"adverb" poems
I am
Eternally exasperated
Frequently frustrated
Incessantly irate
Perpetually perturbed
Awfully ambivalent
Forever fickle
Frustratingly finnicky
Laconicly labile
Madly mercurial
Virulently volatile
And every other ******* adverb, adjective alliteration
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
The first cold letters, alone on the page.
A quick pencil found them,
and the lively and beautiful syllables blossomed.
The pale book felt the pencil,
and the terrifying, hot words entered.
The lines grew, living and sensitive,
gleaming as never before,
and I knew the unheard lines!
First, a tiny and unselfconscious sound.
A noun struggled to appear among overpowering words.
A strong, golden adjective ran out,
a short, fragrant adjective, beautiful in the early spring.
A young verb grew among tiny blue conjunctions,
and a fortuitous adverb understood, instinctively.
The first sentence dreamed of trees, and a sad cloud.
It dreamed a grey rain,
and the tall trees felt the rain.
There was a first and unknown river,
imagined, inconsequential, like snow in summer.
A red bird glided beyond reach,
as if it had never happened.
The soft sounds fitted the lines,
and the quick bird cried,
Remember the short rain!
Remember the sad poem!
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
i.
today,
i woke up
with my head
swamped with thoughts of you.
a smile started at the corner of my lips
that eventually coursed through my face
like how the first light of the day spreads at sunrise,
or how i feel my body respond
to the first sip of coffee in the morning.
i look at the space beside me that is intended for you,
a space that i have saved just for you.
pillows substitute your presence.
not as warm, but they will do.
for now.
ii.
what gets me through the day,
no matter how difficult it is,
is the idea that there is you
(to look forward to)
at the end of it.
that later that day,
i will be seeing you again;
but i will have to wait for a while.
which i find very difficult to do
because patience was never my virtue.
iii.
if there is one word that lost its appeal to me,
it would definitely be the word forever.
how can someone of ephemeral existence
promise something as pretentious as forever?
i would not tell you that
i will forever love you;
what i would tell you instead is that
i will always love you.
always, meaning all the time.
always, meaning every time.
always, you and i.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
from an idea by Sheila Sharpe
In the foul heat and damp and rot and stench
After dusting off 1 the bodies of dead pals
The living and the dead, the living dead
Old Boats 2 lit off a cigarette and growled
“They say this stuff’ll **** ya.”
1 Dustoff – noun. Dust off – verb with an adverb. A dustoff is a medical evacuation via helicopter, as in “Doc, your dustoff will be here in three.” To dust off a patient, then, is to transport a patient, not to tidy him. I have recently read detailed arguments about the terms dustoff, dust off, and medevac, but no one quibbled about such minutiae along the Cambodian border.
2 Boats – a boatswain’s mate, the brains and muscle of the Navy. Boatswain’s mates do it all and are seldom acknowledged in history or art, not even in the recent film about Dunkirk. A boatswain’s mate is often addressed as Boats, and always with deference, even by the C.O.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
****
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
.#metoboot.
X O X
O X O
X X O
who the ****
was i supposed
to be calling?
#: but there's no
phone-number
and there's no
telephone...
let me just call up
a trend...
a meme...
funny funny...
not so funny...
it's still amazing
how existence drags
essence along with itself...
and that
essence is neither
a priori, nor a posteriori,
to compensate
existence,
being neither of the two.
since why should
existence be a priori
to essence,
or why essence
should be a posteriori
to existence...
oh... wait...
why essence should be
a posteriori to existence?
that part...
so why does the notion
of knowledge exist,
or the fact that some
100 year old old ****
gives life advice
about how he has
a 20 year old lover,
and he shoots a down trip
of ***** of 1cl
each day?
it's still a drag experience,
no, not Brighton drag queens...
existence drags essence
into its ontological conclusion...
mors mater...
muttertod...
matka śmierć...
mother death;
and? last time i heard?
she's the ultimus virgo,
she's the (do you couple
adverbs with verbs,
or verbs with nouns
in german? can you couple
adverbs with verbs?
ah... ad- Latin prefix:
toward... sure... an adverb
+ a verb sounds better than
an adverb + noun) hence?
letzemaljungfrau,
ostatnia niewiasta,
the last (or the lasting) ******
she can't exactly fake
******* over someone
to a dead pulp of prior to
tadpole whipped / egg white
cream.
