"clause" poems
Hedgehog
Something in my garden,
Small dark stout.
Is it coming in?
Or maybe going out?
Hidden in the long grass,
Almost out of sight.
Edging in slowly ,
In case it gets a fright.
Little beady eyes,
Long thin nose.
Sharp bent clause,
On little hairy toes.
As it scurries off quickly,
To winter hibernate.
I see the snow is coming,
Hope he's not too late.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:10 AM UTC
It all begins
With pronouns
I becomes the subject
Of my project
Adding you
And collectively we
I choose you and me
And I exclude the he and the she
Until I am certain of we
You and I pick verbs
actions
Inflect them to match
fit
begin narratives
Transitive verbs take objects
You touch
tickle
tease
taste
take skin
*******
lips
me with words
Words have become a clause
But still a simple construction
So, you tickle me where?
For this you need a preposition
To position your tickling ammunition
Do you touch
tickle
tease me ON my *******
*******
thighs
buttocks
****
Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth
****
soul?
Positioning is envisioning.
Then you use adjectives
To modify descriptions of
Sensory inscriptions
So, gentle complements touch
Soft and passionate kiss
And you become superlative
And adverbs elaborate experience
expression
exploration
You fill me deeply
thoroughly
violently with all that is you
But adverbs can also mean time
Not sweet or cursed time
Or time denoting age
But timing is always important
And grammar dictates
That
Time adverbs are placed
As a beginning or an end
Like a lover's embrace
Thus,
This morning, you woke me with
A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow.
Conjunctions are sentence connectors
And sentences behave like detectors
Bodies balancing with and, but, or
Otherwise subordinate
And the scale tips towards
Conditioning hypotaxis
Making actions a complicated praxis
(before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it)
But we coordinate conjunctions
Equally
I touch you
You touch me
Exploring
Exploding sensory functions
So, together we cry imperatives
Completing our ****** narratives
Moaning
Whimpering
Begging
Yelling: Please... bind me!
touch me!
bite me!
take me!
come!
Oh! Please, come!
I love the English language... ;)
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
my subject, mrs. ((brown?))
for this speech is
going to be: obesity. ish.
you see I remember
the article you handed out to us,
loos-leafed,
fresh-pressed,
a dry white piece that told,
in simplest terms,
the most inarguable & bland facts
about !healthy eating & !weight loss!
but mrs ((whatever)), I want
to tell n and the entire
******* crisp class,
that obesity is a load
of steaming ****
from someone who’s really fucki
ng sick (you know how much
better it stinks then)
that obesity
was made to be glorified,
I don’t tell you this—
I ****** jiggle it to you,
grab my santa clause puch and
shove it at you--
tick tock
we wait for the clock
to tell us what
s to come,
except it makes us guess
--see this:
a mid-age woman, mother,
fat & previously fat,
goes in for stabbing pain in the chest, or
chronic diarrhea,
seeing stars & no energy left.
((this happens))
the doctor says,
well let’s weigh you n see
if you’ve lost
the weight I told you to lose before
remember Sharol
now Sharol..,,,, sweety…..
you weigh 55.62 lbs over the
state-set “healthy limit”k,
so we’re just gonna give u these
diet pills & I promise they work,.
all nach-yer-awl u see, none of that
waterweight ******** [! excuse my language]
and in about 3 months you’ll lose
half that overweight,
and I promise the starsll go away and you’ll
feel right tip top okay now that’ll be
$60 & come bac k in a month to tell me
how much you’ve lost okay
haha but that’s alrightright?
she was unhealthy
&
doctors make you healthy
only her brain cancer maybe, or like, colon
cancer or literally anything other obesity
kills her in about 3 months
bc the **** doctor would only
pretend that she cared
what
was
wrong with Sharol, sweety…,,,
im sharol and so are you and
so is your uncle & so is
your mother, probably
because most of us are “obese”
& the only cure for obesity
is the cure for the term
“obesity” you see
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
<>
Love is Meant……
and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,
this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+dirty s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?
yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****
to be full~on damaging enough to ****
to fully comprehend,
that love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)
4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 8:06 AM 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
In grammar, a correlative is a word that is paired with another word with which it functions to perform a single function but from which it is separated in the sentence.
In English, examples of correlative pairs are both–and, either–or, neither–nor, the–the ("the more the better"), so–that ("it ate so much food that it burst"), and if–then.
Correlative
-----------
the word intrigues,
not for its functionality,
but for its relativity
we are neither relatives,
blood connected,
nor are we correlated,
in fact, quite the opposite!
my love for you,
from afar,
if not, then,
not at all
you say
never,
and I say, even better!
causing you're confessing,
we are special together,
the more, the better,
our relationship contains
a scriptural clause elemental,
an unconditional
correlative,
for
every
for
e v e r
you
never
utter
……
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 2:39 PM UTC
i still straddle the fence on this
immigration reform manifesto
i see both sides of the story
it's good to have the grandfather clause
for the immigrants in my bloodstream
- the scrappy scots-irish-ingles-welsh
in me - but too late for the cherokee
behind the old fences of history.
r ~ 11/9/14
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
reggae school is a place to learn or at least thats what they say
but really reggae schole is where kids are scared and they pray
no fun allowed at reggae school, the teachers think that they are cool
a girl tryd to sneak in ****** the principal caught her then he beat her
but all hope is not lost at reggae school
for santa clause's reggae brother santa kush came to save the day
santa kush is nice, smart and rolls a blunt that could blow you away
he save da children and he rips a **** too
santa kush read poem and do analytical review
santa kush save the kids from da reggae school
thank reggae jesus, he's reggae cool
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
Saturday Saturn and Santa Clause Satan
Captain Crunch Kringle and Krampus cry madchen.
Bed sitter seniors sit back and lament.
Another day's Christmas ducats mis-spent.
When the log scrapes,
When the door bleeds,
When you hate your Dad.
Remember that you just might run out of food.
And that would beeee,
quite bad.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
.
And I sit there
All ear, head to feet
Dear
Listening to his footsteps
As if a Santa Clause waiting for his deer
Painting his majesty
Through defenceless eyes' pastels
Asking for aid,
O' holy hands
There, hassles
I see a purple heart
Hiding blue dropes of hopes
as if a mask was to keep my face look like mokes
Over the balcony
Amongst the trees
Saw a friendly shadow
Of my ever lasting companion, on knees
O' Thy honor sir black hat gray shadow!
Real illusion, of whom art thee?
Chasing me through the looking glass balcony
Never mind, promise, not to miss a symphony...
.
Farzaneh.Qāf
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
I am a humming bird with a broken wing forming a geometric fall.
I am a conjoined twin with a foot in heaven and one in hell.
I am a geyser spewing out echoes from a stonewall well.
I am an open road stretched for miles paved with a murderous smile.
I am a man with a firm handshake who stands still on top of an earthquake.
I am a visionary man who slipped on fate and fell in love.
I am a preliminary hearing fallen on deaf ears.
I am the contribution to your retribution.
I am a person of depersonalization.
I am a one man army minus one man.
I am the desired taste of orange juice and toothpaste.
I am concentrated concentration.
I am the formation of your imagination.
I am the comma for your introductory clause.
I am the cause for your sudden pause.
I am the spatula that stirs up your anxiety.
I am the reaper who never leaves a clue.
I am the lace that always chokes the shoe.
I am the light that finds its way thru helping the little shrew.
I am the suburban white boy who sings the blues.
I am consistent inconsistency.
I am your assigned tour guide for your expiration exploration.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
When you get married there is no clause
That says much about Sister in Laws
It is a game of Russian Roulette
You just never know what you might get!
Thankfully I have been truly blessed
My Sisters in Law are just the best!
I wed the love of my life who happily
Had sisters whose friend I could gladly be.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
it is one thing
to follow her into the dark
it is another thing
to borrow her fragmented words
and hold her in one hand
and a scale in another
and call it justice
but, by God
(whichever one you’d like to cite today
the kind one, the cruel one, and so on),
it is a whole different thing
to seize her by the neck
and rip the words from her throat
and twist them into cotton *****
and dip them into holy water
and force them back into her mouth
until she can no longer breathe
and no longer live and no longer exist
without drowning in a sense of helplessness
because we, the people, will always remember exactly how
you took your greed and shoved it into her mouth
and down her throat, until you stifled the cries of
‘my body, my choice’ with a book of myths and a man’s voice
weren’t you supposed to be our voice?
what was this all for? was the money so loud that
you could not hear the echoes of pro-choice?
our rage—will it be worth those thirty silver coins?
Jun 26, 2022
Jun 26, 2022 at 1:53 PM UTC
Oh Eliot, Poor Eliot, Your Fans Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad^
<>
we tithed thee with donations plenty,
here a dollar, there a fiver, a coupon for free chips,
worthy of somebody’s eternal gratitude,
that would be you,
da Duke, Duke of York
the largest online free poetry site,
a million visitors a day, why you must be
the richest poet online billionaire, right?
you,
da Duke, Duke of York and
occasional poet...
in return, all we occasional poets demand
steady on instant access, immediate satisfaction,
after all, a part time job deserves your bestus-best,
just like every other large online site, that never crashes,
we’re not like just the rest, we are
p o e t s,
occasionally
so keep the servers engines, well stoked with Newcastle coal,
keep them up and running round the clock,
using only alternative energy,
of the unceasing sun light of merry old England!
quit that other job, you must,
instead of giving up on us,
give in to us,
a poetry break, a writing recharge,
though please add a limited liability
clause to the FAQ’s,
that poets’ lives must deal with the hiccup
occasional
you, da Duke, Duke of York,
newly now, an appointment royale as Major General,^^
you, the very model of a modern major general
possessing information vegetable, animal, mineral and
technical,
who knows the Queens of England, who,
maybe even now is telling tales of your heroics with the hordes of
hysterical
occasional
poetical
globalists
demanding
light brigadests
charging the redoubt
and
when you have a moment spare,
a haircut, please.
no, that is not a request,
naturally
<>
10/19/19
Noontime NYC
natalino
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
Christmas died with Santa Clause
when I reached a certain age.
The magic revealed as scam,
the wonder now an act
maintained for the sake of form.
This descended, in my teens,
into outright distaste -
all the trappings
a failed attempt
to light a lost wonderland;
a decorated tree
incongruous and distasteful
as a chimp in a suit.
Anger waned,
disinterest set in,
and I merely wished to avoid it all.
But through your eyes
a miracle occurs:
Papa Noel, mistaking his season,
makes an Easter of Christmas
by rising triumphant.
A tinsel star becomes a true Polaris
and love,
for anybody's sake,
is everything.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:28 AM UTC
I am a Taurus so stubborn, bombastic, obstinate, and rigid,
But my loyalty brings stability and security to motherland
My patriotism is running in my blood like real violent flood
Being virtuous by birth my style of life is so sweet and grand
Enemies should not take me light because I am soldier of God
Friends appreciate my love and affection believe in my cause
I am bound by verdict of faith to remain to my glorious Lord
I understand my duties and responsibilities clause by clause
I remain winner whether I win or lose or embrace martyrdom
I love my God to the utmost of my domain and my capabilities
No one can match me by the grace of God I am real Muslim
Please do not take me granted I am like a real morning breeze
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC
377
To lose one’s faith—surpass
The loss of an Estate—
Because Estates can be
Replenished—faith cannot—
Inherited with Life—
Belief—but once—can be—
Annihilate a single clause—
And Being’s—Beggary—
2.9k
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.
Happily, he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.
All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.
Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.
Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.
From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.
we sing of dreams
of better things
we blaspheme
and spin the scenes
of our murdered dreams
and just clean the guilt away
I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.
I am a god that cracks the asphalt.
I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.
I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.
The first
The last
Laugh of inevitability
Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.
Free will
A fragile blessing
I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.
I'm the ******* son
Strumming for the only one.
Once.
Before the lore of the storm.
Born of the swoon of a gun.
More than one.
Once.
As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Different strokes for different folks, but if I stuttered when I spoke, there is a reason why I wrote, and if you think that I'm a joke, then stroke me, stroke me...
Empirical lyrically virile and viral a warrior reborn like he's gone out of style,
a rage unabated both non-syncopated and internal/external no meter's abated!
You wanted an anthem?
You wanted a cause?
You wanted a figure to even the odds?
You thought I was kidding
but now you're admitting that
I am the chosen whose broken the clause!
Rising in status, my main apparatus, the attitude: platitudes lack the finesse!
I'm searching for perfect not anything less!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Melding the milieus of millions and millions of masses who clash for the chance for the cash,
when all that was needed was truth to believe in, significance outed, you puppet let's dance!
No bragging, no lagging, and no more sandbagging, the hustle is over, your tussle is weak!
For soon we will savor the end of your flavor, fifteen minutes over, your outlook is bleak.
I'm nobody's pigeon hole, nobody's fool, I've seen quite my share of arrogant tools,
but here are the statements that lead me to greatness:
love me or hate me, go on instigate me, ignore me and gasp when you hear of my rule!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Now join me in raising a fist to the sky,
and pound upon pressure to powers that lie.
Make diamonds of rhyme-ends and squelter your silence
to pierce through the casket that left us so quiet.
Their reign is run dry, and nobody buys it, let's hit this at home so they cannot supply it.
Prepare the artillery pack in your fire, you're gonna need it , if the bars get any higher,
now hear from the jokee, I dare you provoke me, you still talking **** well stroke me, stroke me.
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
**I'm willing to take it for me and for you, THERE'S NO ******* LIMIT TO WHAT WE CAN DO!**
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
Justice is a *****
With claws
Miles and miles and miles
Guillotine jaws
And when she throws the book at you
It's 1000 pounds
With a curse in every clause.
And when those swords
Turn in on you
It's miles and miles of claws
To wring you out
In a razorblade chokehold you won't ever
forget.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
1357
“Faithful to the end” Amended
From the Heavenly Clause—
Constancy with a Proviso
Constancy abhors—
“Crowns of Life” are servile Prizes
To the stately Heart,
Given for the Giving, solely,
No Emolument.
—
“Faithful to the end” Amended
From the Heavenly clause—
Lucrative indeed the offer
But the Heart withdraws—
“I will give” the base Proviso—
Spare Your “Crown of Life”—
Those it fits, too fair to wear it—
Try it on Yourself—
2.8k
Conquered by the cause of confidence
Cluttered by the cost of distraction
Cut off by the clause of equal and opposite reaction
We endure
We Procrastinate
We suffer
We live on
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
**All Hours of the Night
That range of time is too random
to be alone in the dark with yourself
It's the loneliest time to think you over
because like the sweetest stanza
of the prettiest poem no one will ever read;
we were pointless
If I can recall
you said so yourself
My faith in the possibility had been exhausted
My heart...
I've since changed the lock
with no bother about a spare key
Sounds like some slick ****
a poet assigned to you would say
I found a reasoning you should try yourself...
I trust nothing;
I know me too well
to believe I can talk myself into getting over you
You must be proud of yourself
the way you get all up in me right under my nose
My defenses though... just in case
My personality splits
All Hours of the Night
I captain this hook
and refuse to pardon heartbreakers
with three strikes at love
I rob in the hood
I'll take everyone for everything
and give anything I can get away with to you
Those are my instincts
There's nowhere to go to get around yourself
I work like a fool
but when the struggle rises above my head
I learn to swim again
What's a synonym for dope boy
Started as a runner
Stick up kids out to tax
when bust your gun
is all you've got going for yourself
Around and around
and I hate that I love your badside
All Hours of the Night
By the rim of your ears
and nape of your neck
To the point of your *******
and past your belly's button
Until my mouth found your flower's fruit
and sipped its juice;
Until your *** was trickling down my chin
I wanna lick you senseless
Imagine that...
I thought you were ready
but knew about the clause in your description denouncing heavy lifting
And our love was like dead weight back when
At least there's that...
I'd have to eat the blame one way or the other
I've seen you zing it from your index finger
at everyone but yourself
You ain't for this life
A mountain lion
would knaw off it's leg to escape capture...
Is that a chill or a phantom sensation
All Hours of the Night
You were on some other **** yourself
The way you captained this hook
and made me wanna pardon heartbreakers
with three strikes at love
Those are your instincts;
Never trick where you lay your head
Keep your family close and your haters closer
Improve yourself
Progress
Prevail
And money before good ****
Sounds like some slick ****
a demon assigned to a poet would say
in the condescending tone
you've owned
since the very first frame
I found a reasoning you should try yourself...
I trust nothing
You must be proud of yourself**
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
basic arithmetic in terms of punctuation, otherwise? simply the arithmetic of punctuation: what does (,) equal? what does (.) equal? what does (:) equal? what does (-) equal? what does (;) equal? come on, quick! quick! give me a number!
to think, is to not narrate,
much of what is regarded as
"thinking", simply becomes as art
of narration
that is sofa-bound, i.e. so comfortable
that it feels it has no inclination
toward the use of hands as ever
being idle, it simply replaces
hands with a tongue...
hence: idle speech,
hence political speech;
so if the "devil" has work for idle hands,
then "god" has work for the idle zunge
(tongue)...
but most people don't think,
because their thinkling is solely about
narrating,
their day-to-day...
and i appreciate this custom,
in the cognitive realm...
i really do...
how many jokes ushered into
the void of one's silence, neither whisphers,
nor hummings, nor whistling...
wiser still, essentially unchanged...
but heidegger's aphorism no. 285
really bothers me...
the reader looking into the narrator
given the existentialist inverted commas
(iberian inverted questioning
¿ ? that's the first step toward
an iberian existentialism)
said the third person,
with third party sources, the middle man,
the second person, and then the reader
of the writer's original testimony?
if northern existentialism (french / german...
the english were too reactionary, and
too easily bored by the continental drift)
encompasses the tool that's " "
then the iberian tool has to be the inverted
question mark, i.e. ¿ ?,
sitting comfortably? no? how about a wheelchair...
let me just break your legs and your spine.
but aphorism 285: "worldview",
"grounding", "configuring"...
i don't understand this allocation of ambiguity,
and an italic stress on da-sein / da-sein...
aren't all the three descriptive elements /
adjectives the purposive sentiments for
originating the concept of dasein?
i had to counter with an iberian existential tool...
after all i said, 'he said', "we said"...
it's a third party medium
of supposed ambiguity...
if there's a santa claus (satan's clause),
then there's pontius pilate's clause,
found in the existential tool of double-ditto " "
or as the english like to say: inverted commas;
or the ritual: of washing your hands clean
from passing the judgement...
they're citation marks to be honest, come on,
let's be pompous, they donned 19th top-hats
at ascot's horse races! who's fooling who?
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC