Poetries
Step lightly here;
Words below:
Adverbs too.
Be ginger with the Sentences;
Note: the Clauses have so much Ego.
Oh, let's not talk Punctuation,
the pickiness makes for unrelating.
I have had a personal thing about
the Pluperfect Tense,
before I learned to get it right-
I think.
Now, I do like the Action Verbs
they stand out.
But the Hyperbolic Adjectives are overused,
don't you think?
The pronouns are the worse.
Especially the 'I'
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
They even look like prison bars,
so limiting I think.
The 'G' is great.
Looks friendly; rather like it's waving.
Well, you get the idea.
Have to go you know
Here comes Mr. Period.
He is so rigid.
He thinks everything
begins and ends
with him.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Words And Words
let us have an illusion of words
mesmerize ourselves with the movements of its verbs
and pretend about the beautiful feeling of its adjectives
let nothing be too personal about nouns
let us not be too excited about some interjections
let us shy away from so many questions
no orders, no imperatives no coercions
for tonight let there be only demonstrative pronouns
lips kissing, arms embracing, neck petting,
thighs making on top of each other hands entwine
fingers running, abdomens ebbing
let all be not just wishes, let it not just be on subjunctive moods
let there be verbs of romance, let there be sentences of lust
let us forget for once the word much abused by all:
i do not wish to utter it, let not love be feigned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broken Verbs and Writers Block
I coddle these Broken Verbs
hold them to light
to see if they will move me
beyond this adjectival, noun less state.
I am all Metaphor and Simile
swimming in Transitivity;
in my Pluperfectness.
My Gerunds
and Participles dangle
my Clauses fragment;
when I speak
I know only Dark Words
and Raven Poems.
Today I am tense;
less.
My Grammar is broken
my etiology's vague
and my words
have different and even
contradictory meanings.
I am reading the dictionary-
definition of Happiness;
it is confusing;
and depressing.
Look it up you will see.
So here now
I construct
Ist person sentences
to be
a step beyond
what Grammar I am today.
And each time I get
to the very last Clause
and the Period end
of the day.
Relieved.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lately! ! !
I ´m insupportable! ! ! !
Reading, running,
Playing, crying
Loving! ! ! !
Un-pleasant person
She reads excessively (he says)
More still Runs (she makes)
And loves! (they want) ......
I love! ! ! !
yes!
The words, all the peoples!
Now that I can
I love until the postman!
And I also joke and when I fall down
I cry!
Des-honest person, She is!
She did not loved me?
She did not lived only for me?
She did not run only for me?
Insensible this woman!
Do you want to know something?
I discovered that I don't love the prepositions!
Also to the pronoums!
The personal are the worse ones!
Better to be without.
poor of connections but free! !
Only the verbs, the gerunds, the past participle......
AH! !
And pronouns? ? ? ? ?
Only
You and I!
Revolutionary person!
poem by Mirna Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Parsing of Senility
The names go first. That’s not
uncommon, and even among those who
are younger.. psychologists say
(how discomforted this couch, Professor Freud..)
it’s sheer selfishness; we don’t want our friends
to know our other friends..
The names go first. One learns the dodges –
‘You’ll all know each other, of course…’;
names, they’re nouns; so how far will it go?
how well can I live well, when without nouns?
Spirit lives in all things; the self exists in all;
perhaps I’ll manage with this thought.
Then, what will be next to go ? (The nurse sighs
as the impatient patient cries, ‘..want..THAT…’)
Ah, there’s the clue: pronouns simply stand for names;
first person, second, third, will merge
into one selfish self – ‘want.. that! .. hungry..! fetch!
no.. not that… that… when shall see…? ’
I’ll need a patient nurse…
So in the this nameless world, where all things are as One,
what then, the next to go?
Conjunctions would be no great loss –
no ifs or buts, as Nanny said, when an all too similar
frowning plaintive child tried bargaining…
re-punctuation, editing, those shorter sentences
which editors would beg of me – yes,
‘conjunctivitis’ was my writing’s curse…
Prepositions have had a chequered history
in languages: sometimes on the end of words,
sometimes going before them with a flag;
immigrants were never very strong on them;
I’ll pretend I’m fresh from Ellis Island…
And Mediterranean and Near Eastern hands
could learn to play their part; who would spot
if adverbs, or those adjectives so dear to poetry
turned into grand, expansive gesture? ‘Such
an effusive man..’ they’d say.. maybe I’d turn
into an opera star; the words a little blurred…
And like the poet Elisabeth Bishop, I’d have to learn
how to surrender things, with joy… and read, maybe,
with ecstasy, every printed word as new, unspoken, magical…
…And the last age, lean and slippered in
those hospital pyjamas and blankets with that rough kiss
that Rupert spoke about; ruthless, toothless age,
sans words, sans lips, sans native tongue, sans…
..now, what was that word … Oh, Nurse! Nurse! …
oh damn, damn, damn.. oh yippee! .. can still curse…
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Language Scrum
It was a gathering of the Metaphors
who likened all things
to all other things
never identifying Essences;
leaving nothing as the core..
Similes arrived stating triumphantly that
they were superior to the merely metaphoric
and especially to the Gerunds.
The Nouns were enraged
claiming that they were the origins of things named
and all that could be named.
They all held the Dangling Participle in contempt
whose cohorts hung at the end of the table
speaking in sentences fragmenting.
The Pluperfect laid claim to wedding the Past
and Present
and to having had given birth to Language.
The Action Verbs demurred claiming that all history
depended upon them and their meanings and consequences.
'We are action' they said
'you are all after-thoughts and musings.'
So it was the Poetry Slam
the battle of the Language Parts
cogitating on sentences
and what they mean.
Metaphor opened saying 'poetry is contest-
a battle of words in the arena of created meaning-
designed to feed the brain, open the mind;
give sight to the blind.'
'We are all part of a wagon wheel
and each of us has only a spoken
truth.
'Yes' Simile said 'we are all like angry rose buds
trying to bloom.
Verbatim declared that all Poetry
was based on faith and faith alone.
Anything else was Untruth.
Gerund hung back claiming all meaning is hidden by
hidden meaning and that clarity was mystical.
So in the scrum, no one was able to find the ball.
And then they all went home.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pu Tong Hua
English is simple, it flitters from the tongue,
It means what it says when all’s said and done,
No matter how we say it, stress it or declaim,
In English it always means the same, same, same!
Chinese is difficult, your ‘Pu Tong Hua’,
Is drawn in little pictures that go back so-o-o far,
And every one’s a concept, with no strict meanings
Making it impossible to delve your gleanings.
As often as I study, and try as I might,
I can’t get your xiang xing’s or qing qing’s right.
There isn’t any gender; there isn’t any tense,
So how can your past, present, future, make sense?
Then when I’ve mastered some simple Chinese
You say: ‘That’s fine – but it’s Wenzhou-nese,
Nobody in Guangzhou, Wuhan or Beijing
Would understand a pennyworth of what you’re saying! ’
Every city’s dialect differs from the main,
Canton-ese, Shanghai-nese, nothing is the same.
Beijing has its Mandarin, the old ‘Pu Tong Hua’,
But it’s not what you’ll hear in a Wenzhou bar.
So don’t look for sympathy with adjectives and pauses,
Proper nouns or pronouns, adverbial clauses,
Your cousin’s not your brother, and a ‘she’s’ not a ‘him’,
But how do I tell you in your old Mandarin?
4 April 2006
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Means What It Does...
‘…means what it does’.
I read: ‘God cannot be named; cannot be and cannot have,
a ‘proper noun’; God can only be approached
through verbs and adjectives.’
The eight petunias which arrived so neatly in
their cardboard box as if pretending to be a book,
are already upright, thriving, growing;
that magic petal radiance of the deepest purple-blue
so delicate, so unique, seems to fill
the space around them with a message:
this is what God sings;
this is how God grows;
this is what God does;
this is what ‘God’ means.
*
And what of the ‘soul’? Can this be named?
as God in us, how can we know it
but by verbs and adjectives;
it ‘means’ just what it does..
A meditation, deep in inner mysteries
as mind delved in itself
for hidden things yet beyond words,
beyond all self yet known to be,
interrupted by the delivery man –
I drag myself reluctantly from chair to door:
he’s met with such a glorious sunshine burst
of goodwill, gratitude…
this is what soul sings;
this is how soul grows;
this is what soul does;
this is what ‘soul’ means.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Curious
Welcome to the great unknown
Take a journey into the O zone
Feed your fire, feel the burn
And I'm learning the thing that you learn
Let's play the game
And I'm sure that you'll be so glad that you came
You never know till you let go
And discover your potential
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
When you jump right in
This is the end, let's begin
Lose your fear like you're shedding your skin
Nothing's lost when all is won
So I'm do all the things that you done
Feel the sound
And try to write a simple rhyme of spinning round
Before I leave, you ought to know
The more you scream, the faster that you go
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
Free up your inside
You're gonna like what you will find
You're never gonna know until you try
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
When you jump right in
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
When you jump right in
song performed by by Holly Valance
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Journey
when you can look
in the mirror,
and see your self naked
without running like hell...
the journey begins!
when you can look
at your every action,
judging your self honestly
by motive and intent...
the journey begins!
when you can give away
all that you cling to
without asking for anything
in return...
the journey begins!
when you can do the right thing
irregardless of the cost,
not caring what anyone says
or thinks...
the journey begins!
when you can see the faces
of God in the people you
despise the most, the ones
who've hurt you the most...
the journey begins!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Grammarians Funeral
Eight Parts of Speech this Day wear Mourning Gowns
Declin'd Verbs, Pronouns, Participles, Nouns.
And not declined, Adverbs and Conjunctions,
In Lillies Porch they stand to do their functions.
With Preposition; but the most affection
Was still observed in the Interjection.
The Substantive seeming the limbed best,
Would set an hand to bear him to his Rest.
The Adjective with very grief did say,
Hold me by strength, or I shall faint away.
The Clouds of Tears did over-cast their faces,
Yea all were in most lamentable Cases.
The five Declensions did the Work decline,
And Told the Pronoun Tu, The work is thine:
But in this case those have no call to go
That want the Vocative, and can't say O!
The Pronouns said that if the Nouns were there,
There was no need of them, they might them spare:
But for the sake of Emphasis they would,
In their Discretion do what ere they could.
Great honour was confer'd on Conjugations,
They were to follow next to the Relations.
Amo did love him best, and Doceo might
Alledge he was his Glory and Delight.
But Lego said by me he got his skill,
And therefore next the Herse I follow will.
Audio said little, hearing them so hot,
Yet knew by him much Learning he had got.
O Verbs the Active were, Or Passive sure,
Sum to be Neuter could not well endure.
But this was common to them all to Moan
Their load of grief they could not soon Depone.
A doleful Day for Verbs, they look so moody,
They drove Spectators to a Mournful Study.
The Verbs irregular, 'twas thought by some,
Would break no rule, if they were pleas'd to come.
Gaudeo could not be found; fearing disgrace
He had with-drawn, sent Maereo in his Place.
Possum did to the utmost he was able,
And bore as Stout as if he'd been A Table.
Volo was willing, Nolo some-what stout,
But Malo rather chose, not to stand out.
Possum and Volo wish'd all might afford
Their help, but had not an Imperative Word.
Edo from Service would by no means Swerve,
Rather than fail, he thought the Cakes to Serve.
Fio was taken in a fit, and said,
By him a Mournful POEM should be made.
Fero was willing for to bear a part,
Altho' he did it with an aking heart.
Feror excus'd, with grief he was so Torn,
He could not bear, he needed to be born.
Such Nouns and Verbs as we defective find,
No Grammar Rule did their attendance bind.
They were excepted, and exempted hence,
But Supines, all did blame for negligence.
Verbs Offspring, Participles hand-in-hand,
Follow, and by the same direction stand:
The rest Promiscuously did croud and cumber,
Such Multitudes of each, they wanted Number.
Next to the Corpse to make th' attendance even,
Jove, Mercury, Apollo came from heaven.
And Virgil, Cato, gods, men, Rivers, Winds,
With Elegies, Tears, Sighs, came in their kinds.
Ovid from Pontus hast's Apparrell'd thus,
In Exile-weeds bringing De Tristibus:
And Homer sure had been among the Rout,
But that the Stories say his Eyes were out.
Queens, Cities, Countries, Islands, Come
All Trees, Birds, Fishes, and each Word in Um.
What Syntax here can you expect to find?
Where each one bears such discomposed mind.
Figures of Diction and Construction,
Do little: Yet stand sadly looking on.
That such a Train may in their motion chord,
Prosodia gives the measure Word for Word.
poem by Benjamin Tompson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writting
When i feel lost lonely and have nowhere to go,
the words keep me company and im a loner no more,
Letters come together in my minds free flowing from my
heart,
Two letters one letter many letters make up words,
Long words short word
bring up sentences that form up,
my concious wades throught them picking seeking to join
short and long and make it work,
No rules to my word play anything u want can stay a
concortion a work of art,
Am lost in emotions,
lost in expressions,
pronouns adjectives and nouns,
Lay them straight,
hang them down they still are need a flow to make a sweet
sound,
The rhyme,
the time is put into consideration when iplay with all my words,
My best friend is my pen, my paper and my head there is no limit to what i can,
Its a poem am at it a work of art in progress i love the work
of my hands...
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In music, the punctuation is absolutely strict, the bars and rests are absolutely defined. But our punctuation cannot be quite strict, because we have to relate it to the audience. In other words we are continually changing the score.
quote by Ralph Richardson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is My Pleasure
It is my pleasure
It is like making love to you
The better the poem
The hotter I get
And my words
Are all I have to make
You feel my passion
Until that day
I will ravage your body
With my vowels
And my pronouns will
Lick you insane
And my nouns will I
Penetrate you with and
Adjectives will pound
And pound and pound
Viciously until you come
And my subjectives
Will drain all
My pretense into you
Hot Hot Words
And all english grammar too
poem by Midnights Voice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Funny Talk
My funny talk it gets me laughing much, each day,
when I try to talk, the words don't come right anyway;
The words are all mixed up, with words jumbled too,
like! getting jelly beans from my throat, oh phew.
My funny talk, I hope, won't get me in trouble,
cause sometimes the sentences are all in a muddle;
like saying I was in the piddle, instead of in the middle,
and I wanted to say fiddle as in violin, I said I played the biddle.
Yes! I can laugh at these things, I know I'm getting old,
But that's what life brings along, that's what I am told;
Life brings so many trials and funny things as well,
I wouldn't change a thing, my mind rings like a well, I mean Bell.
See the more I try to say a sentence, it ends in a stew,
to make life complicated, does it happen also to you?
But maybe I just make these things go down in a verse or 2,
and end in a funny poem, so it can be read by you.
poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Don't Want To Hear It Anymore (mono)
(randy newman)
In my neighbourhood
We don't live so good
The rooms are small
And the buildings made of wood
I hear the neighbours talking 'bout you and me
I guess i heard it all
'cause the talk is loud
And the walls are much too thin
He don't really love her
That's what i heard them say
He sure wasn't thinking of her today, oh no
(he wasn't thinking of her today)
I saw them in the front yard
Said the boy in room 149
He was talking to a girl i've never seen before
And standing there together, oh they looked so good
I don't want to hear it anymore
(i don't want to hear it)
I don't want to hear it anymore
(anymore)
'cause the talk just never ends
And the heartache soon begins
The talk is so loud
And the walls are much too thin
Ain't it sad, said the woman down the hall
That when a nice girl falls in love
Ain't it just too bad that she had to fall
For a boy who doesn't care for her at all?
(it's so sad)
I don't want to hear it anymore
(i don't want to hear it)
I just can't stand to hear it anymore
(anymore)
'cause the talk just never ends
And the heartache soon begins
The talk is so loud
And the walls are much too thin
I don't want to hear it anymore
(can't stand to hear it)
(don't want to hear it)
I just can't stand to hear it anymore
(don't talk about it)
(can't stand to hear it)
Oh, baby, baby
I just can't stand
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something Understandable
in your busy life
there is no time for
a puzzle
and so to make things
easier for you
i am simplifying words
i am giving you
all nouns and
adjectives
i am setting aside
all the verbs
like a still painting
you may stop
and find yourself
there
immobile
calm and still
stuffed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Untitled 15
there is a mountain of words
an ocean of words
a continent of words
there is a rain of words
a flood of words
a river of words and true to their being words
they also disintegrate as syllables
on the other hand some form the clauses
conditions and terms
some make sentences and paragraphs
a world of words full of words
i am not a word and i am buried in a mountain of words
a sea of words i drown
a continent of words i am condemned to walk all the days of my life
too may words my ears do not listen anymore.
my eyes do not like to read anymore.
i like something not having to do with words.
what about a touch? what about a picture?
what about a kiss?
why don't people just make love without saying a word?
let us start touching the hearts of people
to avoid this war of words that lead us to our own perdition.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Want To Hear It Anymore
(randy newman)
In my neighbourhood
We dont live so good
The rooms are small
And the buildings made of wood
I hear the neighbours talking bout you and me
I guess I heard it all
cause the talk is loud
And the walls are much too thin
He dont really love her
Thats what I heard them say
He sure wasnt thinking of her today, oh no
(he wasnt thinking of her today)
I saw them in the front yard
Said the boy in room 149
He was talking to a girl Ive never seen before
And standing there together, oh they looked so good
I dont want to hear it anymore
(I dont want to hear it)
I dont want to hear it anymore
(anymore)
cause the talk just never ends
And the heartache soon begins
The talk is so loud
And the walls are much too thin
Aint it sad, said the woman down the hall
That when a nice girl falls in love
Aint it just too bad that she had to fall
For a boy who doesnt care for her at all?
(its so sad)
I dont want to hear it anymore
(I dont want to hear it)
I just cant stand to hear it anymore
(anymore)
cause the talk just never ends
And the heartache soon begins
The talk is so loud
And the walls are much too thin
I dont want to hear it anymore
(cant stand to hear it)
(dont want to hear it)
I just cant stand to hear it anymore
(dont talk about it)
(cant stand to hear it)
Oh, baby, baby
I just cant stand
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words Of Some Sort
The balancing action of a few words wraps us in sin,
Sin has a way of telling others the whole secret.
The embroidery so sudden enacts the religious view and worship,
A word or two carried new meaning to the select.
A balance of words means new phrases and more sentences,
Sentences cause us to seep in thinking, more than you.
Those words are plentiful for the soul, in effect,
The affectionate soul marries to the other soul.
My acts are numbered by the absence of fondness
For words that encase a comprehension of some sort.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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