En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Alphabet Wars

many letters escape
many are found
may there be harmony

in the alphabet
oh no XYZ are protesting
being always listed last

yes Deva letter Vowels
keep stealing spotlight
Consonants are angry

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Alphabet Lost And Found

On this fateful day, in the history of whenever,
An epidemic of missing letters has swept the land.
Whatever the cause, for the sake of future generations,
In the limited time we have been permitted, these stories must be told.
There was an apple that lost his 'a'
There was a zebra that lost his 'z'
There was a chauffeur that left his 'auffer' on the dashboard
Of the car that lost its 'r'
Well, the car had lost its 'r' in a pothole
On a street that lost its 'e'
When the garbage collector with a missing 'ector' swept it up
With a broom that lost its 'oom'
Where they gonna go without their letters?
How could they survive without their letters?
Where they gonna go to find their letters?
They gonna have to get together-
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
There was a school that lost its 'cool'
when they tired to ring the bell that had no 'l'
With all the letters gone, the spelling bee was canceled
Science teachers had their hands full
English classes could not be complete
Where they gonna go without their letters?
How could they survive without their letters?
Where they gonna go to find their letters?
They gonna have to get together
Where they gonna go without their letters?
How could they survive without their letters?
Where they gonna go to find their letters?
They gonna have to get together
Crowds of people, animals, and incomplete words have been seen at a previously unknown place to be referred to as-
The alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found) (how could they survive without their letters)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet and lost found) (they gonna have to get together)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet and lost found) (they gonna have to get together)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet and lost found) (they gonna have to get together)

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out of the simple consonants of the alphabet and our eleven vowels and diphthongs all possible syllables of a certain sort were constructed, a vowel sound being placed between two consonants.

quote by Hermann Ebbinghaus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Danish Language

With vowels and consonants
like English or Cebuano
but with ø, å and æ,
strange vowels to read
What is seen or read
is not the same as heard or said.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Unable To Link...

your inability to link
even to the simplest vowel
have given birth
to more consonants
and being so
the world cannot anymore speak
and now no one hears
what ought to be said...

it is always a series of departures
a train not stopping
and without breaks it falls on a deep ravine
without the vowels
you shout for help and now it comes back to you
the misfortunes that you are giving
the consonants bury you
soundlessly.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Word

If I make a word
it is first sculpted from letters
on the page
a canvass across which
letters skate
from margin to margin transforming
into meanings and sentences
which give us art, science, poetry
and civilization.

This is created from an arbitrary entity,
the scratchings we call letters
which in turn form yet another
mysterious entity we call the alphabet.

What manner of miracle is this?
All of civilization is born from
these scribbly scratchings?

So if each letter is an imaginary entity,
an arbitrary symbol we made up
which has no meaning by itself
and lives inside another arbitrary entity
we call the alphabet
we may properly ask
what is going on here?

Meaning here is deriving from an arbitrary nothingness
arbitrarily created from arbitrary letters
by virtue of common agreement around
what words will mean?

Ponder this:
we too, as individuals are letter unique
and, in our variety, form a kind of human alphabet.

What we all mean and can mean to each other
therefore depends upon the words we form
in our families and communities; our human alphabets.

So, one word letters such as 'I' are too self-regarding
and are narcissistic anomalies
not true words at all.

Better words have more syllables than that
and have enabled us to form social sentences
more complex
which we can use for good or ill
peace or war, love or hate.

So watch your words and sentences
don't swing them recklessly in a crowded room
you'll put somebody's mind out
or create genius.

Big responsibility this
especially for us poets.

So in the end
in mass society
you and I are a single letter
but combined create all there is.

You can take that
as the first
and last
Word
And by the way
arbitrary letters
are electrons at the sub-atomic level
and combine to make molecules
and the greatest meaning of all
All of the Universe.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Please Sign Your Letters

(sylvester / clarke / hicks)
Please sign your letters
Please dont make me blue
Please sign your letters,
And then Ill know its you
Cant stop thinking of you
Youre always on my mind
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind
I read your letter
I read most every line
You said you loved me,
Said you would be mine
My heart was jumping
Something shook my mind
I found your letter was left unsigned
Chorus
Your letter said wed met some time ago
Id like to see you,
But somehow you just wont show
I just dont know which way to go
Repeat
Chorus
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Autumn Letter

I want to write a letter to someone in the autumn
In the Autumn, I see lonely fountain streamed from a deep valley
And want to wet the lonely heart
I write a letter in the autumn night but knowing that cannot be sent in the morning
Now there is a postman who delivers letters in the air in the days and nights
So I am sending letters
I regret but the unsent letters always cry
I send the thread tied letters in the air without stamps
The letters of the poet opens its eyes with holding their breaths

poem by Kyungdae Min
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The Ballad of Angry O

