shiftily'
It was gain the grandparents.' pull the younger in.'
One life lost was one to many, 'yet when the nhs needs some tin?
Lives are ten a penny ' they'll take the strikes and try to trash
As today the truth runs rampant throughought the land
Its aversaries have really now lost, the countrys trust.
Then some with spine stand; on the settling dust.'
Mr Bridgnd is Just one of many ' such people would incline to heal '
But all the liars; just aren't ready to' apologise, of genocides steal'
In the (long dead narrative) they, still strive to hide.'
I doubt that many, 'will' last out this ride.?
twitter tweets twaddle
musk thrusts tusk to take control
all babel's babble
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
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.
'Tis noted that some media at times express divisive and jaundiced views!
Hence, such inane twaddle has reputedly become known as fake gnus!
(Written with considerable tongue in cheek and with profuse apologies
to the innocent African antelope known as a gnu!)
My slumber knows no measure...
There be no sleep for me.
The hounds are barking through the night
For immortality.
I toss them a leg of hubris
And a banal cliche for slight effect.
But their hunger goes unsated...
I lay waste my self-respect.
A few platitudes and twaddle
Are quickly gobbled by the beasts.
I make an honest effort at contrition
To give aid to my relief.
But my words of self-castration
Seem to energize the hounds.
I further try to appease and quantify...
But I'm losing precious ground.
I prostrate a harried confession.
My delusive sins are now a flood.
The wolf stands menacingly astride my door...
The beast has tasted blood.
Again... I apologize now threefold times
Using paper, pad and quill.
But it matters not to feed the beasts...
The hounds are barking still.
The End
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