"grammars" poems
They were like two peas in a pod
Holding hands
Exchanging tongues
Being prissy and laughing at those
Who long before saw their act
Though those two queers, they don’t see at all
They are midgets, and little, and erectly small
With puffed up chests
Stroking hens of the Cornish variety
All of them dregs of a social society
Slum lords and criminal minds
Under the sheets where no one sees
Which one is giving the other the shaft
**** and span they use after, oh so daft
One erotically whispered to the other
A Pain in the ***
As they kissed over their biblical wine glass
Seeking solace in each others arms
Licking their wounds with grammars charm
Grown men, committing sin after sin
Then blaming others for saying
God wants you to begin
Acting like men
And not emancipated boys
Stop diddling and twiddling
Leave alone your petite toys
One day Jehovah will make clear
Belittle others is worse than Queer
Little queens swallowing their own vile
While Ladies and Gentleman laugh
At the ****** and the Clown
In their lingerie and gown
God decried, let those two drown
Even Lucifer laughed under his frown
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
A LAND OF HONEYED-PRAISES,
FULL OF ARROGANT AND PRIDE,
MALIGNANT ONE's,
WITH AN UNCURED~ CANCERS.
A WORDS AND PHRASES
FOR THOSE WHO LOST IT'S SENSE
IN PUBLIC ~SERVICE.
IT'S NOT YOU?
REALLY?
HA!
PHILOSOPHY DOCTOR?
MASTER OF EDUCATION?
MASTER OF PUBLIC SERVICE?
YOUR PORTRAIT HANG ON THE WALLS!
NOT ONE!
NOT TWO!
NOT THREE!
REALLY?
BUT HOW MANY ARE YOU?
MORE PEOPLE, YOUR CONSTITUENT
HAD ALL A DECADES OF
BROKEN~ DREAMS,
THAT SHATTERED INTO PIECES
THEIRS TEARS? IS NOT ENOUGH ...
TO FILL UP YOUR CUPS,
AND EVEN CAN'T ADD UP
YOUR HUNGRY PORSCHE WALLET!
EDUCATIONS MAKES SENSE
RIGHT! CAN'T ARGUE WITH YOU THEN...,
BUT IT ALSO MAKES YOUR FACE~CENTS.
A NECKLACE OF YOU PRIDE,
MY DEAR, DEPED
DAVAO DE ORO EDUCATORS. (Division Office)
OH~SILENT AND ARROGANT
WHY? YOU PERMIT THE BROKEN~CULTURES
EVEN THE TOXIC, GO FAR BEYOND MY LINES.
SORRY, I FORGOT AM NOT A LICENCE, POET.
DID I NEED TO GET ONE?
OR TO PAY YOUR HUNGRY PORSCHE WALLET!
O' COMO'N
SORRY DEAR MAAM, AND SIR's
I LOST MY APPETITE FOR GRAMMARS,
SA , BISYA PA "TULA NI OR DELI"
TO, MY DEAR READER
"NATIVE LANGUAGE"
DEPED~DAVAO DE ORO (Division Office)
O~ DEAR INSTITUTION
THANKS FOR EDUCATING US
FOR ME TO LEARNED
ENGLISH FOR A WHILE
AH, NOW YOU AWAKEN ME,
OH, MY SENSE OF CAPTIVITY.
THIS, UNJUST INSTITUTIONS
CAUSED VEXATIONS
TO YOUR DEAR GRADUATES,
AND THOSE SPIRITED~ONES.
DEPED ~ DAVAO DE ORO (Division Office)
ARE YOU AN INSTITUTION OF
UNJUST & UNWISE
GIVING BREED OF CENTS~EDUCATORS?
AH, SORRY, IT HARD TO GIVE THE WORDS
SENSE, OF YOUR INSTITUTION.
DEPED~ DAVAO DE ORO
YOU LOST YOUR WAYS
YOUR MASTER DEGREE's & PHD's
EVEN BLOWN ~UP WIDE.
SIDE -BY-SIDE!
OH~STUPID THINGS
AND THE ARROGANT's
WRITTEN IN THE HISTORY!
YOU CAN FIND THEIR NAME's
IN THE HALLWAY OF GALLERY
AH, COMO'N
THIS IS NOT A POET
OR A SONG EITHER.
