#syntax
The Grammar and the Syntax of Humanity
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Ce poème a été commandé et inspiré par les paroles d'Agnès de Lodz, dont la maîtrise d'une multitude de langues constitue le plus bel exemple de la grammaire et de la syntaxe de l'humanité.
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Wiersz ten powstał na zamówienie i z inspiracji słowami Agnes de Lodz, której biegłość w wielu językach stanowi najlepszy przykład gramatyki i składni człowieczeństwa
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another flightless bird,
a stray dog thought, bound for the pound,
“if only humanity had a single language!”
gets rescued
here to remind you that’s been tried before
with consequences profound,
one tongue in unison
was so overwhelming, overarching,
disallowing the pipsqueak of,
that the arrogance of it
demanded its dispersal
but,
yes, yet, always a but,
the human mind is not so chained, constrained,
that it cannot learn the unique grammar and syntax,
and leap in small ways the boundaries of ignorance
grammar and syntax are rules
governing principles, which can be taught,
which can be learned,
which can be humanized
and repair that single voice,
not for onerous drowning out
but for the threading of understanding understood
I confess, that I am the lucky few
who appreciates greatly the art of another language’s
special way of saying some thing special
in a special way
let us rejoice
Apr 8
Apr 8, 2026 at 5:24 PM UTC
I Love you.
I, Love you.
I Love, you.
I Love you?
I, Love you?
I Love, you?
I Love you!
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 9:59 AM UTC
Syntax builds the fragile frame,
A structure bound by rules and name.
Each line, each mar, a puzzle piece,
The form that brings our thoughts release.
Semantics, though, is where it lives,
The meaning that the order gives.
A word alone, a line of code,
Means nothing till its truth is showed.
Syntax lays the path we tread,
The map of where our thoughts are lead.
But meaning waits beneath the lines,
In symbols, shapes, and quiet signs.
Without the rules, we’d lose our way.
But without meaning, there’s no say.
So syntax shapes, semantics breathes,
Together, language weaves and weaves.
Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 10:01 AM UTC
Brilliant and breathless, bending
language like a gardenia wreath
hanging from the rafters
of a sun-drenched mouth
that could only be mine.
Bullish and breathless, tangling
ellipses, clinging to a simile’s hem until it
trips and rips the thread of thought.
I don’t mean this as a manner of speech–
I speak without manners.
Billowed and breathless, humming
out of its skin and into mine.
Meaning is a feathery, fallible thing,
twisting, writhing, vanishing;
tough to trust, prone to rust,
words swirling and spun,
sea-tossed and salt-stuck
on a foreign tongue.
Beaming and breathless, flirting
with the edge of a rockwall,
a siren call,
more lullaby than warning shot,
more hymn than howl, a voice
that could only be mine.
Belated and breathless, underlining
the good lines, never shaking the bad,
plucking at the precipice, never leaping,
clamoring to be heard but never speaking.
A lot of words, but no poem.
A lot of pinch, but no push.
Graceless and glitching,
mine alone.
Jul 8, 2024
Jul 8, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
all that you are;
is all that you?
this is all that,
and that is all.
Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 1:06 PM UTC
[(this is not a poem)*
this also not a poem]
*this is a 'poem'
but that's just my opinion.
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
∞
___Name the word, for the word has a name.___
_Listen to it breathe. Let it lie lightly in the mind and liquid
on the tongue. Bear its essence forth, its personality and its intention
- conceived briefly, discarded readily, pronounced forcefully.
∞
How does it sit with you? The spread of its silhouette suspended
within a silent interval. How does it move you? An attitude framed by
the gesture of a hand. Is its pitch sharp or flat, its texture course or fine?
∞
Allow meaning and resonance, intonation and feeling to merge unencumbered;
the syntax of the imprisoned soul, emancipated by a river of sound, to mould
the shape of your aboutness, around and within, beyond and in spite of..._
___And hear consciousness dance.___
∞
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 7:42 PM UTC
<Initialization.start.exe>
[Meaning] = The way we use language to convey [FEELINGS];
Poem(){
Words have [Meaning]
Creativity, Force, Power.etc;}
If(Poem() != [Creative]){
~query~ Is it poetry?}
/* There is no point in writing what is already written */
Expression(){
It's not what we want to say that matters because the FEELINGS we experience in our lives have been felt before. It's trying to express those feelings, and share them with others in a new way.
Expression(Poem([Meaning]));
<Initialization.end.exe>
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC
The opposite of end-stopped
Poetry; the trick with enjambment
Is to never complete a sentence, phrase, or thought
Within a single line of verse; but instead allow
The syntactic unit to run on
Unexpectedly, like a distracted self-drive tourist
Attempting to navigate a multi-lane freeway
Without indicating
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
Into my retrospection
Mind follows the soul
Swimming in my inner world
Words and sensations
Symbols passing by
Glowing and bright
Joy and sorrow
Tumble and fight
Different Feelings
They´re coming across space
They´re not the same
Even tho makes no sense
Turning-in the night
Fading inside my mind
Swimming into my dream
I can not fight
Dancing in another tune
Wild wave it can be
If I save you
and you savage me
I lost myself
Random symbols awake
Showing to us
A chance to take
Wild wolves inside
Running around
Breaking the silence
Why don't let them escape
Some words
Phonetic symbols in a tune
Even meaning nothing
Can make a dream comes true
Words and swords
They just arrive
Coming from the same side
Strong feelings and no surprise
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
iniwan mo ako.
saka mo nalamang
mahal mo pala ako.
mahal mo ako.
saka mo napagtantuhang
kailangang iwan mo ako.
huwag **** bigyan ng hustisya
ang mga espasyo ngayon sa bawat pangungusap.
bawat salita ay dapat paghiwalayin
kahit alam nating ito’y may kahulugan
at ugnayan.
ikaw
ako
mahal
kita
ano ang saysay ng salita
kung sa bibig o kamay
ng iba ito manggagaling?
bakit mas masakit
ang kirot ng pusong
‘di dahil sa pagsisiayos ng mga salita
kundi sa ating pagkakaisang
naudlot sa pagtalima ng mga alituntuning
sinulat naman ng iba?
mamahalin kita*
*kahit ang palaugnayan ay magkakamali rin.
kung susunod ang ating mga puso
gusto mo bang mabigo?
‘di mababawasan sa murang salita
ang anumang nararamdaman.
idaan mo na lang sa kilos,
kung ayaw **** sumunod sa palaugnayan.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
Bring your empty words
I will re-charge them again
And make them potent;
The hollow words---
Bring them to me and
I will make them sing,
In the summer afternoon
On the glistening lips of
The workers in sweat
Working on construction sites;
Bring your faded words
I will make them shine in the forge
Of blacksmith whose sinewy hands
Will form them into forms that appeal;
Bring your sad words,
I will make them smile
On the faces of war-orphans
Street children
And cancer patients,
Because when sterile words
Of poetry come into contact
With unsaid suffering of the
Larger silent humanity,
They become fiery,
Gleam,
Mesmerize and
Truly become
The sweat-soaked words and entire syntax
Great transcendental poems!
@Sunil Sharma
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 12:07 AM UTC
People look for the fountain of youth
But I am a fountain of words
I wield them like weapons
They slip from my grip
I spend them like bills
They steep me in wealth
I tuck them in my pockets
They spill from my lips
I give them as gifts
They stick in my teeth
I kiss them on cheeks
They slide down my throat
I stack them on shelves
They pile at my feet
I pack them in boxes
They stain my sheets
I burn them to ashes
They pow-
I hope you get it because
This **** is endless and
I forgot where I was going with this
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
I like words.
Each is often imperfect alone
But the skill lies
In stringing them together
In just the right order
In just the right way to convey
The galaxy in my mind.
I like words.
They stick smooth to my brain
Like the thinnest decoupage
Every inch neatly covered
Every crevice every crack
Every layer after
Every sheer layer.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
You asked me my name in your first remark
We sat on opposite ends of a question mark
You were dashing - made me pause,
me, this independent clause
standing alone,
I made sense on my own
But I answered you anyway.
Ellipses.
Now you are the verb in my heart’s contraction
I am the subject and you are the action
An Interrogative with a Declarative reaction
An Exclamatory and then an Imperative attraction
Ellipses.
Your lips ease
Me, the direct object of your affection,
but never sentenced to an apostrophe’s possession
perhaps more true- a plural “s” suggestion
and the excitement behind an exclamation point’s inflection
The semi-colon understands
We can be on our own, but we want to stand
together
where our letters
aren’t fetters,
but the typesetter’s
better measure
of linguistic pleasure.
We communicate through metaphors and similes
Like the birds and the bees
We speak across homophone lines
to keep a census of our senses at all times
Because words said aloud have allowed
us to find meaning behind the utterance of sound-
mere words and phrases
jumping off of pages
into brain and heart and soul
when the parts become a whole
And with the syntax, punctuation, grammar, and usage
I’m a hopeless semantic always trying to ****** it
Language- yours I understand through the myriad.
Words can’t capture you. Period.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
you'd think this would be another poem about
the rhythmic disturbance of insomniac instances
of ideas playing themselves out like cascading
tumbling forces wearing holes in the soles of their
metaphoric shoes as I use big words to stump you
into believing that you know what I'm talking about
but the truth is that you don't know and you won't know
but you turn it around and put it under a microscope
and you analyze my syntax and my use of frantic diction
and you tell yourself that you know what I'm feeling
because you used all of the methods they taught you
but who are they and how do they know what it means
to be awake at all hours of the night not because of
insomnia but because the thoughts of inferiority won't
let me be because I let myself believe too many things
and they are the tireless echoes of ghosts in the nighttime
that refuse to give me
peace.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
So at that very moment
That very instance
Time was enclosed
Produced on film
Black and white
From an antique rolleiflex
Obsolete in nature
Yet, oddly charming
And on that very parchment
Time was encapsulated
Stored for reminiscing
This picture is not worth
a thousand words
Only a simple phrase
that summed up
fractions of a second
Time was frozen
To a terrific photograph
From an antique rolleiflex
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
To the English-speaking people of earth:
When you speak of new year's, do not mention resolutions.
We need to make up our **** minds about what we want: a beginning, or an end? How can something you just started be resolved already?
I know it's all in the wording, that it's YOUR resolve as a person we're talking about, but I think we're doing ourselves a disservice with this syntax.
I have no resolutions for this new year. My resolutions are gone, done with, vanished, they have already passed into the great and vast "past". You can have my resolutions.
As for me I'll hang onto my goals, my wishes, my aspirations for what this next cycle of days and weeks and months will bring.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
I will defy the movement of language
With syllables soft before the snow
For Autumn in the fewest chosen words
Along lines of simple alphabets
In the palm of my listening
I will observe you walk as a poem
Skips across ethereally this earth
With colors and bodies of Christmas
An instantaneous impression of beauty
I will sing a lullaby to the irreproachable sky
And kiss the poem-greeting letters
That dissolve as a soul among the trees
And the centre of music
That is a living expression of the times
Today the sun comes out in your poem
And I listen for the poem I will write in reply
I will be a hero of a recluse today, again
With an inner smile of jewel-pointed clarity
That the imagination is a universal thing
The night’s sheerness of black gardens
A voice from which religions spring
Spiritual movement completes itself
In an intuitive release of meaning
A letting go of the sadness of having come
And gone, like death, poetry takes me there
As a river of music, entering my blood
Chilling me with a serotonin symphony
The joy of being here, the glances and reflections
Of existence, mirroring poetry
Between silence and music
The snow and sun, men and women
The rain and drums stalk my fantasies.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
You find the reason to everything and anything because
it makes you feel safe, but I
--can't kiss you without you
wanting to tell me that
my eyelids flutter because my eyes
get dry and they need to protect themselves from all the
pathogenic **** that flutters around me but I'm
really just trying to get a better look at you,
why don’t you let me look at you.
Then I begin to cry and you say why tears are tears,
and that you wanted a “simple life” with me but
youre too busy identifying the complexity of things
that you can’t even feel because they lay within your heart, not your hands.
I’m right in front of you but your
voice begins to raise and you speak the science of presence
and you tell me that i’m your soulmate because your subconscious doesn't always feel so alone when i’m standing right beside
you and that you need me to survive but you
can't always kiss me because you’re too busy saying that the reason why
I think you taste good
when you kiss me is because
we meant are for each other.
While I’m in your arms you begin to analyze
my paragraph of life and how
it fits so perfectly beneath yours.
But then you rearrange your words
and place some in between mine
and then I realize I’m the just the loosely placed parenthesis around your
syntax of life.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC