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Clelia Albano Sep 2018
I don't know if names exist before
things or things exist before names.
I don't know if you are your name
or your name is you. I only know
that I hunt for words I can scream
out loud, I can pronounce tasting
the salt and the sweet inside a
noun that reminds me of you, I
can drink as it was the water in
your iris, I can swallow like waves
of red wine getting me drunk the
way you do. I hunt for words where
I can see you, I can find you, I can
feel you, even in other languages
because one is not enough.
Once there was a time I was obsessed with the "grammatical platonism" of Jean Jolivet. I'm still fascinated by this conundrum of the names and I love to think that Poetry gives me access to a sort of Hyperuranium.
Charlie Wonder Jun 2016
These words are my
art.
Random letters
once flowed
from my heart.
The curves and strokes created a
picture.
They were
less than perfect of course,
but diction is a
lifestyle.
Mine was tamed in my youth.
Yes I was once
a spontaneous child.
Words captured my thoughts.
Now art is my
proof.
***
*** is a four lettered word
flaunted by very bad vowels
fevered to ecstacy
by all tangled-up adjectives
Then pounded into submission
by perverted nouns
that take their free liberty
of the subjective
Once surrounded
by the iniquity of the parentheses
you will only utter commas
at the Benediction
Sam Jan 2016
People, places and things
have become things we collect
things replace people
and it has the wrong effect
things, places, things
has the wrong ring
- its clearly incorrect -
people aren't objects despite our dialect
nor merely nouns now to be subject
at least I object
we're both Proper and imperfect
both Collective and dissected
both Abstracted and connected
More than nouns we are the now
thats what I think anyhow
celey Jul 2015
"paint on wood
paper on paint on wood
ink on paper on paint on wood
pen in hand on paper on paint on wood," she mumbled.
"like your emotions," i said. "all those crazy prepositions mixed with random nouns."
Dark n Beautiful Nov 2014
How many times have I brought to the table
My Island flavors?
How many times have you read
my inner thoughts:
how many times will I share them again and again

It all began in 2004 from the moment I walked in
You wasn’t there and I didn’t really care
You ***** more than a female
you took on a huge responsibility
so you went out and brought the  singular noun, pronouns
adjectives,  plural verbs, preposition and the infinitives

For a New York minute you should have
brought Heather Taffet  the grave digger for security measures
My poesy is my poesy
The sun always seems to be a symbol of life.
and life is worth living.
pixels Oct 2012
Words swathe me in calm,
Sentences, paragraphs that soothe.

Viridian verbs burst through the grey,
Taunting me into action-
Seducing me into a delicious dance-
Gypsy girl, swing your sentences my way!

Turquoise adjectives wrap around my wounds,
Embracing my flaws and perfections.
Rough olive skin; somber caesious eyes-
Gypsy girl, with amaranthine scars.

I drape myself over sienna nouns,
Steadfast, supporting me proper, improper, always.
Paper, songs, tree, sky, love, Jami Lee-
Gypsy girl, use your words correctly!

Each turn of a page lures me deeper-
Each spoken rhyme embraces me close-

Jami Lee, sweet little girl, get your head out of the clouds,
And your nose out of a book!

— The End —