Over the years, I've trained myself to speak using the same language I would use if I were typing: meaning using full sentences in the way that paragraphs and scenes are arranged.
quote by Kevin J. Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The English Language
English reminds me of a language too bold,
Speaking this tongue is like a magical realm.
In this realm we spoke too audaciously and lovingly,
To be free and caring about the old, the very youngest old,
A fine and cosy people of strength in the body,
That soon overpowered the standards of everyday life.
English is a spoken language of England,
The old refrain from the seas of language and thought,
For the seas mix their sentences and paragraphs,
Too tired is the sea of too many friends of the water,
Water is fighting for words that carry meaning
With the life to save a slave who asks for the life of meaning.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words, Words, Words
We seem to define words so as to use them,
Conquering the speech of another person;
Just to be a speaker is even better for a person
Than to read or write and practise scholarship.
We meet words carefully chosen by them and combine
To form sentences that will be recognised,
Thus the attached meaning is passed on;
Prosperity is the objective, success is marvellous.
Scholars are thinking men, relaxed by books,
They do not only speak, but look at the messages
From the written word, learning godly works,
Escaping blunders, escaping our mockery.
We are with fine words, words capture us,
Your vocabulary depends on your cleverness and intelligence,
So concoct the perfect sentences,
Invent the same language that we speak.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'God my Maker
I was intricately woven upon His heavenly loom
As He carefully knit me together in my mothers womb
In that most secret of places when my conception took place
Ready at the time of my birth to enter the human race
Before the first moment of my earthly existence began
God had written in His book my inmost being and life plan
Each syllable penned and words in calligraphy composed
There sentences were handwritten and the paragraphs disclosed,
From the first chapter of my birth to the last one of my death
Each had been thoughtfully written before I'd taken a breath
I praise God that I am fearfully and wonderfully made
The handiwork of My Great Creator is in me displayed
Living letters turned into syllables and then became words.
These words began to form phrases and the sentences emerged.
Chapters made out of many paragraphs were arranged with care
each carefully written by the in the book of my life there.
For my life is now that book to be read by everyone
because it speaks of His Grace and the wonders Jesus has done.
For in His mercy before the world was made and time began
He had included Roy Allen in His great Salvation plan.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paragraphs
Sentences and paragraphs,
Taken as self evidence to meet your muse;
But the account of your love is all over me.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?
you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before
that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God
of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly
but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?
well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important
and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,
albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,
yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,
but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound
so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....
dear God
do you really...not speak english?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You are afraid
To write in English is your burden
You fear the grammar of the white man
You are afraid of its intricacies
why?
because your heart is not?
don't mind it, you simply want to share with full respect
to use their language
you could have used your own and be smooth with its facilities
but you also want to be a part of this world
to think american to speak english
who know if
He finds your poem good
Enough if
He feels the beating in your heart that
There is a flow
Of gladness
In your own way of being a part of this humanity that
There is joy
In your outlook that
You have a certain projection
About love sickness death redemption life
who knows?
Honestly
Now go
Write the language where you are
At home
Write the meaning of your riddles
At your convenience
Do not be afraid of English or Indian
Strictures
do not be afraid to commit mistakes
do not be afraid to go to prison
You will speak your language
You will sing your own song
you have been in this prison
for how long?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Alligator...
detach the cover
the book is naked
its face is blanked
it has no identity
open the page
there are no changes in
those prints
the letters still make
the command
the sentences end
in their usual paragraphs
in a new sense,
to signify a little difference
there shall be no periods,
as you notice
there are only commas,
there is a meaning to this,
something in us always moves, continues, serrated,
double-edged sharpness of the mind
sometimes, a comma creates a sense of suspension,
like a bridge, a lull, a disbelief,
no one likes it, because everyone in us, trained as we were
in schools with always in mind
completions, and endings, we, do hate, incomplete returns
like a rumor with nothing definite as to
what happened to the
subject,
the scene is frozen, nothing thaws it,
the word is hanging, the journey of the feeling is still at the middle
of the map, the red dot still unreached,
and there is no stopping and this precisely makes you breathless
like you are having a swing, like you are
suspended in a rope still not well tightened,
feel it, do not be horrified, just feel it,
precisely, this is the truth about our existence
sword of Damocles up
and the gaping mouth of the abyss beneath
looking like
the more than sign in
basic mathematics
the mouth of the
see you later alligator,
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Precious poem
Bewildering words bounce out from your stem
Day by day you grow becomingly
My precious poem
Pepping up my know-how strongly
You talk to me in a language that puzzles
Whilst paragraphs and sentences and words
Fight each other daily rigorously in your shuttle
There is never a time or space for them to get bored
Sufficient room for grammar, you can always afford
Sometimes you are like a gem
Sometimes you spike up mayhem
With structures of words that condemn
But you are still my precious poem
At times you have a clear message
Creating pure outrage
At times there is no clear passage
Words are scribbled in a gobbled up language
At times you have both attributes as one package
But you are still my precious poem
I must confirm
On your own terms
Both at AM or PM
You will always be my precious poem
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The language with largest vocabulary
It has only seven letters
And has the largest vocabulary
There is no dearth
Of expression
For any situation or emotion
One same thing
Can mean a million things
King Solomon deciphered
Ants’ impression using this language
Indian mythology has it that
A much revered teacher
Taught all his disciples
Using this language
Clearing their all doubts
On any subject
It is not written
It is not spoken
It is not heard
But has in-depth meaning
And a lot application
It is not formally taught
As it has no syllabus
People pick up this
In their life paths
Some do not just pick this up
But, make excellent use of it
And successfully overcome
Difficult and challenging maneuvers
This language came into being
Long before the creation of this universe
Yes, it is not a just a global language
It is a universal language
This is in use world over
This is a common language
But often not used
This language has no grammar
No problem of spelling words wrong
There are no present, future or past tenses
There is no subject, predicate or object
As there are no sentences framed with this language
When used the person can still keep smiling
Often understood as a consent granted
Even the just new born is
As much as much eloquent
With this language
As the person who is preparing for departure
There is none to teach
But the language is learnt
The language is quoted as golden
As it can hurt no one
Much learned people resort to this
When they are to negotiate
Challenging situations
Some great philosophers
Teach their students
Comprehensively with the use of this language
By using this language
You are sure to win
Great many things
Use this wonder language
Effectively and appropriately
The language of silence
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Perfect Throne
Mountains of words congregate to form an eruption,
Sentences let the sword of destruction have expansion.
Five words are written: luck, patience, wealth, modesty and adventure;
These five contain the pleasures offered by him - they are familiar.
Breath inhaled, spirit popped, love arranged, and scent displayed,
The encounter of a wise-man never dismayed.
His wisest attribute speaks highly of the throne
We trained by the justice of the alone.
His backbone never breaks, never takes
The inside of disbelief and betrayal, this never makes.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Language Scrum
It was a gathering of the Metaphors
who likened all things
to all other things
never identifying Essences;
leaving nothing as the core..
Similes arrived stating triumphantly that
they were superior to the merely metaphoric
and especially to the Gerunds.
The Nouns were enraged
claiming that they were the origins of things named
and all that could be named.
They all held the Dangling Participle in contempt
whose cohorts hung at the end of the table
speaking in sentences fragmenting.
The Pluperfect laid claim to wedding the Past
and Present
and to having had given birth to Language.
The Action Verbs demurred claiming that all history
depended upon them and their meanings and consequences.
'We are action' they said
'you are all after-thoughts and musings.'
So it was the Poetry Slam
the battle of the Language Parts
cogitating on sentences
and what they mean.
Metaphor opened saying 'poetry is contest-
a battle of words in the arena of created meaning-
designed to feed the brain, open the mind;
give sight to the blind.'
'We are all part of a wagon wheel
and each of us has only a spoken
truth.
'Yes' Simile said 'we are all like angry rose buds
trying to bloom.
Verbatim declared that all Poetry
was based on faith and faith alone.
Anything else was Untruth.
Gerund hung back claiming all meaning is hidden by
hidden meaning and that clarity was mystical.
So in the scrum, no one was able to find the ball.
