Strange Language
When you write out a strange language,
What do expect from the reader?
For nobody understands what you do write,
So try to come out from your shells and let me understand you!
For there is love within your heart and,
I am ever ready to tap it with joy.
Do not hide yourself behind the mirror of love,
But rather come out plainly and let me understand what you are saying;
For a strange language never helps the reader,
And like a piece of Island taken over by the sea.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strange But True
Okay, let me say this quick - before I start 2 cry
Ure the only one that I gave it 2, the one I fantasised 4
And time away from u has taught me
What I should have known
That this hole Im trying 2 fill with another - yeah, its grown
And I got your package
But when I tried 2 write back I bailed
See, trying 2 express the future, sometimes language fails
And over this time Ive learned
My life force is increased by knowing u
Every door that closes, another one opens
Strange but true
Strange but true
No regrets because I forget the unfamiliar faces
Those petty lies and alibis, just golddiggas chasing
Dreams of sovereignty, they tried to come between u and me
A curse therein set forces a chain of events
That only freed me when I remembered
Where I was and who I am
The only prince that will ever rule this holy land
All understand and all standunder this affirmation now
By the power invested in me by god...
All negativity bows
Strange but true, lets see what u can do
U may have lost me, but I found myself
The ones who love me without condition - this is my wealth
And with these words I will win
Repeat them over and over again
All understand and all standunder this affirmation now
By the power invested in me by god...
All negativity bows
All negativity bows
All negativity bows
Strange but true, lets see what u can do
Strange but true, lets see what u can do
All negativity bows
(strange but true)
(strange but true)
Strange but true (true, true...)
All negativity bows
(strange but true, lets see what u can do)
All negativity bows
(all negativity bows)
Strange but true
Strange but true
(strange but true)
(strange but true)
Strange but true
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballade Of The Average Reader
I try to touch the public taste,
For thus I earn my daily bread.
I try to write what folks will paste
In scrap books after I am dead.
By Public Craving I am led.
(I' sooth, a most despotic leader)
Yet, though I write for Tom and Ned,
I've never seen an average reader.
The Editor is good and chaste,
But says: (Above the public's head;
This is _too_ good; 'twill go to waste.
Write something commonplacer-
Ed.)
Write for the average reader, fed
By pre-digested near-food's feeder,
But though my high ideals have fled,
I've never _seen_ an average reader.
How many lines have been erased!
How many fancies have been shed!
How many failures might be traced
To this-this average-reader dread!
I've seen an average single bed;
I've seen an average garden-weeder;
I've seen an average cotton thread-
I've _never_ seen an average _reader_.
L'ENVOI
Most read of readers, if you've read
The works of any old succeeder,
You know that he, too, must have said:
'I've never seen an Average Reader.'
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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A poem for you...
I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
for you to understand my deep thoughts for you
A poem to love and a poem to understand its soul
A poem to enjoy and a poem to understand its happiness
A poem to think and a poem to understand its way of life
A poem to learn and a poem to understand its content
A poem to sing and a poem to understand its melody
A poem to cry and a poem to understand its sorrow
There are poems I have written but this is specially for you
The poem could tell you how important you are for me
There are words comes out freely from my mind to write poem
but there are no words to find my love for you
Those words can not missed as I miss your love today
Let me have all those words put in to my heart and
say I love to write a love poem for you
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright ©2004 Ravi Sathasivam
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Strange Things Happen
She believes in god
And karma too
Paranormal powers
You know some people do
Got scorpio risin
Uh huh
Tell you whats in your stars
She was down in rio
Turn the heads of state
Got em into makin
This planet a better place
On copacabana
Uh huh
Oh yeah she radiate better go meditate
Everytime I touch my baby
Strange things happen
Strange things happen
Everytime I touch my baby
Strange things happen to me
Strange things happen
Oh ohhh ohhhh
Oh oh strange things happen
Everytime I touch my baby
Strange things happen to me
Met a pshycic reader
With a crystal ball
Had a vision
Said we could have it all
I caught her gazin
Uh huh
At our destiny cosmically
Everytime I touch my baby
Strange things happen
Oh ohhh ohhhh
Oh oh strange things happen
Everytime I touch my baby
Strange things happen to me
Strange things happen
Oh ohhh ohhhh
Oh oh strange things happen
Everytime I touch my baby
Strange things happen to me
Strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange
Strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange
Strange strange strange
Strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange
Strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange
Strange strange strange
Strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange strange
Strange strange strange strange strange
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Write Poems For Poets
I WRITE POEMS FOR POETS
I write poems for poets
Our situation as poets-
The longings the feelings
We so need to express-
The love of language-
The hunger for recognition-
The frequent rejection-
The kind word of a reader that moves-
Poems for poets
We as we each are
All so different-
And we as we share
Words and worlds
We hope to have read.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Ah Goo Tongue
The queerest languages known to man,
Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan,
Are all translated and made as free
And comprehensive as A B C.
Yet the oldest language talked or sung,
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue,
The royal language of Babyland
No man living can understand.
Every soul in the world to-day
Was one time anchored in Babyland Bay,
And quarantined there for a year or more
Before he even could step on shore.
And everybody in Babyland Bay
Talks the Ah Goo tongue, so people say,
But once on land-why not a word
Do they understand of it when 'tis heard.
For the fairy rulers of Babyland
Who guard the kingdom on every hand,
Have willed that no one shall keep the key
Who crosses into the Grown-up Sea.
So the sweet court language has never been made
A common parlance of strife or trade,
But is kept in the kingdom where natives come
Versed in the language of Babydom.
They are all of them royal and that is how
The Grown-up people all kneel and bow,
When they hear that language talked or sung-
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Dodder
Hey! Mr.Wise.Intellectual
what you expect from this man?
Do you want him to join your language marathon.
A skinny; you can count his ribs.
Let him stay as a semicolon
and don't make him a full stop.
You may keep your dogmas with you
and let him crawl to the grave.
From my stressful heart, dedication to a certain reader who insulted me publicly for some grammar mistakes of my poems.I agreed and I know my limitations as the English is my second language and without any hesitation I would like to say that I am still a beginner.Please excuse me, my friendly readers.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Lunch With a Poet
I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.
Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.
I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.
To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.
My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,
That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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If You Don't Love Me Anymore
if you do not love me anymore
do not write me a poem
like a code
that i have to crack
like i am a spy
in your movie
like i am an unknown
target
of your assassin
shoot me right
with my eyes wide open
no need
to tell me to
walk a little farther
and hit me at
my back with your
pretenses
the way you
talk like i am already
a stranger
in your house
the way you
treat me like
i were a child
with all my
mischief
the way you
cover your language
like i am
a fool who cannot
understand
what direct
candid
frank language is all about
if you don't really love me anymore
all you have to do
is tell me
and i will tell you too,
never had i ever loved you
never, never, never
just tell me,
because i can always tell you,
i also know
what you can do, i also know what to say
when you finally tell me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Language Of Love
Some spend their time in conversation
They just talk and talk all day
But theres a sweeter situation, and
Its just a touch away
One kiss can say all that we need to say
Dont have to tell me you care
The message gets through
With the things youre doing
When were alone in the dark, you speak
To my soul, talk to my heart
In the language of love, we say everything
Every time that we touch we say so much
In the language of love, nothing says it better
Than when were talking together
Touch by touch in the language of love
In the language of love
This love dont need no explanation
We understand just fine, oh baby
Got heart to heart communication
I tell ya thats the sweetest kind
I love the way your body talks to mine
You can just look in my eyes to know that its
Real cause we go by feeling
We dont need words to express whats in our hearts we say it best
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nada Mas (only the poem)
Reader, your voice is the poem
you are the words; and
nothing more.
Reader, there is no poetry
unless you speak it.
Reader, there is no sound
you must find what it has to say.
Reader, seek the thought
rising from your soul.
Reader, look all about you, up and down
no one else has come this way.
Reader, there is no other poem
only you among the words of the word; and
nothing more.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So In Love
I can’t think of anything to write
I want to make a piece that rhyme
But words are very hard to find
I don’t know what I should say
Would anyone bother to stay
And take time to wait for my way
Some people say, I write from the heart
And I truly agree because it’s not a lie
For what I write is what I feel inside
I have this wonderful feeling to share
But how come that I can’t create
My mind seems floating in the air
Tonight that I am with my dearest love
My heart beats too fast and I’m almost numb
I’m in cloud nine so please do understand
Ahaha… I’m so in love and I feel so high
Forgive me for I’m almost out of my mind
To share you a better piece, maybe next time
poem by Rose de Ramar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Write, Write, Write
Write in the language you dream in.
But this had never made sense
as far as I remember, I’ve never dreamt in nouns and verbs,
but always in huge boxes,
or dark abandoned malls,
or long flights
where my slippers are lost and my baggage,
missing.
Perhaps i should write in the language
that wakes me
That keeps me restless,
that feeds my hunger,
that reminds me that
i am alive.
it’s a matter of hearing
the heartbeat of one’s words
I can’t wait for more writers to write
Perhaps if the work of critics and teachers
will eventually bear fruit,
it will not be too far off that the streets of my town
will one day be filled again
with the lyrical lilt of my own language
I also can’t blame those
who continue to write in English
and live
in English
which is easy to dismiss as snooty
and elitist,
and alien—
even if it is the same village street,
the same home
that is being woven into words.
A tongue only becomes alien
when we keep it at the gate,
at the door.
The stranger is only as strange
as when we do not know his name,
and he does not know ours.
the job of the writer is not really
to master his language,
but to make it his own.
Not just to study its syntax
and shape but
to invite it into his home.
To kidnap bored English from the court offices
and banks
and schools,
and bring it to our beautiful messy rooms.
To tell it our stories,
whisper into its ear
our dreams,
and if the timing is right,
and the intention is clear,
then to show it our hearts
and we’ll begin to write.
Really really write.
Without guilt.
* reflections by L.L. YPIL
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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In Allusion To The French Song. N'entendez Vous Pas Ce Language
CHORUS.
THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
I.
How often have my tears
Invaded your soft ears,
And dropp'd their silent chimes
A thousand thousand times?
Whilst echo did your eyes,
And sweetly sympathize;
But that the wary lid
Their sluces did forbid.
Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
II.
My arms did plead my wound,
Each in the other bound;
Volleys of sighs did crowd,
And ring my griefs alowd;
Grones, like a canon-ball,
Batter'd the marble wall,
That the kind neighb'ring grove
Did mutiny for love.
Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
III.
The rheth'rick of my hand
Woo'd you to understand;
Nay, in our silent walk
My very feet would talk;
My knees were eloquent,
And spake the love I meant;
But deaf unto that ayr,
They, bent, would fall in prayer.
Cho. YET UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
IV.
No? Know, then, I would melt
On every limb I felt,
And on each naked part
Spread my expanded heart,
That not a vein of thee
But should be fill'd with mee.
Whilst on thine own down, I
Would tumble, pant, and dye.
Cho. YOU UNDERSTAND NOT THIS (FAIR CHOICE);
THIS LANGUAGE WANTS BOTH TONGUE AND VOICE.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Also, they don't understand - writing is language. The use of language. The language to create image, the language to create drama. It requires a skill of learning how to use language.
quote by John Milius
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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To serve the people, one must write for the ideal reader. Only for the ideal reader. And who or what is that ideal reader? God. One must imagine, One must deeply imagine that great Attention. Only so, in lonely dialog, can one reach the people.
quote by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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where is A? (for A)
he sent me a video
of himself humming in
Greek
not the literal Greek
language that you understand
it is strange and
(my heart cries perhaps
there is this
indescribable sympathy for
one in pain)
i may be out of frame
attributing pain to one who has not
experience pain
outside this small world of
indifference
it is the distance that understands
and i am definite about it
i dream of someone who fell upon a cliff
deep into the blue ocean beneath
and for one thing
i have not heard any cry for help
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What The Reader Needs Is Words
What the reader needs is words
So Beautiful
And so Surprising
That they bring Joy and Mystery
A sense of Freshness in all things.
What the Reader needs
The Poet should give
But there are Poets who cannot be
The best Poetry is
Still they live and write
As I do.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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