WHAT's, IS THIS?!
SORRY, MATE....
THIS IS PART OF ME,
WHO HAVE LOST AND WANDERED.
REALLY?
ABOUT WHAT?
FOR THE DEPED~ DAVAO DE ORO (Division Office)
WHERE? & WHAT COUNTRY MATE?
IN THE PHILIPPINES, MATE.
WHAT NOW, MATE?
JUST NOTHING.
JUST, A HELL OF ONE PROVINCE MATE.
GOOD TO KNOWS,
FOR THEIR ******* MATE.
YOU KNOW, MATE?
WHAT?
SEC. LEONOR BRIONES
IS ONE OF OUR COUNTRY BEST EDUCATOR.
THE WISE~LADY MATE?
YOU RIGHT, MATE!
HOPE, SHE VETTED.
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 9:05 AM UTC
Now I shall write a poem that rhymes
one that chimes with our times
A lyrical jest. A tongue twister at best
You could read what I write and you might think
Oh My Gosh this will drive me to drink
but having written for days to find the edge
I stumble upon a literal ledge
where words have no cander and a clown met a panda
Ok. Fine. Not what you expected
but Grammars out the window
and your authors not really invested.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
They said that a sentence is a word or a group of words that expresses a complete thought
Though it sometimes compares to a sanction to a life of imprisonment for things done and ought
With one stroke we write, like steps we learned at the early stages of life
Then we begin to think things through, and begins a story of struggles and strife
We make our own articles as results of the things we do
In every move we show to enunciate without really thinking things through
Our consonants are the consequences of all the vowels that we made
Though in reality we have more debts in our vowels that needs to be paid
The conjunctions of our uncertainties are left alone in the foggy mist
The verbs and its tenses criticized with the words we used in bliss
We sometimes make and get compliments but not till the final point of this
Life is really just a sentence, through writing or a result of crime
Our society in every book written educated by any prime
You may be from the future, the present or the past
But you will always will have a sentence till the world could last
We have our own grammars and it may be right or wrong
We often use it in a poem or a song
We have our own grammars even from the time of our birth
We have always used it, without knowing for what its worth
Though it is said that a sentence is a word or group of words that has a complete thought
It can also be the final destination of every crime we have ought
This world is also a sentence to where we are imprisoned in
This whole world is a sentence to where we end life and begin again
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
I wish to be a poet
Though my grammars poor
I have these thoughts and visions
That never pass this door;
I wish to be a poet
Yet learned I am not
This is my dream my passion
My hope and all I've got.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
the dawn collapses sometimes under its own weight while
worlds of gestures are well preserved under the eyelids,
hardly random grammars, addiction to illusions,
the space of grace, the space for violence misued
muted tempos in the fragility of thoughts
we know many words but not the right language to talk to each other,
the vocabulary of hurt exploded inside narrow spaces, the temple of skin empty
recycle bins full of our selves
we confuse the world with the contours of our pain
untitled the day sometimes
when love has left behind the birth of language
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 2:53 PM UTC
I should be like an Owl
Using nightfall appropriately
Should be scribbling
Painting my words
My fingers should be in a hustle to finish a page
And page after page
The walls if it runs out
Further the air around, as a medium to write and to share
Discovering myself
Finding myself amidst words
Taming myself the way I want
Grammars are paid less heed
Expressing myself in a free verse
Leaving my traces
Leaving a legacy
Leaving a part of me
Through what I scribble
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
Local cursors, yet so clever
Bribes an adrenaline
Her addiction through the keys
Felt like nicotine
Copy paste,
Copy paste,
How many words to chase?
Delete or erase,
She astonished a few mistakes
Only realizing with an aftertaste
She would scribble down new abbreviations
Silly explorations,
And sincere appreciations
Highlighting them in Italics
Countless minors criticize,
Eighteen, selected font size,
Affix buttons of grammars or otherwise,
The error might sound automatic
Detached quotations,
Unfinished conversations,
Unprepared preparations,
These flares are somewhat emphasized in Bold
Published chapters,
Wasted hours,
She double-dipped in his sweet & sour traits
And then betrayed her own heart of Gold
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC