103
Sonnets in English-rhyme-poor tongue?
Better to labor in the French, if any.
Thanks, I'll stick with the mother one-
Better to suffer too few than too many.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Juvenalia I
They are the poems you found leatherbound
in a cedar drawer, decades later
dedicated to their 'only begetter'
the girl (where is she now?) you took to the senior prom
in your fathers' fancy, foreign luxury car.
Inhabited by Circes, Aphrodites, Maeves,
influences you never knew you had
none, mind you, awfully bad
employing every Italian form known
to occidental man, perfectly rhymed and sad.
some quite good and none, I stress, especially bad:
sonnets, odes, epodes, a tearful sestina
one parsed-out in queasy terza-rima
(English being a rhyme-poor tongue)
one boldly comparing love to influenza. (!) (?)
Nor are there French influences wanting-
viralays, rondalays, rondeaux:
there in the walled garden blows the tall rose
of Ronsard, beside the pretty orchard
of yellow pears ahanging.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Soul Speaks Mother Tongue
He read English books and write English poem
Throughout his carrier and yet heart in heart
He enjoys hearing and singing songs in Tamil.
He shouts in Tamil and cries in Tamil.
The inner self speaks only in mother tongue.
One feels at ease only in mother tongue.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two cows deconstruct Derrida
These two cows were ruminating
and one says, I was listening
to the milkmaid’s transistor
and this French philosopher
was explaining that there’s
no English translation of the French word
‘betise’ except ‘stupidity’ but
‘stupidity’ only refers to man
where the French ‘betise’ means
to behave like an animal…
and the other cow says
well what’s wrong with that
and the first cow says
well his point is, English cows
can’t be stupid; only man
can be stupid..
and the other cow says
well that’s a relief then
so does that mean that French cows
can be stupid
and the first cow says
no because they don’t have a word for it
in French
so the other cow says
so then is it better to be
an English cow
that can’t be stupid
or a French cow
that can’t be called stupid
and the first cow says
who cares, I’ve always said
the French ruminate too much
and then talk bullshit…
and the other cow says
I’m glad I’m a Jersey
what about that French milkmaid
I call sexyhands but
the farmer sometimes calls
a silly cow I wonder what
Derrida would say about that
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Battle of the Herrings
A fishing action
North of France
1429 took place
Cause of battle
French vs. English
Anticipation/baited breath
River – flat plain
Set up strategy
Hook/line/sinker
British attacked first
French were slow
English bombarded fish
French did not
want to get
their shoes wet
Were most certain
outflanked by British
French counter attacked
Used Brie instead
of slippery worms
Won the fishing
competition – yelled Viva’
la fishermen French
“What was that”?
asked the English
“What’s the matter
with you cockneys
Hard of Herring? ”
'2008'
poem by Robert Sheridan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Most people have no imagination. If they could imagine the sufferings of others, they would not make them suffer so. What separated a German mother from a French mother?
quote by Ernst Toller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Return the Princess
Return the Princess
Sir Knight, I beg of you, fetch my sister.
A high born lady, stolen from our court.
Stricken from the scroll of the royal Lister.
As children, our time together was short.
She vanished the day the palace was stormed.
Swept from our presence and ripped from the fold.
‘twas torn from my life, yet my love had formed.
So fetch her for me, before she is sold.
I know where she is, she waiteth you see.
O find her my Knight, on your pure white steed.
She is lost in the land of poetry.
Bid me my sister and fulfill my need.
Rumor holds she is well beyond the sea.
So ride Sir Knight, bring my sister to me.
Author notes
English Sonnet
Sonnets are formal poems and consist of 14 lines (3 quatrains and a couplet) , traditionally written in iambic pentameter - that is, in lines ten syllables long, with accents falling on every second syllable. English sonnets rhyme in the following scheme ababcdcdefefgg
source: shadowpoetry.com
Lister - assessor who makes out the tax lists
poem by Amera Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I speak English, so I am no longer cute. My tongue itches for French.
It was always said that the big distinction between the French and the English is that the English are intelligent and the French are intellectual.
quote by Kenneth Baker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Picnic in the rain
The rain was pouring down,
we set out for the park,
children in the back seat,
mothers in the front.
Picnic baskets packed,
tasty treats for all
we took a big umbrella
we'd need before nightfall.
A bottle of red for Al',
a can of beer for Jan
some Pepsi for young Josie
and a flask of tea for Anne.
Our French students came with us
spitting out French words,
oh la la and non, non, non
was plainly what we heard.
Zees mad English people
z'ey go out in zee rain,
we don't understand them
what zat they zey say again?
A streaker ran right by us,
I saw his ample cheeks,
well what else would I see
that might well rhyme with streak?
I tried to shade the children's eyes
but they were having none,
ooh la la, he's naked
look at his red bum!
We had a grand ol' afternoon
and then the sun came out.
Puddles dried up rapidly
and sun cream up did sprout.
So next time when it's pouring
we'll do it all again!
We're English, mad as hatters
and we picnic in the rain.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet- Sonnet Needs Rhymes
Can you a Sonnet write without its rhyme?
Now people want the modern verse that's free;
As ideas get stuck and cramped with time,
A Sonnet's like leafless branches of tree!
A Sonnet's great for men who rhyme too well;
Its beauty lives in metre, rhythm, rhyme;
Yet, it can never run into 'pel-mel';
The sonneteer can write in any clime.
Why abhor rhymes and not a Sonnet write?
Each genre has its rules to comply with;
Why sleep all day and stay awake all night?
Rhyme-play is done by Kindergarden kith!
Why ridicule something you can't do well,
Much things are done by practice, Sonnets tell.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To the Reader of These Sonnets
Into these Loves who but for Passion looks,
At this first sight here let him lay them by
And seek elsewhere, in turning other books,
Which better may his labor satisfy.
No far-fetch'd sigh shall ever wound my breast,
Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring,
Nor in Ah me's my whining sonnets drest;
A libertine, fantasticly I sing.
My verse is the true image of my mind,
Ever in motion, still desiring change,
And as thus to variety inclin'd,
So in all humours sportively I range.
My Muse is rightly of the English strain,
That cannot long one fashion entertain.
poem by Michael Drayton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh, I'm not English, I cannot talk on behalf of an English person. I'm French. I can say about French. They are quite emotional, though, and they talk about their emotions.
quote by Sophie Marceau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The English was really my mother, it was never me. Being the daughter of my father, I always felt very French.
quote by Charlotte Gainsbourg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Holy Sonnet 3
O! might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vain.
In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?
That sufferance was my sin, I now repent;
'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain.
Th' hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joys, for relief
Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd
No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th' effect and cause, the punishment and sin.
poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
An Inspiring Officer in Indian Administration
I bow my head to Iraianbu
the honest officer with a lot of nerve
and a wonderful descendent
of a glorious galaxy of writers
like Maraimalaiar and Pavanar.
He thinks deep and wide
and speaks in Chaste Tamil
and in fluent, flexible English.
He creates works of eternity
to offer at the feet of our Mother Tamil.
Losing touch with our Mother tongue
we struggle to go deep in other tongue
and sommer try to come out with some pearls
which would tell the world
a circle of novices in Chennai
are knitting sweet-smelling flowers
into colourful garlands
for the world-tongue to wear
with sheer pleasure in abundant measure.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother the biggest gift of Allah to us
Mother the biggest gift of Allah to us
Mother the candle burn herself to light our life
Mother the other name of kindness
Mother who hold us nine month and suffer
Mother who feed us from her blood and milk
Mother stays sleepless all the nights holding us
Mother teach us how to walk and talk
Mother guides us and secures us
Mother loves us from start to end
Mother is mother no one can take her place
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dwarfed Human
Give me a small bundle of yarn,
Silk, wool or thread,
I will make beautiful attire,
sweater or loin cloth to cover you.
Give me bricks, stones and cement,
A comfortable house will be built,
for you and your children's children,
My tireless sweat may be hidden.
Give me a mother board, some GB memory,
I can use the buses to drive,
You can view the visuals on the monitor,
Speed the fastest, there evaporate my tears.
When you source my labor,
Have you ever thought about my tear?
Cheaper is better, we, poor are always poor,
May be not at your door steps, but in far away lands.
Ignorance of our politician is an asset to you.
How do people lose their voice, when they are penniless?
The oil pumped out from middle east,
The rich get richer. The Poor become terrorists.
Does the labor have different values,
in different continent?
Do the emotions have different intensity,
in different citizens?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What a mother should be
A mother is the one who loves you
A mother puts no drug above you
A mother will never make you cry
A mother will never make you want to die
A mother will help you fight your fears
A mother will help you stop your tears
A mother will keep you safe and sound
A mother will never let you down
A mother will daily say I love you
A mother won’t say I hate you
A mother won’t wish you were dead
A mother won’t forget what you said
A mother won’t close the door
A mother won’t let you be poor
Now I ask you, do you have a mother?
Cause’ I don’t, so don’t bother.
poem by Carlisa Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnets Are Full Of Love
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome
Has many sonnets: so here now shall be
One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me
To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home,
To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee
I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome;
Whose service is my special dignity,
And she my loadstare while I go and come
And so because you love me, and because
I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath
Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honoured name:
In you not fourscore years can dim the flame
Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws
Of time and change and mortal life and death.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!