Angry O, you scare me so
Hateful letter that you be
Angry O, the fear I show
When you growl at me
Angry O, I hope you go
And learn to fix your ways
Angry O, I think you know
You leave me in a haze
Angry O, One day you'll Sow
Everything you reap
Angry O, Then you'll feel low
This promise I do keep

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Cosmopolitan Greetings

Stand up against governments, against God.
Stay irresponsible.
Say only what we know & imagine.
Absolutes are Coercion.
Change is absolute.
Ordinary mind includes eternal perceptions.
Observe what’s vivid.
Notice what you notice.
Catch yourself thinking.
Vividness is self-selecting.
If we don’t show anyone, we’re free to write anything.
Remember the future.
Freedom costs little in the U.S.
Asvise only myself.
Don’t drink yourself to death.
Two molecules clanking us against each other require an observer to become
scientific data.
The measuring instrument determines the appearance of the phenomenal
world (after Einstein).
The universe is subjective..
Walt Whitman celebrated Person.
We are observer, measuring instrument, eye, subject, Person.
Universe is Person.
Inside skull is vast as outside skull.
What’s in between thoughts?
Mind is outer space.
What do we say to ourselves in bed at night, making no sound?
“First thought, best thought.”
Mind is shapely, Art is shapely.
Maximum information, minimum number of syllables.
Syntax condensed, sound is solid.
Intense fragments of spoken idiom, best.
Move with rhythm, roll with vowels.
Consonants around vowels make sense.
Savour vowels, appreciate consonants.
Subject is known by what she sees.
Others can measure their vision by what we see.
Candour ends paranoia.

poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Alphabet Spaces

In my mind rambles
ideas which seek to unscramble
and grant me crystal clear consistency
but the more I try to wrangle
ideas about Physics and Religion
the more they metamorphosize
into same and similar.

The more I learn about anything
the less I know about the whole
of any and all disciplines;
so I succumb to debates about
T's and I's
while forgetting my alphabet.

For example, if I take my own name
and examine it minutely,
space and letter
nano-space by nano-space
I cannot ever
see a whole word or letter.

Therefore, I come away nameless and confused.

So if I wish to learn the whole
of any disciple or subject-area
I have learned
best not to get too smart about
the spaces between the alphabets.

Yet, and this my conundrum, no letter
is ever apparent
unless there are spaces between Alpha and Omega.
So, too, music is a relationship between the sound and the silences-
too much music or sound is ultimately just noise or silence.
So in my mind rambles all these inconsistencies-
what about yours?
So we have the letters of an alphabet, and the spaces in between the letters
which are necessary to understand the words they form and from these empty spaces in between, much like silence and sound form music.
From this relationship we form the words and ultimately sentences, but note sentences alone do not form coherent paragraphs or pages for that matter and ultimately a book.
So what is the moral here? Pay attention to the background as well as the foreground, the seen and unseen since only from these relationships can we glean, true meaning:
too much concentration on the latter, and we miss the meaning embedded in the former.

True creativity means we are versatile in both and it is also the perfect metaphor for the differences and similarities between Science and Religion.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Lure For The Spotlight

A lure for the spotlight
lies in everyone somewhere.
At some point in our lives,
everyone wants the centre stage
and have the spotlight on them.
Some just dream about it
to pass the time away,
other have a natural gift
and in the spotlight stay.
When the spotlight shines on you
scrutinizing everything you do,
you want it to go away.
You want your life
to go back to the way it was.
However, when the spotlight
has been on you
it will never leave you alone.
It will be with you
for the rest of your days.

15 May 2008

poem by David Harris
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A heart-throb and the go-between

The old man dropped his precious letter
into the isolated letter box
where it stands in the gravel road.
The notorious postman who tampers letters
comes very seldom to collect.
He found only one letter in the box
but no addressee and stamps too.
He opened the letter and read loudly.
' I am an old godforsaken man
but still not senile; good for nothing my dear.
This could be a giveaway for you.
If you read this I am sure you may excuse me.
Do you know about spiritual love?
Sometimes this letter will annoy you my sweetheart!
Take it easy honey as I am a dreamer.
I am lonely and frustrated
and I need someone with a goodwill
who comes and stay with me forever.
I'll offer you my old hammock
and I know thousands of stories
which I can read for you on full moon days
until you sleep quietly my darling.

dedication to the letter box at ' home for the elders'

