"grammatical" poems
Golden Valleys, Growing Naturally
<>
This is a Logo in Ireland, Dairygold™
is the company.
I would safely say, that there is hardly
an acre in rural Ireland devoid of some
form of artificial fertilisers, pesticides,
herbicides or fungicides.
(Ireland is riddled with consumer cancer)
If the Logo was written as follows,
a comma between Growing & Naturally
plus an exclamation mark ! which should
really be a question mark ? (in the absence
of the comma between Valleys & Growing)
i.e.
Golden Valleys, Growing, Naturally! or ?
Then it might pass.
Let's see if we can force them to change
it and by doing so, it will highlight the
fraudulent practice of duping consumers
with blatant grammatical omissions and
the wordplay illusion by clever marketers.
(Well, perhaps not as clever as they thought)
ps.
I spent all morning, wondering should they
be a comma in the last paragraph, in the
afternoon, I removed it. Oscar Wilde.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 3:27 AM UTC
but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems
stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category;
i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns
being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers;
it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns.
it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days
and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases
attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs
thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness
the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity
of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression
of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality,
the aether virus attacks the pronoun
on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use
of pronouns, when a king casually says
of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively;
so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong
that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber
and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering?
the pronoun category is weak from day one,
because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed
into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought
without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge
rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point
of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer
to have weak thinking and strength in knowing,
for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing,
i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall.
so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia
attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one
will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain
clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals -
while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals,
but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals!
but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness,
in that segregational aspect of things "sorted,"
why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage
compared to a strength in other grammatical categories?
why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns?
the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked,
and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king
into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked
and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself
fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic
as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Practicality is the reality
of ignominious totality
the devices of all sizes
and the grammatical mentality
of systematic duality.
Punctuation is the **********
the *********** of every generation
the permutation and saturation
of wordsmith temptation for re-calibration
the aberration and consternation
that leads to misinformation
and condemnation and annihilation
of the constellation colloquial conversation
the abomination of language urbanization
the fermentation and ionization
of linguistic complications
the desolation of commas and semi-colons
the affirmation of their vs they're
the augmentation of amalgamation
is just the lyrical ************
of a hooded basketball top nation
the culmination of devastation
the gestation and interpolation
that leads to appreciation isolation
and justification acceleration
the modification and assimilation
of poorly-worded implementation
and the contamination of myriad exploration
alienation in illumination
punctuation is the salvation of documentation
against the tides of violation
and the extermination of regurgitation
the classification of discrimination
and last but not least
the liberation of misrepresentation.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Oh let’s sing
Church bells ring
Dingaling ling.
Sing out loud
Boldly and proud
Enormous crowd.
Hear those chants
You debutants
Some breathless pants.
Poetry starts here,
Perhaps with a beer
Ask Shakespeare.
Oral tradition
An ongoing mission
So start the audition.
A memorable rhyme
Lasts for all time
Let’s make it chime.
Free verse is still fine
Bring in the wine
And vary the line.
Who cares if it scans
You grammatical fans
We don’t need your plans.
So free up your souls
Whatever your goals
And loose those controls.
Yes let your heart sing
A bird on the wing
Tingaling ling.
If singing’s your thing
Think what you’ll bring
Tingaling ding.
Paul Butters
© PB 7\9\2018.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 4:44 AM UTC
i just lamented a more complex version of this; i just cannot believe we denote the same thing in order to share an understanding of the same by denoting as such, but when acting we feel so differently about it; imagine the noun iran in the mouth of an american, then picture the verbs subsequent... then imagine the noun america in the mouth of an iranian, then picture the verbs subsequent: words hold as much emotion as actions discard, even though the actions are worded, and the words are almost imaginary when concerned with what iraq was when given belshazzar.
i wonder if as many people would **** or die
for the noun apple, as they do for allah -
say the noun apple... apple apple apple long enough...
will you get apple juice? well no, so if you keep on saying
the noun allah allah... will that thing materialise?
the imaginary atheistic sense
of the word allah, is that humanity
turned the noun allah into a verb
of its own chosing due to man's free will,
i.e., say allah casually over coffee,
now say allah in jihad clothing...
the same noun among diverse verbs...
might as well invent a new grammatical
category of nouns and verbs mingling...
nouverbs... what noun invokes what action,
consolidated in what are excesses of adjectives,
given the quality of a life lived -
the man who casually said the noun allah
in a coffee shop in denmark managed to integrate
into danish society and start up a newspaper...
the man in syria who "casually" said the noun allah
in a coffee shop in syria didn't manage the former...
because his orientation of the noun
changed the path of the sequence of nouns / beheaded nuns,
since the cutting of the word verb,
managed to craft non-verbum-ergo-actio.
in defence of avoiding one’s own mortality,
one speaks against one’s own death,
thus one speaks with the enemy of the people
one shares a life with, for a fake chance of the feeling of prolonging.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
I.
This is just another bad poem
Just vomited-thoughts-left-on-paper poem
This is a collection of grammatical errors
This would surely make my English teacher cringe
But no worries, I didn’t write this for her
II.
This bad poem is for you
May my subject and verb disagreement
remind you of all those misunderstandings that lead to raised voices
and nights where I cried myself to sleep
Sentence construction was never my strength, it still isn’t, maybe that’s why you never truly understood me—
called me difficult and bipolar
You said that I was too much
Did it ever occur to you that you might just misread me, like homonyms,
same words but with different meanings
misread my jealousy with accusations,
my concern for excessive affection
You said that I loved you too much
but darling, did you even love me at all?
Did I put too much meaning on your words,
turned them into similes and metaphors?
Turned your literal statements into figures of speech
You told me that you liked me,
so I blissfully interpreted it as a hyperbolic expression— called it love when obviously it wasn’t
III.
I was never good at using punctuations
I put too much commas,
unnecessary, misused, I kept trying to hold on
Afraid of the inevitable end,
Switched to semi-colons in an attempt to make it a few words longer
Because despite all our grammatical errors
no matter how shameful our piece of literature was to the English language
It was beautiful to the untrained eye,
To those who read poetry as it is
To those who don’t dig deep in search of true meaning behind the metaphors
It was beautiful to me
But I eventually learned that infinitives and infinities are different,
in spite of sharing infinite as the root word
Like our love,
started with something so promising
but unlike most novels,
there’s no happy ending
So I accepted defeat,
accepted the inevitable and bitter end
No more committing the same mistakes over and over again,
the same words over and over again,
Accepted the fact that synonyms existed,
words with the same meaning but also entirely different
new and unfamiliar, foreign and peculiar
IV.
I accepted defeat
No more commas or semi-colons
We have reached the couplet of our free formed sonnet—
I was never good with endings, I don’t think I’ll ever be,
So darling I hand you the pen, set us both free.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC
an anomaly
few roots are many roots of the same tree
from outside I am within the bark that encloses me
here ye here ye! polygonal me
mocking you an apology
all a'Riddle first due to the very nature
my skin my leaf
contradictory, the roots they twist on me
the vines of me
the veins of me
my pain you cannot see
my pain you cannot see
double vision two no three
four or infinity to a varying degree
my body tis' of thee, tangled up insanity
of thee I sing
***** from my fathers side
egg from my mothers side
brain and heart formaldehyde
let my moods swing
polygonal me an anomaly
normally unnatural
and artificially indeed
through means of fabrication
and good malicious deed
confiscatory generous
and metaphorically my breed
sarcastically scholastic
institutionalized branches
from the end to my seed
divinely soulless
constrictedly free
interestingly boring
grammatical greed
desperately selfish
slowly with speed
movingly static
hungry to feed
constantly moving
polygonal anomaly
how many sides
to a coin always flipping
to a coin always spinning
polygonal me
transparency
just
like
a
tree
there are many sides to a story
through shadows cannot see
the interlocking counterparts
elbows, knees, branches on trees.
who says they can't get along?
I say they have to disagree.
why can't they just let it be?
why don't you be you?...
and me be me me me me.
Just like a tree
whistling and singing
chirping with glee
waking me up at 6:30
though shadows cannot see
an anomaly sometimes
they play tricks on me
polygonal me
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to?
Where do they call home?
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged
How do they cope with the scarcity of love?
Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not
Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works
She's the only real love he ever had since birth
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof
Neither one of them have anything to lose
His dudes are equal to himself cubed
They rely on one another like proofs
And they are radical from the roots
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine
The other side of the number line
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"
They are neck deep in the streets
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew
But nothing around them is cotton
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week
Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing
Asians don't get any waivers
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling
Haitians don't get vacations
The **** life is given
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it
It's hard to deal
When all they know is reeling in deals
To people who are saltier than Dill's
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical
Never learned how to be grammatical
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface
Thugs need love
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug
But he's hurting
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
Our World is so ****** the gulf is
crying out in oil suds mixed Fossil Fuels
-all-
-gone-
-dry-
In this heat wave they speak, as I
kick
leaves in duck-taped strides,
I wish I could fall-lie
As Hermes dives to the side of every
Poet's cry...
There is a voice to be heard.
A distant train silhouette in the mismatched
sentence, yes tell us why?
Curious as Cat-In-Hat, mischievous
as This-Or-That,
where would the power dream?
Of
Us
Worthy,
of what we feel inside, a
-survival kit, -a heart's wish
or a -simple stitch..
of eloquent words and sighs.
To Bee,
what,
It ought To Be.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
The simple answer is they were just stories masquerading as promises:
I love you, misunderstood application
Alcohol, induced honesty
Hands, need no prompting
Making love, choreography
Compliments, grammatical recitation
Place in your heart, the corner lining.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
I will love you with no regards as to who you've loved before me. No matter who has tasted your oh so precious lips before they met mine.
I will love you no matter who hates you or who loves you, or who loves hating you. I will love you no matter who you love or who you hate, or who you hate loving.
I will love you no matter what a certain group of people say about us, even if this certain group of people are your friends, my friends, or our parents.
I will love you as a novel loves being read and as the reader loves reading a certain quote that he found on the internet that convinced him to buy the novel and how that certain quote loves being revised online as to fool someone's followers on Twitter that it was his own.
I will love you no matter how many typos you have when drunk texting me, or drunk texting someone else who, I hope to God, isn't your ex.
I will love you no matter what songs you sing in the shower, no matter how wrong the lyrics are or if you're out of tune, or even if you don't take showers at all.
I will love you as a graphic artist loves drawing his favorite stroke, even if his professor says it's not the right way it should be done.
I will love you as a certain DJ loves playing his favorite remix, even if the crowd hates The 1975 remixes because they're too biased to appreciate it.
I will love you no matter what bands break up next year and no matter what bands get back together and pull out another Fall Out Boy.
I will love you even if the clowns stop laughing at their own jokes, even if the priests start questioning their own homily sermons, or even when the masses stop laughing at the priest's jokes at homily.
I will love you even if you stop correcting my works even when you grow tired of my mistakes, not only my grammatical ones but the ones I make literally.
I will love you no matter what color your hair is or if you wear contacts to sleep or not. I will love you even if you stop tracing my lips as I fall asleep beside you, even if you steal the blankets at the coldest of nights.
I will love you even if you regret meeting me and that you allowed me to woo you with my saccharine tongue.
That is how I will love you, so please just don't regret loving me.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
When I was small,
I had the idea that I wanted a fairy tale love story
with a brave prince to save me,
take me in his arms and ask me to be his,
but I don’t want that anymore.
I want the imperfections,
the awkwardness.
I don’t want you to be my prince charming.
I want you as you are.
I want my awkward white boy from the Midwest
who likes video games, sports, and sings like an angel.
So sing to me,
because if eyes are the windows to the soul
then your voice is a door flung wide open.
And when I thought all my doors where closed
you invited me in for Chick Fil A and lemonade.
It just wasn’t going through my thick head.
You were dropping hints harder than boulders
and it took me awhile,
but I finally cracked on a Pokémon poem,
which you didn’t write,
but the words were just as sweet as ones of your own.
I was oblivious to your advances,
but they say love is blind.
So I want to be lost
like Helen Keller in an Ikea.
And while I am there,
I will pick out a bookshelf for him to build
and we will share stories by the glow of the fire.
The essence of your presence is like smoke
and as fleeting as a dream on the precipice of sleep.
You are like the ‘Q’ words in Scrabble.
You don’t come around often,
but when you do, it’s pretty rewarding.
