Collocation and intonation (popular poetry)
Imperialist hangover…
Father says
Who knows English
Is the best
I am fluent in English
But intonation is rubbish
So I leave the job
Of awkward commentary
I start to write
Though grammar is correct
Collocation comes in my way
I stop altogether composing
Awful documentary
Collocation and intonation
I send them both
To the burning station
When I become a poet
Coining of new epithets
Overused epithets
The wrinkle face
Cliché phrases
Wife of an old age
Coinage of new verbiage
The kiss of a teen age
Overflowing climax
Decorating the body
People say, wow! What poetry!
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Related quotes
As Baile
Intonation
The title "As Baile" can be translated as "away from home".
The song itself is all intonation, although you might say the intonation is "based" in Irish Gaelic. Enya sings "or, horo, mo-ray he u way, he u way" and so on. The word "or" is an interjection that could be translated as "oh!" or "oho!", but the rest of the song is intonation.
Information from Louise N Fharrachair and Daniel Quinlan
song performed by by Enya
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Food Of Termites
Doodling deep
lightening speed
junketing whims and fancies
dispersed disconnected
far fetched imagination and images
awkward and sentimental phrases
illogical epithets
unreasonable tour of thoughts
the reader refuses to go down
or rises up to the level
of a tripped or insane
caught unwanted
he finds no association
treats them as a cheating on his emotions
full of verbal diatribe
and mental dribble
he drops the book in disgust
and let it go to be the food of termites
poem by Abdul Wahab
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This African American Vernacular English shares most of its grammar and vocabulary with other dialects of English. But it is distinct in many ways, and it is more different from standard English than any other dialect spoken in continental North America.
quote by William Labov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ne'er To Pause
I think I must keep on writing
For if I should stop
I may never
Start again
If I should stop
There’d come that awful
Awkward pause
That we all fall victim to…
Now and then
When The dice are tossed
And the thread is lost
And the losing number
Comes up again
I think it best, I must keep on writing
To gamble on rambling
without a rest….for if then
Should I stop…nor e’en to pause
I may ne’er start
To write again
poem by David Whalen
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Touchdowns and Fumbles
My poetry teacher tells me he isn’t a poet
He just writes poetry
I tell him I want to transfer out immediately
He shouldn’t be teaching
I mean anyone can write poetry
And if you say you write it good but aren’t a poet
Than you’re an arrogant prick
Give me a poet to learn from
Good or not, they still stand by their writing
While people who write poetry are weak.
Standing behind what people believe is good
And tossing away what people don’t like
A football player takes it all with him.
Touchdowns and fumbles, passes and interceptions
While couches talk about years when they
Were the best, but forget about all the others.
I can’t learn from a poetry writer
I need to know the mistakes and shortcomings
Or else history is damned to repeat itself in me
Give me a poet any day.
poem by Reyes Suarez
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It Is Time To Write Another Kind Of Poetry
IS TIME TO WRITE ANOTHER KIND OF POETRY
It is time to write another kind of poetry-
To leave behind the self-reflection
The poems on the poet the poem and the poetry -
It is time to rediscover that the world is rich in unsaid dreams
And the poet must see too the beauty of what has been unsaid before
And what has been said many times before -
It is time to write another kind of poetry
And to leave myself as poet subject behind-
I have not yet done this here
But tomorrow and the next day perhaps
There will be other worlds.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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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I unfortunately don't speak French, but my wife is now fluent in English, which really reflects rather badly on me.
quote by Sean Connery
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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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
Practice
i bought a CD with real sounds
of birds, insects, reptiles and animals
keeping close to every pause and unique
intonation they make so that i can practise
turning each of their songs/chats into poetry
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I had art as a major, along with English, French and History. I had dance, modern dance. In English I was allowed to write my own poetry, which I eventually got published.
quote by Sally Kirkland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are persons people?
and he says
you don’t write poetry to please people, you know
that’s with a comma after people
you write poems to please you
with shock lines like I still treasure
our first condom oh my love
to show that you’re cool and hip
but she says why write poems at all
if they don’t please people
men have such egos I suppose
it’s because they can’t have babies
but who are people anyway, how
many persons make a people or
how few persons and are they
a random mix or is there like
a recipe, some of this lot some of that
he says people who know about these things
like poetry but how do you know
which are the people who know
I’m not sure I know he knows for a start
and she says well ordinary people
so what then do you slide up
to a bus queue when there’s no
bus in sight and say look you’re
ordinary people I’ve been looking for you
yeah watch them give you a nasty look
and skedaddle pretending they remembered
they were due some place else
I’m beginning to wonder if people really exist
I mean as such but I’ll have to stop there
my PC says it’s run out of virtual memory
that’s another thing I don’t understand
maybe people are just a virtual memory too
I’m beginning to wonder if anyone knows
what *people* should think about poetry
maybe they should just write it throw it away
see who picks it up and not never nohow talk about
other *people’s* poetry
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I am not a poet
They say I am not a poet,
I, too, think so,
I am not a poet,
For I dare not turn the truth,
Into falsehood,
Or vise-versa,
I refrain myself from decorating
my verses with words and phrases,
To create sensation.