*
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
A root of confusion in math
is not knowing whether a term
is a noun, verb, adjective, or adverb.
An equation is nothing but
a string of nouns.
But I may think about these nouns,
by their adjective or adverb
alternatives, for example,
which convolute the matter.
Verbs in math are really the outliers.
Thus, I've been thinking wrong
with "math is a verb" mentality.
The most common math terms are
nouns, which function alone
as subjects and objects.
What I think of as "doing math"
is akin to "doing porch".
It entails a deck, railing, stairs,
a chair, a roof.
So too, does math include these
things.
I walk on the stairs and deck.
I sit on the chair.
I enjoy the roof's shade.
So too, the things of math are
used via terms which are not
included usually in math terminology.
Almost the only verb used in
math is "think" which is convoluted
by the subjects/objects which I
employ during thinking.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 11:34 PM UTC
All you need to say
in seventeen syllables
wrapped up cunningly.
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 2:10 AM UTC
No; Adverb \ˈnō\- Used to convey the opposite of a following statement.
Where; Adverb \ˈhwer, ˈwer, (ˌ)(h)wər\- At or in what place.
Nowhere; Adverb \ˈnō-ˌ(h)wer, -(h)wər\- Not in or at any place.
Spaceless, timeless, empty.
Lost.
Taken away from all things familiar.
Nowhere: A compound word derived from the words No and Where.
When placed together these words contradict.
Is Nowhere a place in itself?
Is it a place absent of stars and atoms in which no location can be found?
Is it a place absent of time?
Or over the years have the building blocks of this word been altered.
Is this place here?
Are we No Where?
Or are we
Now Here.
It does not matter the place.
It does not matter the time.
For whether these exist or not.
We are Now Here.
Now; Adverb\ˈnau̇\- At present time.
Here; Adverb \ˈhir\- In or at this location.
Now Here; Adverbs \ˈnau̇\\ˈhir\- Presently at this location.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
It's seemingly not enough
to curtly say what I've done
and truth be truly told,
there honestly hasn't been much
so thank you kindly
for craftily making it seem
like apparently there's so much more
than what's inherently me.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
So, you brought a pen to a knife fight,
you who write with brilliance,
no need to fret.
I guarantee you leave a legacy,
life is not through with you yet.
Your nouns have purpose,
you who suffer every time you write,
I swear this to you.
every verb has profound meaning,
let your poetry ignite the mind.
I promise you this,
draw from the passion you find in life,
your adjectives will live forever.
A spider web spinning digital dreams,
each conjunction you weave lingers on.
So, you chose a pen to conduct your life,
choose each adverb wisely,
you who creates poetry brilliance.
For the legacy, you leave with words
is how the world will remember you.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
My dream began
with a pronoun waking
in the morning light,
followed by a verb
carried in the wind
from across the lake,
as the adverb
whispered a preposition,
adjectives modified
a proper noun, and
I sailed quietly
to your beautiful name
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
I want to carve your face into my tentative words,
Your forehead, your nose, your chin,
Gently slicing off an adverb here, an adjective there,
Running my fingers across the keys and across your profile,
Until it is perfect and my poem looks just like you.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
Everything: pronoun.
a.) every thing of particular of an aggregate or total; all.
This is what I’m told you are
but I’ve never been one for deities.
You hear my thoughts
but command me to speak.
You know my human ways
but still expect to have me all to yourself.
You’re jealous- a “jealous god”
but I’m to believe you’re perfect?
The book says your ways are higher
but the coincidences and rules
that surround your mystery
just don’t add up enough for me.
Enough: adverb
a.) in a quantity or degree that answers a purpose or satisfies a need or desire; sufficiently.
I have a desire to change,
I have a desire to love,
hell, I want a Ferrari!
I don’t have those so are you
really enough if I use the book definition?
But, no, seriously, some people are starving
while others cant stop killing
or lying or stealing or hating.
Are you enough for them too?
Im still waiting,
but we at least have that in common.
They say you are too.
“They” being the activists, the followers, “yours”
and yet you’re still waiting for surrender.
Surrender: verb
a.) to yield to the possession or power of another; deliver up possession of on demand or under duress
You want me ever so much
-or so I’m told.
When I want something
I have to ask or initiate.
Where are you?
Are you planning on ever
speaking to me or asking?
Where is your humility
to simply ask?
Waiting for what you don’t ever request
is more foolish than I ever assumed
a deity of great power and might
could be.
You astound me for sure,
but not in a good way.
I thought the zealous screamed
something about you being the definition
of everything,
but I don’t seem to be able to define you that way at all.
I ask these questions innocently,
yet still I hear no response.
Did you perhaps,
in your infinite wisdom
create the world
and forget to give yourself a voice?
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
god, words, where do you start?
when i get like this, i just write my thoughts
is that the same as speaking from the heart?
what heart, what heart?
this thing that beats against my ribs
i'm sure it's just a hollow shell;
pumps blood and oxygen
allows me to live through this hell
but there's nothing more to it
i'm not doing so well
do rhymes make pain sound simpler?
i have a bad habit of using them when i'm heartbroken
rhymes are used to undermine meaning, according to my old English teacher
half rhymes and nursery rhymes and rhyming couplets and sentences left open
to interpretation, to ambiguity, to aching wounds and clinical analysis
i'm thinking of pretentious hipsters and all my therapists as i'm writing this
"the mechanism which allows you to feel is broken"
it wasn't the best movie but that line stuck with me
i think the mechanism which allows me to feel is broken
don't worry, Harry, i know how you feel, Harry
i, too, use the adverb; i, too, feel badly.
the sharp things that cut me, the dull things that bruise me
everything i should feel is either absent or agony.
love, they say; let love in, she heals your thoughts and broken skin!
fickle ***** she is, what lies i've heard her spin.
do you love me when you lie to me, darling love o' mine?
do you love me when you trace your fingers over the nubs of another's spine?
love o' mine, love o' mine, that Touch was supposed to be mine,
divine, divine, beloved and reverent and MINE
it's a good thing i don't want to hold onto you anymore
the rope burns were finally sleeping into my core.
my god, these splinters, i'm bleeding from my fingers
as i try to reach out for something that isn't withered,
because the flowers that you bloomed are shrivelled and abused
i refuse to water them, give them life anew
does that make me a murderer?
well you murdered them, too.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
What is the point in
Poignancy?
*Fragment,
you tell me.
Another one in paragraph three.*
What do words matter?
I have spelled love with Lilacs instead of an “L”
I have drawn the curve of my “O” with the chill of a
Sweeping breeze.
A “V” can only appear as the violet of a
sparkling sky, or I will be unable to read it,
and every “E” will amount to nothing more than
emptiness if the voice it has been given
does not epitomize song.
*Comma-splice,
Replace it with a semicolon.*
I am trying live freely.
I want to breathe in color,
to inhale an orange Savannah sky
And exhale green which
shows through the translucent dew
of grass.
*Unnecessary use of description.
Limit it, Lidiah. Limit it.*
My fingers itch with the ferocity of
A vengeful army.
They are waiting to trample pages with
The lead of my pencil, the bayonet
of a Revolutionary-War-era rifle.
The word limit sounds like tragedy.
A single word that can somehow act as
a precursor,
To the death of passion.
Your words have put you in a box.
People always say
“Actions speak louder than words.”
In a way that is true.
But I also know it to be
a tremendous piece of fiction.
*Lidiah,
Please watch your run-ons.*
Why can our words and our actions
not be the same thing?
Isn’t the act of speaking,
the act of raising your voice,
the act of being heard,
isn’t that an action?
*Lidiah,
how many times do I have to remind you?
Clarification throughout.*
Why have we decided that our words
Mean nothing more than
stepping stones on the road to action?
When did we decide that our voices
which rise like clarion calls,
forever instilling our promises,
are to be left on silent?
Precious jewels set into rings.
Poison in a water tank.
*Lidiah,
what you say is irrelevant
if your MLA bibliography isn’t in
alphabetical order.*
Our words are our actions.
They mean the same.
Words are the distinctions of our beliefs
Illustrations of our personas
They are not mosquitos to be slapped away
and forgotten.
*Lidiah,
paragraph five is too long.
Stop rambling.
Be concise.*
Please tell me,
what is the point of being concise?
*Lidiah,
stop rambling.*
Why do we let justification
equate to useless rambling?
*Lidiah,
you have to detach yourself from the narrative.*
Feelings mean more
than a couple of sentences.
More than a good or a bad.
A mad or a sad.
Comma-splice
What about ferocity?
Never end with a preposition.
What about passion?
Replace this with a conjunctive adverb.
What about the discernable strife
that follows even indifference?
What about that?
*Lidiah,
what is the point of
Poignancy?*
What are we without it?
What does the human soul matter
if we have forsaken the parts of ourselves that
remind us of what a soul is for?
*Lidiah,
you will never be heard
if you do not learn to follow the rules*.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
Home.
It's a noun.
It's also an adjective, adverb, and verb.
It is the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.
A place in which
The essence of childhood, innocence, and versatility
Bloom like a spring annual.
But after the clock of those 18 years
Runs out
You are free to leave.
In fact, you are encouraged
To move to another
Until you build a home for yourself.
Some never build another home
They find decent company
In one night stands
And the nicotine tinged, cigarette burned sofas.
Some build a home better than the one they came.
Gardenias, chrysanthemums, and marigolds in the garden;
Scrubbing a crayon medium portrait
Off the comic latte walls.
I have a distorted image of home.
All these places I want to go and
All these people I want to meet.
I cannot settle
Until I have shaken hands with the world itself
But the argument still standing is
Do I go alone?
I have never been good with loneliness
And yet I crave the anonymity
Of standing on the street, watching the cars rush by
Knowing
I am not bound by failure.
I am not tethered down by my haunting past
No definitions chained to my shoulders
Forever slumping my chest.
No.
I will meet many people and learn from them.
I will tell people my name is different.
Soon, I will be the wisp of stardust
Hovering in the void
Between here and there
Changing,
Yet staying absolutely the same.
I deem myself a traveler.
Eventually meeting the civilizations
That created my favorite words.
Maybe in a few years at my high school reunion
My old classmates will have kids to show their progress
And I will have the words and wisdom from a thousand cultures
And that will be enough,
For travel is the soul of me.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
I ****** up.....once again.
no, 6x8 doesn't equal 46, it's 48.
I know, well is an adverb, and I said I'm doing good.
Oh, he's there. I'll just flip my hair. **** I don't have hair.
I've known myself for 17 years, and I just spelt my last name wrong. awk
It's quiet, and I don't even know what that burp sneeze cough sound that just came out of my mouth was. So I will hum for now.
I'm singing passionately and loud because this is my song, that I apparently don't know the lyrics to. Why me.
and then finally, I couldnt explain how I felt.
but in all that was ****** up,
he understood me.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
There is no adjective we can be.
There is no verb which can make us exist.
No adverb to define the time we will never live.
Let's not even talk about nonexistent nouns.
You and I are only meant to be pronouns.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
I want to touch you with my words..
I want to spill myself in verbs...
Creating one sound
About one Noun..
I want these emotions to be heard...
Thought about then felt..
Translated then yelled
I want me to be memories..
Recited scriptures on the tips of your tongue..
I want this to be Fun...
Me explained in dictionaries..
You reviled in song...
I sing of you in rhythm..
This verse...
one untitled song
And you will love it's tune..
Adding power to these feelings
I adverb my love inside...
To many adjectives to describe..
The sight inside my eyes...
I want to create us memories..
Dreams that fall ideas..
Let my words surround you...
Releasing all your fears..
Touching you with every syllable
Accenting every R..
Pronouncing all my Ps and Qs
Our details will be the fuse..
Light the match with your sweet lips
Lets us burn in pages
But our memories and dreams
Are now Ideas
Words thought without a Fear...
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
You are the quake that sent me tumbling into
the places I didn't want to go
and the jagged edge that cracked my cranium open
sending my head to spin around the thought
I have never been home
until I break down the walls
that blocked the sunlight from my view
You've painted my ceiling with tomorrow
You are the cracks that made it my own
You have always been the irony
the non-relational and everything
The adjective and the adverb that confused my very soul
You were inside my head for the shortest time
which made me call it home
You are my familiarity and my unknown
the comely tragedy that goes on and on
I can never blame you for the things you haven't done
as it was I who claim you did
You taught me that the most difficult emotion there is
is the emotion when you think
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
I am scant a savant and know it
I do I am just a wannabe poet
A shrew a devotee of
Poe and others
I wish for their talent
And notoriety
At a loss for words
Occasionally I just
Go ahead
And make them up
Dream up a verb
Ending in q
or a noun with no subject
I do
And shame is a good
Descriptive word
Adjective or adverb
I think I am sane
As I digress nightly
into a colored light fest
Of was crayoned
flesh
On the canvas
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 1:44 AM UTC
The coolest,
hippest thing about being
a poet
a writer
an orator
is the ability to invent
words
give them meaning
where no meaning previously
e x i s t e d
give a new word a definition
defined, wrote, spoke
Use them in
verses
sentences
speech
nouns
pronoun
adjective
verb
adverb
and
on
and
on
and
on
the flumbertwimbla (not to be confused with a flumbertwumbla...) was as quick witted and razhnaha as a beginkogojobalu but had none of the charm nor characteristics of the humbajuno. What it lacked in chuggakoocahoo it made up for with it's own take on ickshelllatah. True story.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
Pick Up The Microphone
Pick up the microphone,
hear me speak,
I see you looking at me,
feeding me the words coming out of my mouth,
feeding off of my energy, the hype,
catharsis personified is what you are in that moment.
I digressed but yeah correct me if needs be.
If needs be,
Words?
Where we have Mr.Ease and Difficulty,
Then the least they do is hug me.
Pick up the microphone,
Noises spoke,
Voices wrote,
The philosophy,
And the etymology,
To shine with glitter by the twang which is spoken,
From pretty little girls that provoke them,
Pick up the microphone,
Give birth to the word which is answered,
Give in the words to be renowned and,.
be free with the verb that has inaugurated me,
With this personal noun stands my identity,
My adjective accommodating the quality,
Adverb knowing the effect of me,
So,the next time you blur vision, to get a vivid state of mind.
You better PICK UP THAT MICROPHONE .
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
death, apparent,
or...
apparently so...
was never a concern to
concern oneself
with the debate
between a man,
and a god....
i,e.?
funny...
the little **** sleeps
like a baby...
little ****
a maine **** cat,
male,
extracted testicles...
falls asleep
listening to
the dead can dance...
only album favorite....
my cat favored
to fall asleep in half the time
it took to listen to the track...
you can state your
Apocalypse Now! counter
in half the time...
beginning with....
now!
i'm done begging,
i'm imploring you...
added minutes?!
michele campanella...
WAGNER's
walhall
from, das rheingold...
such esteemed people!
such awaiting people!
such... nuanced...
of what could be claimed as...
people...
what wonder!
what ignominious
ingenuity of retraction!
to, have, fathomed!
the last of what ia esteemed
to be deemed,
the, *least"...
finest upon the finest,
and, supposedly,
no more,
that a utility of a hammer,
for whatever came the observation,
to make comprehension
of... the noun: nail,
and the adverb...
nailing it...
with the verb and noun
of final utility of: hammer...
dear... prospect...
of whatever was inclined
by your stressed ingenuity of fault...
how have you....
my... oh my...
your creation wss
supposed to be more stupid
than the people you already deemed
stupider,
and already demanded
yourself to, despise?
and your intelligent
"creation"...
wasn't supposed to notice this,
discrepancy?
now ensure you retell this narrative...
'mother...'
'yes, David...'
'play me... the raconteurs'
old enough.'
mother knows, best.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC