To Love the Language
Contraptions built of words can reach
Planets beyond existence.
A guiding voice is needed first,
Then creative persistence.
Not steel or stone, nor wood or rope,
Can match the limitless bounds
Of imagination and language,
Of thought and meaningful sounds.
So any man with tongue or pen,
Or a way with which to write,
Would bless the culture by bringing their mere
Impossibilities to light.
If you think, and if you breathe,
You'll have something to say.
Set your thoughts out, or let them run,
Allow your voice to play.
poem by Liam O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Need To Hear!
I want to hear.
how much your language is.
His way to express so soft.
And how English is so touching! And so tender! In your voice.
because my, is so rude!
and yours, is so spherical
and when I expected for one R
Always comes a Th
so smooth!
That´s confused me!
that reminds me when the smoothness of your tongue meet mine.
And overcome and resign me!
Only in English! ! !
two famous tongue can be meet.
mellow and back words.
Only for you, because your wet time i insist! And you have a beautiful weather! ! ! Can unite drops and sounds.
Oh! No, beautiful language!
Oh! wrong again? ? ? What beautiful wet tongue! ! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is a culture voice, but it is a very American culture voice, and I am very used to English culture voice. So I had to work like hell to flatten those R's.
quote by Christopher Plummer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Are Just Years
i thought home is where we went when we fell out of favour
ive since learned that home is where we go to learn what favours are
home is a language we all understand
and this is how the language came to me
i realise
home is where we dont feel things
fortune has arranged that the language wont abandon us
it never will abandon us
if you dont miss your home
i cant remember much about my home
when im away from...
home, where were welcome
we appear to be like you
the were welcome when we
appear to be alike
living in fiction
just seems much better than living in words
if you live in fiction
homes no match for a word
ever existence
the more you go on the same as before
the more you light up the same as this time
the more you sing
all your songs about
all your...
living in fiction
is much more better than living in words
if you live in fiction
homes much better than words
living in fiction
just seems much better than living in words
if you live in fiction
then homes no better than words
im in fiction [x6]
and what i see it seems so standard
it always seems that youre left stranded [x6]
why dont you look beond
the village wall?
look beyond the village wall
weve got four walls at home
got four walls at home
and these walls around your head
thats what they are
theyre walls around your head
an empty head is creative
and direct me
to where you come from
and what you thought you knew
where you come from
[?]
home is the most overused word [x4]
love is the most overused word
just are the most overused words
picture this the most
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Guiding Voice
Sometimes we hear a guiding voice
that leads us away from danger.
The voice warns us
in times of troubles.
It tells us to go or beware.
Sometimes it comes in dreams
that we feel torments our soul.
This is a guiding voice
that tells us which way to go.
Some say it is a guardian angel
who watches over us
by day and by night,
telling us which way is wrong,
and which way is right.
We may never know whom
that voice belongs to,
only that it helps us
to live our life through.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Voice? ...
On this World Voice Day
It's a duty of us all
A pause for reflecting
Thanking the Creator
And all those who gave
And those who keep giving
Their voice for Love
For their wishes for Peace
And for the deepest Lament!
It's the voice of the Humanist
It's the voice of the Actor
It's the voice of the Poet
It's the voice of every Artist
It's the voice of the Scientist
The voice of the voiceless
And the voice of those able to voice it
Yet... they're deprived of doing so
And it doesn't reach us
As it would be fair, though!
April 16,2012
poem by Maria C. Costa
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Dance, Dance
She says she's no good with words but I'm worse
Barely stuttered out
A joke of a romantic stuck to my tongue
And weighed down with words too overdramatic
Tonight it's "it cant get much worse"
Vs. "no one should ever feel like.."
I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I write them
I need them just to get by
We will own your thoughts
We'll own the songs stuck in your head
We'll leave you kicking and screaming so you can thank us in the end
Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
Dance this is the way they'd look
If they knew how misery loved me
into bed with me)
You always fold just before you're found out
Drink up its last call
Last resort
But only the first mistake and I...
I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I write them
I need them just to get by
Why don't you show me a little bit of spine
You've been saving for his mattress (with love)
Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
Dance this is the way they'd look
If they knew how misery loved me
Why don't you show me a little bit of spine
You've been saving for his mattress (with love)
I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me
Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
song performed by by Fall Out Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Poems Came Back To Me / As Rhythms Without Sounds
My poems came back to me
as rhythms without sounds
Imitations of anothers music
Falling down and down
Like winter snow
To whitening ground-
My poems came back to me
As distant whispers of other destinies
Flights from deeper spaces
Mankind has not yet surmised
They were somewhere in the distance of distance
Beyond all distance
In the mystical language
Only Wisdom heard
Though it had no words of its own-
Only ‘now’ and ‘more’ and ‘dreams of another century’
And I, I with all these confusing words
Wondering if my friend would ever be sane again
And why God does it this way
While I in my writing play and play again
Bringing my own rhythms back
And making poetry my own small happy game
Which I write and I write
Without memory.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Walk On By, Walk On Me
your tongue pierced my fragile heart
careless words are daggers thrown
unaware unapproachable
unwilling silence from a sounding voice
you entwine praise with curses
your words burn like hell itself
silence from a sounding voice
all this by the tongue created
your words become hell itself
i lay bleeding in the flames
the tongue creates it tongue...
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Croods [trailer 2]
Nicolas Cage (voice), Ryan Reynolds (voice), Emma Stone (voice), Catherine Keener (voice), Clark Duke (voice), Cloris Leachman (voice)
from The Croods (2013)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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These Eyes Are Watching You
...see your words
verbal manifestation of thoughts
portraits painted with syllables
of sensuous simile and meaningful metaphor
not critic but who assimilates random thoughts
cast about like chaff in the swirling wind
no object of idolatry
no persecuting executioner
no special one from any special land
no name, no face, no special place
ubiquitous with comment or without –
just a silent voice that speaks its mind
shadow of your spirit
wisp of your very breath
exhaled for all to breathe
your vigilant sentinal
poem by Lorenzo Costigliolo
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These eyes are watching you
... see your words
verbal manifestation of thoughts
portraits painted with syllables
of sensuous simile and meaningful metaphor
not critic but who assimilates random thoughts
cast about like chaff in the swirling wind
no object of idolatry
no persecuting executioner
no special one from any special land
no name, no face, no special place
ubiquitous with comment or without
just a silent voice that speaks its mind
shadow of your spirit
wisp of your very breath
exhaled for all to breathe
your vigilant sentinal
poem by John Whitfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If You Must / Happy Hour / The Extreme
I can read, I can write
I can breathe, proven fact
Bless my greed, crease unfold
Is it me, or my ego
Write some words, make them rhyme
Pieces for, story line
Set the mood, something new
Is it me, or my attitude
If you want, to belong
And you miss, the extremes
The extremes, acted out
Practicing
Perfecting
Pressuring
Unto to me
I will wade, in the fire
To explain, your asylum
Idle times, analyzing
Well compare, all our sightings, come on
I speak, to hear, my voice
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Consciousness
I am consciousness, existences and bliss.
Hold the light for everyone you do insist.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
bless the people you have on your list.
I am consciousness, existence bliss,
think a good thought to those that are missed.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
bless those you wouldn’t even kiss.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
heal relationships where anger exists.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
bless those you cherish.
Written By Christina Sunrise on February 4,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Sequel to a Reminiscence
Not in the street and not in the square,
The street and square where you went and came;
With shuttered casement your house stands bare,
Men hush their voice when they speak your name.
I, too, can play at the vain pretence,
Can feign you dead; while a voice sounds clear
In the inmost depths of my heart: Go hence,
Go, find your friend who is far from here.
Not here, but somewhere where I can reach!
Can a man with motion, hearing and sight,
And a thought that answered my thought and speech,
Be utterly lost and vanished quite?
Whose hand was warm in my hand last week? . .
My heart beat fast as I neared the gate--
Was it this I had come to seek,
"A stone that stared with your name and date;"
A hideous, turfless, fresh-made mound;
A silence more cold than the wind that blew?
What had I lost, and what had I found?
My flowers that mocked me fell to the ground--
Then, and then only, my spirit knew.
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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Skip Away
I was walking, talking today
And a little girl came skipping my way
Reciting some silly nonsense song
Wasn't long before she was gone
' skip a rope '
A good friend in the middle of the night
rang up involved in her plight
On her behalf could I say a few words
Why of course and now they are heard
' skip a rope '
Then when the Sun comes out to play
We all perk up and listen to her say
Then we all smile from deeply inside
And from within the Sunshine can't hide
' skip a rope '
And with sadness you have to go
Across the ocean so far it's so
But when you land you extend your hand
from there to here and back again
' skip a rope '
poem by Midnights Voice
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Limitless
Limitless the sky is
All its lies
Spread further to the universe
Limitless the sky
Is and I do not know
Where to start or to end
The sky is one big circle
Limitless is
Its deception.
I really thought the sky
Is blue and orange
I proved it once
The sky is dust
Limitless is my misunderstanding
Of the sky
Limitless is the sky
I have been deceived the sky is
Limitless.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sky Is Limitless
Limitless the sky is
All its lies
Spread further to the universe
Limitless the sky
Is and I do not know
Where to start or to end
The sky is one big circle
Limitless is
Its deception.
I really thought the sky
Is blue and orange
I proved it once
The sky is dust
Limitless is my misunderstanding
Of the sky
Limitless is the sky
I have been deceived the sky is
Limitless.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Vanish
The elements in my thoughts are emptiness in
my hands, the uncertainty of your reach, i cannot
think of, but only hope that the day is not yet gone
entirely from my extending shelf. Where the literature
of infinite prose are the taste of one self, to become
myself as one into your spoken words. The writing
all becomes a shadow of many regrets. My hands
can only feel the texture of the paperback, but not
the words written, they can only register in my
conscious to stay and appear when i need them. I
cannot grab your voice nor your thoughts, if only
i could reach the sky and write my prose in a cloud
you shall read my contemplation from a distance
where ever you are. Tell me where it is your standing,
unless you want me lost. For eons I have longed the
moment to come. Tell me where to find you unless
you want me to fall. The prose only say you wait
desperately for hope.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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