En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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
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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
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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
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Verbs v. nouns

Nouns…
they’re dead things; names
you give to things to render them
immobile; to make them yours, your very own; fit for nothing
except scrapheaps, museums, dictionaries, armchairs;

but they make you feel good;
you have control over their world;
you don’t have to think about them any more;
they’re all locked up safe in your collecting-box,
the noun for which is head:

you can sound important with nouns:
this government’s raft of measures
for fiscal stimulation of the economy

but verbs… ah, verbs!
you can’t own them, push them about,
collect them, be important about them;
they own themselves;

they’re outdoor words: going about their
lawful business, doing what they're best at,
measuring their own life as they work;
adapting themselves to what needs to be done
which nouns can’t do without a committee
and then it’s too late; happy
to be themselves, being; even
being while they’re doing.. don't you wish
you were a verb?

Nature – (that’s a verb, by the way,
not a noun) – is all verbs; evolution
is a verb (not a theory):
DNA’s a verb – you can’t own it
like a noun…it doesn’t even
want to own you…

so, be a child – put your boots on,
run, splash, shout look at all those verbs;
how bright the world, what fun,
nothing to put in your pocket to take home

(or if you do, it’ll change to a noun, your noun,
in your pocket, in your drawer, gathering dust:
verbs don’t have the time to gather dust…)

verbs are for observing; verbs are for
seeing for the first time; wow! Verbs are for
inventors, explorers, tree-climbing,
coming home after a day of verb-watching
tired and looking forward to tomorrow
and sleeping soundly, maybe even
thanking, laughing, giving, living;

God is a verb.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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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
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A Poets Mind

In a poets mind,
silence has stopped chatter,
traffic noise, childish play.

A hum from a distance sings,
words begin to congregate.

Choosing nouns, verbs and
adjectives, words collected
from the gentle light…..

Lines of tenderness and love
merge into a lovers pledge.

Music for her mind,
sonnet of love and promise
to adore forevermore.

08-06-2009

Inspired by Anjali Sinha's poem Words

poem by Bob Blackwell
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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
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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
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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
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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
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Most metaphysical words in Hopi are verbs, not nouns as in European languages.

quote by Benjamin Whorf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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What We See As...

What we see as nouns
are verbs to God…

see the water in this glass –
clear and still;

taste the water in this glass –
its sweet taste with no taste..

watch the Spring rain;
smell the earth give thanks

see the washing blowing on the line
smelling happy to be clean

see the mighty river, fierce
to reach the sea

watch the evening sea-fog roll in over the bay;
see the city washed afresh in the morning sun;

look up to the glorious theatre of clouds,
obeying water’s laws for all to watch;

know what mercy is; how it descends – appears,
as the gentle rain from heaven within;

what we see as nouns
are verbs to God

poem by Michael Shepherd
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0008 A Love Poem in a New Old Language

Wilfrid Chin Sue says that poetry
is about ‘about’, and thank you Wilf
for that, and thanks too from us poets all
to e.e.cummings for reminding us
that lurking in the words between
the words we give most value to
like nouns and verbs and adjectives
are the words that hint,
about the presence of the subtle

so here’s a love poem about your about

because when it comes down or up
to it, it’s all about just what’s about
you – like the scent you loved to use
which brought and brings
you into an empty room

and the things you left about
which speak of you
more subtly even than your scent

and your near… ah yes, your near…that's never far from me

and your around
that made eyes light up, with life and joy and love

and your between
which I shall not speak
(about)

and the because of our true together
which I could write (about) endlessly
because of its endless, its inexplicable,
its because

which reminds me of your beyond,
which I would not write (about) in case
I wept, or failed, or failed and wept

oh so many other, being one
but most of all

I miss your
around

poem by Michael Shepherd
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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
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Poetry is all nouns and verbs.

quote by Marianne Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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English Language

The English language it contains thousands of words
Which includes nouns, adjectives, constants and verbs
Structuring them together to create novels or speeches
So we can speak or read or listen while a teacher teaches
And of those thousands words that we have at our command
Some are the few words that decent people have banned
Sadly those few words most people use to swear and to curse
They are crude, coarse and obscene which are used alone or in a verse.

The English language contains thousands of words
Which equals to the stars in the sky or the multitude of birds
They are used in conversation and to define who we are
Words are the building blocks from a vast reservoir
But then we have those few words that are very crude
People use them to hurt or to insult and also to be lewd
Judge a book by its cover and the people by the words they use
When we speak, speak with caution and ponder and then be a muse.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Repeatedly Kiss the Pillow

Brunette lady
With dark mysterious eyes,
You even mesmerize the moonlight
Falling softly upon you with love.

In a midnight garden, roses sleep
Like happy angels,
But you walk with a man
Kissing the nape of your neck,
Running his hand beneath your blouse
To touch your stomach in ecstasy.

The heavens are breathing romance,
Amorous gods and goddesses are disrobing,
The world is becoming intoxicated
With the wine of desire,
And you alone surpass them all
With your supple body of captivating dreams,
With the slightest movements of your breasts
Making every gazing man tremulous,
Setting off lovely eruptions.

It is impossible to possess you,
But I would repeatedly kiss the pillow
That has cradled and caressed your head
While you peacefully slept
And left the world anxiously waiting
To see your magnificent vision again.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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True Love

There’s something more to love
Than saying, ‘I love you! ’
There’s something more to love
Than asking, ‘How do you do? ’

There’s something more to love
Than catching hands to walk;
There’s something more to love
Than everything you talk.

There’s something more to love
Than writing letters long;
There’s something more to love
Than composing a song.

There’s something more to love
Than embracing, kissing;
There’s something more to love
Than enquiring, hugging.

There’s something more to love
Than cooking dainty foods;
There’s something more to love
Than romance or sex-moods.

There’s something more to love
Than doing house-hold chores;
There’s something more to love
Than opening heart’s doors.

There’s something more to love
Than inking poetry;
There’s something more to love
Than sinking hate truly.

There’s something more to love
Than touring the whole world;
There’s something more to love
Than forget bad words hurled.

There’s something more to love
Than entwining in bed;
There’s something more to love
Than things all done or said.

True love is undefined;
True love is invisible;
True love is most refined;
True love’s indelible!

True love is celestial;
True love is more concealed;
True love’s perennial;
True love stays least revealed!

True love’s ill-understood;
True love is tested much;
True love’s misunderstood;
True love has divine touch!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-11-2008

poem by John Celes
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Conjugating

I conjugate the verb to be:
miracle sentences;

non-existent one moment
then coming into Being
utterly unique the next;

perhaps never before
uttered
in all of existence
before this
moment,
on this page
at this time
from this mind.

Miracle this,
shared by all of us.

I conjugate the verb Coming into Being
from Potentialities of Being
trolling for words not yet extent

having some portion of Being
but not yet born
on Poet Pages.

I conjugate the verb Now Being Born
words coupling in sentences
flowing down
forming paragraphs
couplets, rhymes,
emotional hieroglyphics,
history,
Ideas
and glifs,
and then they
are on to Being Past.

In single verbs
we lash together
all Being;

that which is Now Born on pages,
that which was written yesterday

and those word-stories
we borrow
from future sentences
yet to be born
which live only in our dreams.

We conjure all this
from that Beautiful Nothingness
where Creativity lives

where unexpectedly
these Beings
come as daytime
and night-time sprites
into life
shine as diamond-faceted
moon-beams
changing who we are
as they transit.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Panchadasi Chapter Two

O Lord, You are my own self..
remind me, now, that my own self is You..

and that’s about the measure of it:
if I were to speak of You, or praise You,
I would speak verbs, and nouns, and sentences;

remind me, Lord, that every verb
speaks of, and yet hides,
Your Creating, here and now;
that every noun speaks of, and hides
the single every name of You;
that every sentence describes, hides,
Your Creation and its beauty;

so take me, know me, Lord, to be
Your silent worshipper and friend
in the stillness of the temple of OurSelf.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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