Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Melody Mann Feb 27
They splatter words into the atmosphere,
decorating the space with linguistic revelations and insight.
They weave terminology into sentences that blanket their passion
As he challenges, she debates feverishly,
it's a feat of wit and cognition.

Laughter and glee fills their beings and she pauses,
He says, "I honor thy stoic morning mask of incandescent art with a graceful bow"

All the while her heart swells with the incandescent composition he delivers.

His prose pauses her.
His mind captivates her.
His soul welcomes her.

She's fallen for a global linguist,
stunted in his travels due to a pandemic.
He has no space for her existence in his heart's scape,
Yet he leads her into this fantasy illuminated by the words he meddles.

She continuously falls without hesitation or fear.
captivated beyond reason
JJRKelly Mar 2020
A rainstorm into an open field
Soaking my pigments with
Colors nonexistent;
You’re a solar storm,
Irradiating, enriching me
In serenity transcendent.
Otherworldly on my tongue;
You are a forgotten language
Awaiting translation,
Patience and understanding.
Someone to take the time
To comprehend your words
Unspoken and unread.
Trust me to hold you,
To listen and read
With consideration and delicacy.
Know that I’m here for you to
Whisper your unknowns in my ear,
And compose your silent correspondence
On my skin with your lips
Without fear.
Philology: 1. The study of literature and of disciplines relevant to literature or to language as used in literature
JS Feb 2020
we study lips
yet no sound
can convey
what remains unspoken

we draw trees
for every sentence
then refuse
to paint the leaves

every word
we know how to create
but creators
we are not

the history of language
walks our tongues
we admire
without adding

we analyze
written or spoken
to avoid
our own
JJRKelly Sep 2019
Devoted the time to
Become versed in my
study the pages filled
With ink as I stand,  
vulnerable and naked before you
In all my melanin.
Pyrrha Feb 2019
You aren't just gold and starlight
you are my every word
my dialect, my stanza, my every thought
you leave me tongue tied

You are my entire language,
you make my speech so clumsy
all my words are tripping over themselves
just to please you and only you

You are my linguist dream,
I love to study the poetry in your veins
the sonnets in your eyes,
the limericks in your lips

You are literature incarnate,
and I worship you
Pyrrha Dec 2018
I want him to become so dizzy with me that he forgets what language he speaks and has to make up his own

Starting and ending with my name
Rustle McBride Jun 2016
Here you stand blowing raspberries
at my phonemic skills.
Please close your lips. Just listen.
Learn of bilabial trills.

You may call me an animal
for my alveolar clicks,
for in America its only real use
is for catcalling chicks.

And not many understand
a velar implosive stop,
that the words are the gurgle
of a doughnut shop cop.

And yes,  my pharyngeal fricative
sounds like something's amiss.
But its not always contempt,
like some puppet show hiss.

So, if you just could excuse
my pulmonic ingressive,
I promise, If it feels like it hurts,
I will be singly expressive.

I guess all I can say
is that when you hear what I say,
remember, it more than just words
that I try to convey.
a poet's take on linguistics
november Jul 2014
i want to dance at the tip
of your tongue
and have you try pronounce
feelings you thought
did not exist.
*i will make you a love linguist.

— The End —