And then they all went home.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words differently arranged have a different meaning, and meanings differently arranged have different effects.
quote by Blaise Pascal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Is Not Enough
SILENCE IS NOT ENOUGH
Silence is not enough
The human needs words and sentences
Speech and meaning
Silence and waiting in silence
And loving silence so much
Are not enough
Even the longest silence is not enough
We need to speak to another person
We need human hearing
Living in the silence of our own lost selves is not enough
We need to be heard and be listened to
And to speak in a world where there are listeners
Who know how to reply.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A short poem
this poem is the shortest I've written
however it may appear long
because the actual poem
is hidden somewhere far away
it is not in this website
the poem bounces off stars
it floats across the milky way
and dances with rock stars
The actual poem is so short
that in trhe English language
it would be impossible to say
because it fits so much in into a short
time frain, the meaning is compacted
into a single alien word
but in that word there is meaning
of a thousand words of praise
the poem could be analysed
for days and months and years
and after that point the true meaning would
only start to appear
so I beg you to learn this alien
langauage
read my poem carefully
for it is returning to earth
and should arrive by the time I have finished typing
luckily the alien dialect uses English letters
so you can read it
however to understand it
truely
wholey
completely
is not possible for the tiny human mind
I can hear it zinging now
it's bounced of Orions Belt
it just hit me in the fore head and it is spreading over this page
so here it is
the shortest poem
I have ever written
prepare to face it; s mastery for
it
is:
Slurplesploosh
poem by Torben Duncan
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Language from Womb to Tomb
It is heard from mother's womb,
taught and learned through the days
and years; repeated, remembered,
quoted, mimicked, twisted,
spoken to bless and to curse.
It is to make one
come across the border lines
It is to feel a part of the whole
It is to understand and be understood.
It is seed that grows through the years
It is a pen that records the scars and stars
It is present in the years of our life
the years lost and gone
and the years to come.
It is language
from mother's womb
to our own tomb
It is language of jubilation,
of judgment and adoration
It is law and order
It is history-
document and monument.
It is victory and defeat.
It is the language of love
It is the language of hate.
It is the language of life
and the language of death.
_____________
May 7,2010
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Greek was very much a live language, and a language still unconscious of grammar, not, like ours, dominated by definitions and trained upon dictionaries.
quote by Gilbert Murray
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who's To Blame
Oh Mother Ghana; Mother Ghana
What has happened to you?
What has happened to your culture?
They say we've fold arms against 'Vernacular' language
Instead opened arms wide to 'English' language
Oh Mother Ghana Mother Ghana
Why?
At school, we are taught the things we do not know
By the 'English' language
Why not 'Vernacular' language?
Oh Mother Ghana, Oh Mother Ghana
Where is your true identity as pure African?
Where is your pride as true Ghanaian?
Oh Mother Ghana, Oh Mother Ghana,
Day after day
When we put on the uniform as students
We are forbidden to speak 'Vernacular' language
Instead the 'English' language
Why Mother Ghana, why Mother Ghana?
When we speak 'Vernacular' language; your culture,
They say: 'Speak English' someone's culture!
When we speak 'English' that someone's culture
They say: 'Abrofosem; speak vernacular language' your culture!
Oh Mother Ghana, Oh Mother Ghana
Who's to blame?
'English or Vernacular language'
Oh Mother Ghana; Oh Mother Ghana.
poem by Francis Julian Zewu
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Alphabet Spaces
In my mind rambles
ideas which seek to unscramble
and grant me crystal clear consistency
but the more I try to wrangle
ideas about Physics and Religion
the more they metamorphosize
into same and similar.
The more I learn about anything
the less I know about the whole
of any and all disciplines;
so I succumb to debates about
T's and I's
while forgetting my alphabet.
For example, if I take my own name
and examine it minutely,
space and letter
nano-space by nano-space
I cannot ever
see a whole word or letter.
Therefore, I come away nameless and confused.
So if I wish to learn the whole
of any disciple or subject-area
I have learned
best not to get too smart about
the spaces between the alphabets.
Yet, and this my conundrum, no letter
is ever apparent
unless there are spaces between Alpha and Omega.
So, too, music is a relationship between the sound and the silences-
too much music or sound is ultimately just noise or silence.
So in my mind rambles all these inconsistencies-
what about yours?
So we have the letters of an alphabet, and the spaces in between the letters
which are necessary to understand the words they form and from these empty spaces in between, much like silence and sound form music.
From this relationship we form the words and ultimately sentences, but note sentences alone do not form coherent paragraphs or pages for that matter and ultimately a book.
So what is the moral here? Pay attention to the background as well as the foreground, the seen and unseen since only from these relationships can we glean, true meaning:
too much concentration on the latter, and we miss the meaning embedded in the former.
True creativity means we are versatile in both and it is also the perfect metaphor for the differences and similarities between Science and Religion.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Roses
roses speaks of love in a languege known only too the heart.Colour speak of beauty in a language known only too the rainbow.Beauty speak of sunshine in a language only known too nature.My heart speak of you in a language only known too my love.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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