Whenever the literary German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going to see of him until he emerges on the other side of his atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
quote by Mark Twain
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A verb has a hard enough time of it in this world when it is all together. It's downright inhuman to split it up. But that's what those Germans do. They take part of a verb and put it down here, like a stake, and they take the other part of it and put it a way over yonder like another stake, and between these two limits they just shovel in German.
quote by Mark Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From, Thinking and Love!
From to....
Thinking......
Love! ! ! Someone!
This is a powerful verb!
Needs no preposition.
Love! Ready.
Without one, you can also.
They say someone is better
But it can be alone!
He fulfills his role well!
LOVE only when coupled
Loving Someone!
You can not love this, this, this......
You can not love My, Your, Our......
You can only LOVE! in You, for You
There you can!
Then, combine!
Jealous that Verb!
But it also has another verb.
What comes after the LOVE!
Think!
Thinking requires.... something that, in my, in yours, in our!
You also think.... From the Other!
Thinking all is wanting!
At that point! In this combination!
The love does not tolerate such a preposition
Demanding that verb!
Then comes the
FROM!
Birth from thee!
Because you began putting together The Love
and finished with The Think!
Painful this verb!
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Come to me and be my verb,
Leave me not a phrase,
Make me a sentence.
haiku by Jahan zaib
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The Grammar Lesson
A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
of and with are prepositions. The's
an article, a can's a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
A can can roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, might meaning not yet known.
"Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.
Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."
See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.
poem by Steve Kowit
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After the verb 'to Love,' 'to Help' is the most beautiful verb in the world.
quote by Bertha von Suttner
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The intercourse between the Mediterranean and the North or between the Atlantic and Central Europe was never purely economic or political; it also meant the exchange of knowledge and ideas and the influence of social institutions and artistic and literary forms.
quote by Christopher Dawson
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The word is the Verb, and the Verb is God.
quote by Victor Hugo
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Nowhere to confess an X factor
Why
Is life so painful? Why is life so meaningless?
What is a person?
What is a sentence?
What is a verb you really know?
Who is the person you don't know?
Inscription For A Grammar
There were two cheerful pronouns
And nought did them disturb:
Until they met, out walking.
A conjugative verb.
The pronouns, child, were You and I,
We might as well confess;
But, ah, the mischief-making verb
I leave to you to guess!
poem by Christopher Morley
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First would be the literary side, then the spiritual and philosophical. The political side is required principally because of the necessity of the current Russian position.
quote by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
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Selfe's Grammar: a sonnet in the style of George Herbert
O Lord: my dearmost Selfe – why need I name Thee?
Whom I need not call - forever near;
O Lord: my wholest Selfe – what grammar speak Thee,
who art Word and Speech, and Mouth and Ear;
Thou art not circumscribed by any Noun,
that any but Thyself hath speech to say;
nor Pronoun Thou – who art both I and Thee
and He and She and every It and They;
All Verbs Thou art; and every verb, Thy act;
and yet, Thy Stillness knows no verb that moves;
no Adjective may praise Thee as Thou art;
no Adverb tell how Thy Love constant proves;
O Lord, my whole dear Selfe: my silent prayer
may speak the louder; Thy sweet Stillness share.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Call Of The Wild
Within every animal,
there is a wild side
that calls from their roots.
The savage survival side
that emerges when threatened
called the call of the wild.
1 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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Verbs v. nouns
Nouns…
they’re dead things; names
you give to things to render them
immobile; to make them yours, your very own; fit for nothing
except scrapheaps, museums, dictionaries, armchairs;
but they make you feel good;
you have control over their world;
you don’t have to think about them any more;
they’re all locked up safe in your collecting-box,
the noun for which is head:
you can sound important with nouns:
this government’s raft of measures
for fiscal stimulation of the economy
but verbs… ah, verbs!
you can’t own them, push them about,
collect them, be important about them;
they own themselves;
they’re outdoor words: going about their
lawful business, doing what they're best at,
measuring their own life as they work;
adapting themselves to what needs to be done
which nouns can’t do without a committee
and then it’s too late; happy
to be themselves, being; even
being while they’re doing.. don't you wish
you were a verb?
Nature – (that’s a verb, by the way,
not a noun) – is all verbs; evolution
is a verb (not a theory):
DNA’s a verb – you can’t own it
like a noun…it doesn’t even
want to own you…
so, be a child – put your boots on,
run, splash, shout look at all those verbs;
how bright the world, what fun,
nothing to put in your pocket to take home
(or if you do, it’ll change to a noun, your noun,
in your pocket, in your drawer, gathering dust:
verbs don’t have the time to gather dust…)
verbs are for observing; verbs are for
seeing for the first time; wow! Verbs are for
inventors, explorers, tree-climbing,
coming home after a day of verb-watching
tired and looking forward to tomorrow
and sleeping soundly, maybe even
thanking, laughing, giving, living;
God is a verb.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Atlantic City
She walks the boards in Atlantic City
Oblivious to the looks of pity.
She sleeps under the boards in Atlantic City
with a cat she found. She calls it Kitty.
And across the way the casinos boom
where the high-rollin' gamblers have a room
with beds so plush, a rich man's tomb.
It's cleaned and swept with a servant's broom.
She awakens and finds a bench in Atlantic City.
She brushes away the sand from her eyes so gritty.
Once long ago she was young and pretty.
That was way before Atlantic City.
She remembers bits and pieces of way back then,
but can't put them together of how or when.
Her mind has snapped over and again
and she's become a forgotten denizen.
All that she owns are in two small bags.
All that she wears are worn out rags.
She picksup cigarette butts and takes a few drags
and walks the boards of Atlantic City.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts
Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In Hell
You live by the book of wonders,
The book has hell on it when opened.
The inferno carries pits too grilling,
The grills are offered by devils,
Contagious diseases are handed over
To the body and bones, full of hatred.
A hell of books is opened by the librarian,
You choose a simple verb to read,
Then this verb is read, the verb that signals death.
Your death must never come by reading books,
Long scrolls so wonderful,
Of books the world is made
And the reason for books is reading,
Not living in Hell.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I have always loved reading, so was interested in the literary world, and took many literary portraits.
quote by Fay Godwin
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The novel is not so much a literary genre, but a literary space, like a sea that is filled by many rivers.
quote by Jose Saramago
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I don't have traceable literary models because I haven't had great literary influences in my life.
quote by Manuel Puig
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I Too, Like An Unfinished Poem
an unfinished poem sounds like
an incomplete sentence
sometimes just a predicate without a subject
like love unrequited
a verb without a noun
an adjective so misplaced that
it calls for an adverb
it is more like a mouth
that opens but says only some syllables
though you as the reader
understands what the poet
wants to stress and mean and accentuate
for some parts of the poem are meant
not to be finished sometimes
in fact, they are meant to be concealed
and well covered like a bikini
to your.........or the prohibited love
you still keep in your........
or the memories that hurt you and are meant
to be unsaid.......you still want her not to
know..........
i, too, like an unfinished poem
like the sketch of your secret love many, many years ago,
once when you were young
the face is unfinished, you have not drawn the eyes
of that love so profuse that no canvass could ever contain
you still like this love unfinished, who knows
the ripe time comes and both of you
will finish
the unfinished love poem soon......
or some poems cannot ever be finished
because the words to complete them still
do not exist
or they are simply missing,
too lost like you,
they are not there yet to a feeling so new
so fragile and so indescribable.....
so rare........
and i, really, like it that way the poem
unfinishes itself
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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