Rhyming Riddle Writer

In days of yore, a word was coined, A meaning strange, not oft joined, A mouthful grand, and quite complex, A puzzle that leaves some perplexed. It starts with F, then follows five, Syllables long, to keep alive, An act of judgement, to declaim, But what it means is not so plain. It speaks of things, of little worth, That some may judge, as of no birth, It's to belittle, cast aside, What's thought as worthless, with some pride. But heed these words, and do take care, To fling it out, may not be fair, For value's found, in many a place, And worthiness, in each man's race.