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Silence is the axe

You are the vowels and I, consonants;
When was the word formed?
It must have, perhaps, in our first meet.
You are cotton and I, fire,
The gap between us hare-line,
Enough to prevent from sparking.
I do not want to be with you but in you;
I do not want you to be in me but with me.
You do not know what I feel of you
Nor have I courage to reveal it either.
Silence is the axe, the word was split.
11.11.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Watching Something Else...

i spin some letters, mostly consonants
for fear that so many vowels can be too noisy

sometimes we dwell more on the algebraic
x and y
z comes in to add more anonymity to the equations
that we grapple with everyday

looking for answers
with already prepared quadratic equations

to simplify life we offer simple equations
we reject too many complications and lessen the variables

eating breakfast, drinking the water
mastering the daily sequences and shying away from new innovations

there is no need for more vacations
they are all the same roads and seashores same malls and

delicacies, routine, colors of those items are not really changed,
the taste of that chicken is the same all over the world

be it in Austria or France or
Punta or Galas or Talisay or Sinonok

what matters is the compactness of your belief
inside no one can convince you no one can take you somewhere else

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Like To Think That All These Are But A Game Of Words

that is the impression from the beginning
when i started to scribble
word, and more words, i assured her that they do not
mean anything at all just
words, and words and more words

that even a sunflower wilting and spreading all the seed on her feet
are nothing too but words and more words
nothing to grow nothing to expect like a sprouting something

thus my loneliness, i again assure here, is nothing but a word
my way of taking solitude on the other side to save myself
is another word, and she of course, did not believe me saying

there is more to these words, there is fire in them and i see you burning
there is the sun inside them and the letters glow and the

there is smoke rising from the heads of vowels
from the nonspeaking consonants

i keep hiding the flowers
i bury those that are alive in the silence of my pretensions

until one day she grips me like she is a knife wanting to stab me
and then she stabbed me right in my throat and there i bleed

words, words, and more words coming from the slit
bloody words, and she was convinced, until death, ... and then i vanish.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dignity Of Words

i agree as you say
that words must still keep that dignity
they used to have
before we meet

after all we started with a few words
took some more
and savored its flavors
the scents of its letters
the tastes of its
sweet vowels

when we kissed if you remember
we swallowed words

when we made love we let go
some consonants
to our satisfaction
the thrill seemingly without end

now while dining we are four seats apart
you seat at the front
i at the rear of this distance
between us

the words are not reborn
only this silence
constricting like a boa
swallowing
the crowd of thoughts in concrete

on walls of words
our heads finally collide

i could have opted for
the mute and deaf
the dumb who loves me for whatever i am

regret is not my choice
it is here and not leaving
it is eating me
like i am a delicious delicacy

i am sorry, i keep my mouth shut.
what will i say? i am back to the silent world
of my solitude

long time ago, this was paradise of clauses
now, you say it, this is a complete sentence.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wicked Postman

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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50 Years Later

I have no letter to show you my son
Said the modern father to his
Postmodern son.

Epistolary novel is a form of past
Why are you worried about such
Trivial matters like letter?
Asked the modern father to his
Postmodern son.

I got sms in my message box
I got mails in my pc
And deleted to make way to
New ones
Nothing remains forever dear
Said the proud father to his son.

I read about letters in little mags
My friends say it was really amazing
To share thoughts, feelings
Through letters
But you have nothing to show me
Ha! It's really very sad!
You should have some letters dad!
Said the postmodern son.

poem by Amitabh Roy
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I Should Have Worded The Question Differently

Angry?
Don't be foolish.
Why would I be angry?
Of course I'm not angry.
I don't know why you would even think that of me.

Do I look like the kind that would mind,
Someone stealing my ideas and concepts...
To claim them as their own?

'To be honest...
I really wouldn't know.
Every time I've seen you,
You've had that laughing mask on...
Covering your face from the day we met.'

Well...
Maybe you are right.
I hadn't thought about that.

I should have worded the question differently.

Does my 'voice' sound as if I would be the kind,
That would mind someone stealing my ideas and concepts...
To claim them as their own?

'No not at all.
But I do wonder why,
Your fists stayed balled up the way they do?
Is that normal?
Were you born that way? '

No.
It's my way of processing thoughts.
My doctor says it is a nervous condition.
Don't let it bother you.
I'm taking medication.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tunable Sound of Nyai Panjang Mas

I am the village women,
can only read and write Java script,
Javanese
not the letter Pallava and Sanskrit
rather than the Latin alphabet, Arabic and Chinese
if every person who comes to my house
Should replay pronunciation sounds the letters
Although my eardrums vibrate by a strange hum,
vowel pronunciation of foreign languages
swirling around my body style
difficult to flourish
in the garden a sense of my life
let alone love

poem by Prasetya Utama
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