Like, What is the least often heard sentence in the English language? That would be: Say, isn't that the banjo player's Porsche parked outside?
quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
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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The Banjo
I heard a banjo pluck a tune
and thought to myself 'it's only noon.'
Shouldn't banjos be plucked at night
while girls are clogging in delight?
I turned and saw the banjo player
and could tell that he was just a purveyor
of musical beats for all the girls
with round hoop skirts and golden curls.
Dance away you southern belles
while the magnolia sweetly smells.
For when the banjo is all strummed out
the gents shall clap and loudly shout.
'More, more. It's only noon.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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"I am" is reportedly the shortest sentence in the English language. Could it be that "I do" is the longest sentence?
quote by George Carlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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""I am"" is reportedly the shortest sentence in the English language. Could it be that ""I do"" is the longest sentence?
quote by George Carlin
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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Finglish
I am from Finland and i speak 'Finglish'!
Because i am learning the English language and,
It always infuses with my Finnish.
I am learning to keep me going but,
I do speak my English like 'Finglish'! !
And i always try to enforce the truth of my peace like,
The subconscious act from my mind to muse up things:
But i am unaware of your love.
Try to keep me informed on this love and,
Try to teach me the English language so that i cam be with you;
For the heavens and the earth do know how i do speak.
Keep me on the tracks of your love and teach me more!
For one day i will learn the English language very well;
And i will be ready to teach you my Finnish language as well.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I told my father I wanted to play the banjo, and so he saved the money and got ready to give me a banjo for my next birthday, and between that time and my birthday, I lost interest in the banjo and was playing guitar.
quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Language That The Poor Wants To Speak
do you speak good English?
do you take pride in it and then use it to impress others
and swindle them
into a belief that they are inferior?
they have feelings too
of humiliation
which even in such a sad state
wish that their humiliation
speak good English still
they always think that English will give them
a good job
a better standing in the society
a flare of fashionable tongue
you make them cry
but still they want to speak that cry in English too
foolish!
but can you blame them?
you who hold that power and might
you who have taken all what they once had
and made them
worse within
themselves
despite which,
they still want to be like you
to speak like you
a god
how sad!
you have never known the language of love
the grammar of generosity
the syntax of sympathy
that language that good English
sometimes has forgotten
to utter
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our common language is ... English. And our common task is to ensure that our non-English-speaking children learn this common language.
quote by William John Bennett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our common language is English. And our common task is to ensure that our non-English-speaking children learn this common language.
quote by William Bennett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Applejack
He lived by the apple orchard in this little orchard shack
His real name was jackson taylor but I called him applejack
Now old applejack was loved by everyone he ever knew
Applejack picked apples but he picked the banjo too
Chorus:
Play a song for me applejack, applejack
Play a song for me and Ill sing
Play a song for me applejack, applejack
Play a song, let your banjo ring
Now Id go down to applejacks almost everyday
Wed sit and wed drink applejack that old applejack had made
Then hed take his banjo down then hed ask me if Id sing
And he would play the banjo and Id play my tambourine
Repeat chorus
Thats when I was just a kid and now that I am grown
All I have are memories, old applejack is gone
Oh but he left me his banjo and it always takes me back
And everytime I play it I still hear applejack
Repeat chorus 3 times
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through The Headphones
Stretched out on the bed.
Snuggled up in flannel pj's.
Folded hands on chest.
Headphones placed on ears.
Portable CD player at my side.
Volume up - as much as I can handle.
I listen to my albums
through the headphones.
Hearing the music
in a whole new way.
Up close and personal.
Is this the same 20 year old song?
I never heard that lyric.
I never heard those notes.
I don't hear that on the record player.
I didn't know they did that
in the background.
Through the headphones
the voices come from straight ahead,
somewhere from the left or from the right.
I've never heard these songs this way.
I now have a whole new record collection.
It is no exaggeration to say that the English Bible is, next to Shakespeare, the greatest work in English literature, and that it will have much more influence than even Shakespeare upon the written and spoken language of the English race.
quote by Lafcadio Hearn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And I think because of the passion of every English player and every English supporter, and every English journalist for the game, most of the game is played with passion, love for football and instinct, but in football you also have to think.
quote by Jose Mourinho
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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 Language I Feel Most At Home In
THE LANGUAGE I FEEL MOST AT HOME IN
The language I feel most at home in
Is not my own.
My own sacred language
Is my second best.
English is too great for me
And I am not like Joyce
Able to contend with and transcend it –
I write my small lines in the language
Shakespeare is the glass of fashion and the mould of form of –
I one more minor actor in a cast of many millions
Play my words upon the page as best I can.
But why mind and remember me and mine
When there are so many and so so much far greater?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This is America: Better know English
America was once the magnificent place
Where all immigrants wanted to escape
So they illegally come here, as illegal aliens
Hiding in the back of our American vans
Now our schools and jobs require multiple languages
When we’re the Americans, we’re supposed to speak English!
And we do and just because they don’t
Doesn’t mean their language is a demand we should know
Don’t come to America if you don’t know the language
I’m just being realistic, I’m not being racist
Don’t put up store signs if they’re not readable
You’re in America; English is the main language you should know
Then they’re pissed because people won’t help out their business
But their forgetting us Americans don’t speak their language
We don’t go to Mexico demanding English classes
So why should they own the right to demand us Spanish?
I love the language, and everything BUT
THIS IS AMERICA look our history up!
Then tell me if French should be required
Where in the hell in the time line is that desired?
I know this is the land of opportunity, land of the free
But we should be able to communicate as human beings
And if that’s just too hard no one said they had to stay here
They can go back where they came from and speak in harmony there
I’m just a full blood American, as so the rest of my family
And like others, our language should be the first they’re demanding
We're tired of going to our fastfood restaurants to eat
When the orderer of our order can't even speak
And buyers, don't buy our house
If you can't even pronounce our street out
I'm tired of security going through all our private equipment
I'm an American, Bitch, do I look like a terrorist?
Honestly, you can come here if you want to be
Since this is the best place of opportunity
And we don’t care if you speak 20 different languages and love them
But this is AMERICA, ENGLISH better be one of them!
poem by Sugar Bear
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Grandad Played The Banjo
When my grandadpassed away-He left his old banjo to me-He played it unti hiis death-At the age of eighty-three-One of my fondest memories-Was hearing my grandad play-Old-time songs on his banjo-At the end of a summer day-Often on a balmy evening-Grandad brought his banjo to play-Daddy joined in with his guitar-And we passed the time away-We gathered on the back porch-Sometimes neighbors would stop by-Often there was some singing-Of pretty songs by our granny Di.
poem by Joy Thacker
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I suppose, counting back, if the Beatles had been influenced by music in the same length of time ago - you'd have to put that into better English for me, thank you - they would have been like a banjo orchestra. They would have been doing show tunes.
quote by Jonny Greenwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Writing
the sentence & the paragraph had agreed upon meeting at dawn
out in the middle of the page
as the reflection off the fine silver pen being lifted by the human hand in the sky
shone off the bright white recycled paper
there stood one strong paragraph,
which
was armed with clever words, quirky verbs & quiet frankly,
a whole slew of other sentences
who may or may not be brought into the fray
with this
vigilante,
who stood a good distance away from the paragraph
with its shadow blotting out part of the page-
the sentence was tight
knit
&
written in a language that the paragraph had never heard of
before-
the paragraph tilted it’s font a bit, to stave off the human shifting the paper,
causing a bit of a breeze across the soft plane,
but the sentence hadn’t come here today
to waste its time flashing its
fashion sense, and in
standard
new times roman,
it spoke out in italics
“we gonna do this or not? ”
& the paragraph,
without a moment’s hesitation,
nodded, saying, in some bold n’ fancy variation of
book antiqua,
“i been ready since i saw the punctuation at the end of your
babbling jumble of foreign words”-
at that point,
the title of the page & the
header
walked in tandem to the place in between both the paragraph
and the sentence-
now equidistant apart from both,
they talked of what had brought both these forms of writing
to the page
this brisk & early morning in
june-
to make a story short,
the foreign language sentence & the
english (current language of commerce) paragraph
had come to this duel over a
beautiful
metaphor-
and while both the title & the header could understand,
having fallen for beautiful metaphors once or twice in their own
multiple drafts, themselves,
it was still a sad sight to see two
strong forms of writing,
battling over one
metaphor,
when there were so many
phrases in the
sea of literature-
the title & the header opened up the utterance
& from that utterance, they pulled two perfect
pistols full of wit
(the weapon of choice for both the paragraph & the sentence) ,
and after handing both of the forms of writing their
prospective pistol,
they stood back and off to the side of the page,
frightened of what was to happen next-
back to back,
the paragraph & the sentence marched away from each other
space by space by space,
to the traditional margins,
and when they both reached them
they turned round quick,
firing their wit at will-
the paragraph,
hefty & edited well,
was able to fire its wit faster,
as it had already gone through so many drafts, and had
honed its skill
whereby each word within it, had its own place
(it was a “ripped” paragraph, if you can picture it-lean & not very wordy at all) ,
however,
though the sentence wasn’t as well formed as the paragraph,
it was sleek & stealthy-
its words rolled off a human’s tongue when they read it
aloud,
and in this, the sentence was able to
wiggle itself around,
missing the mass spray of wit that had been fired by the
paragraph’s pistol-
as in every fight,
there is a winner & a loser,
this one was no different,
and the hefty, well edited paragraph,
had too much to move
and too little time to do so,
when the sentence wielded its wit towards it-
the sentence, relentlessly, kept firing,
not satisfied & not feeling safe,
until the paragraph, with all of its fellow sentences within,
crumbled to the page,
now,
a mere pile of
sentence fragments & misplaced
words & punctuation.
the sentence,
victorious,
nodded to the title & the header, who nodded back,
and walked out of the lamplight & into the shadow
to embrace the sweet warmth of its
beautiful metaphor
which had been watching the wit-fight
behind the margin.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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