I call spade a spade,
In the simplest term
I may not be a poet,
But am aware of,
The mysteries of love,
I may not be a poet, But know how to detect,
Imitations in emotions.
I am aware of,
The cavity the society bears,
The thriving double standards,
The artificial claims of love,
I know I am not a poet,
I prefer to remain a simple person, Without being obsequious,
I can accomplish my task,
I just say what I feel,
So what if they do not send
Their inspiring comments,
So what if they take my request for flattery,
I would go on expressing my feelings,
Whether they like it or not
For I am not a poet at all.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Poetry
Only place where I feel at home is poetry
Everywhere else I am always lost
Nothing seems proper, when verses of English poems are not present
All that I feel like doing is write and write
Sometimes, I do admit that I do get lost
However, I really belong only with poetry
Still, I always feel that nobody ever does understand my feelings
A blank space is always present within my heart
As sometimes I start to feel that things which I express are not good enough
I do not really know why?
This is just how I feel sometimes
Since, often the mode of being depressed comes to my life
Then, I become a depressed poet who has only past memories
Nothing else I have as remaining to love or care
However, still I keep on penning things, only to still remain alive
Otherwise, I would be dead without words
Only place where I belong is poetry and here I feel being at home.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Every English poet should master the rules of grammar before he attempts to bend or break them.
quote by Robert Graves
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Do They Think Of Poetry? ,
what do they think of poetry, ?
what do they think of poetry,
I tried to discern,
poetry is value,
They said that poetry has no diction,
Someone told me poetry is for the ladies,
I give him math and calculations,
These are the serf's of poetic value,
their criticism is all absurd,
they give limit's to it,
that they never read the deeper meaning of poetry,
They never knew it's metaphysical and deft pattern's,
math has the immutabilty,
you can never say a horse has five leg's,
but poetry is the euphoria,
the resonance,
the assonance,
the intonation,
the mutabality,
the maxim,
the troth,
just like in Crime and Punishment with character's like,
Raskolnikov,
math could not cure his indigent soul,
Only the vicissitudes and written word of empyreal value,
the contemplation,
maybe agitation of Integrated pattern's,
or maybe suffering of the soul to regain salvation.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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Yobby
If loving you was a mistake,
The i don't want to be right;
If knowing you was a mistake,
Then i don't want to be known;
For i am Yobby in the land of your muse,
And like the mango tree and the banana tree living together.
Ice age,
Your are of poetry;
Bronze age,
My area of poetry;
Stone age,
Her area of poetry;
Golden age,
His area of poetry;
And like the English Literature! !
But, i do have the English Poetry for you;
For, you are my poetry.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Tawdry Apostrophe (Extended Metaphor) Part 1
Prologue
Alas not just the pure search, and procreative struggle of poetry
can a hood over psyche’s head put, and stumble out prison security
but attitudes to communication generally, particularly where it is difficult.
So let’s see, is my “Apostrophe” condescending self-indulgence
hiding behind an erudite popularism? (I have been told so.)
Something tawdry, base, inferior, unworthy of me and the world the poorer?
(I fear so.)
Or light verse ironic ephemera, gone tomorrow, raw rashly
attempting to self-justify, with cynical political expedience?
You are my referee and reviewer, for I fear indolence
and my political enemies’ public backlash, imperialist violence as prosody.
But a warning, I am serving no caviar and hors d’oeuvres; but cod, chips and vinegar
for this is no time for reflective trimeter, and lovingly chosen metaphor.
I have a story of ordure and a warning to give, the form I need is narrative
the boozy romp of bald description, the extra long line and hate inspired initiative.
Well then.
An English Grammar School
The single most common English grammar headache
don’t splutter, it’s no joke, keep your eyes open:
a punctuation mark in shape of a snake, posing as correct spelling
a vipers /s//ə z/ and worse, admitted, with split personality glaring.
It sounds like a hoax I know, but its bite swells /ziz/
so the best you can do is release the pressure with yelling
or risk ending up in English Lit, and in poetry truth discovering.
Inexcusable, syntax more like semaphore, this apostrophe.
How and who first conceived, such boastful misanthropy
and wanton waste of school child’s precious learning years.
A guarantee of miscommunication and learning alienation
subtle psychological scarring and language fear
for millions of fresh faced innocents new each tear.
Let us relive that first lesson in primer one, eyes wonder
it’s Mum and milk, and off-to-school, you’re nearly five.
Waiting no longer is lay priest, Jack of all, and local discretion
from national goals; but word builder, identity layer, English teacher!
This modern English teacher, the pride of political correctness
in whom impossible a sadistic tendency should reside unguessed
by deep criminal record checking, multi-panel personality vetting.
One of life’s little ironies then, in the hive of social progress
that the poison should be hidden in the lesson.
poem by Philip Housiaux
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