I wanted to learn every combination of your letters,
but I was careful of my spelling
because I knew your grammatical ways.
Show me chivalry is not dead.
Prove the world wrong, stare it in the face,
turn the other way and take me in your arms.
Instead of a superman in tights,
you will be my savior in gym shorts
because that is much more real
than a dragon slaying demigod.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
I want to be fluent in your body language
I'm craving to speak the words of your fingers but I'm running out of
time
I need to know all the adverbs and adjectives that describe your ******
features
Tell me, please, the nouns you like to be
called
When your chest is against
mine
I'm scared of the verbs you'll do to
me
But I'm infatuated with your invisible
lust
So it excuses all your grammatical
crimes
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Too yu tis may seam wrong
Two a child with dyslexia it's not
Quick to point out to too or two!
Where were or wear or there their
Your grammatical prowese is a wonderful thing, the way you look down on those beneath
Sad to say for you It's to late as the **** party no lomger exists!
They can't all be as perfect as you
And for that I'm as happy as a fool!
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC
Remember how you begged to play?
You practiced and worked so hard,
Remember how disappointed you were
When they laughed you out of the yard?
You thought there was something wrong with you,
You bravely asked what it was?,
As if you were a child,
Those cowards said....
It’s “because,”
Because?
Just…“because”,
“That’s all!”
Did they think that would make you fall?
So cruel,
So quick,
It took no time,
Because,
No one ever asked them, “why”?
“Because”
They don’t even know the function!
“Because”,
A subordinating grammatical conjunction!
Without a sentence,
Without a reason,
You were supposed to stop and believe them,
Believe what fools can hardly say,
But you knew all along,
There was nothing the matter with you
"Because",
They were completely wrong
© B L Costello 2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
MENTAL PATIENT WRITING SOMETHING
Ayad Gharbawi
February 19, 2010 – Damascus, Syria
I love you all you
Or, all of you
I guess
I should write
Properly
Happy ones
Yes you!
Living you all
Drinking air
Vacuous nonentities
Am I describing myself or yourselves?
Supreme in my brutal
Powerlessness
Inertia is my magnificent pulse
Loss is my definition
That defines
My dumbest elemental stench
I live to see so-called teeth grinding
My teeth
Actually
I talk about
Am I being grammatical correct for you all?
Worms satanic
Within
Eyeballs melting from Sorrrow
And they then
Continually
Keep
Bleeding and looking fractured and pale
Didn’t Sane People
Tell me
Eyes are Souls into
Our lost Selves?
Or, something similar?
Weeping Nerves
That are
To dry
To move
Without a breakdown
I am scared, in a bed, a room
I involuntarily break my idiotically stretched lips
So, I become shy
From you all onlookers
Doctors and Visitors
Or Relatives?
Who’s who here?
And,
If I fake
That pointless
Smile
For any ashamed passerby
A sad banner
Shall be there -
Announcing my
Smashed structure
And functionless music
Will tell you my homeless address
Of my abandoned Mind and Flesh.
-----
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 9:04 AM UTC
i found two things bewildering,
alzheimer's attacks the pronoun
category, and other forms of it too,
but modern psychiatry
having abolished asylums for
a humane revision of its practice
has become a branch of medicine
that over-prescribes nouns,
and by such over-prescription
invents noun jargon,
it cut open an ancient greek word,
used the prefix (overly) and added a suffix (sufficiently)
to make no sense whatsoever,
it prescribes neonouns like it prescribes
pills that don't work... or if working
then in a negative way... anti-psychotics
can make you **** yourself in your bed
when sleeping, i've been drinking for some
time, and my bladder is arnold schwarzenegger,
when i used to be on anti-psychotics for
no adequate reason (living in a post-colonial
society does that to you, you can come from
lithuania or poland and be treated like a
would-be coloniser to extract the fastest
sprinters for a new country, without the "doctors"
treating you adequately),
so as i said: alzheimer's attacks the pronouns,
the iron core of the earth that's an individual
thus dislodging all the adequate orientations
of categorisations of words... like psychiatry
abuses the noun category: schizoid, schizo-affective,
plain dumb schizophrenic... bi-polar, uni-polar,
plain dumb depressed... psychiatry has long
established a monopoly on nouns...
i just use their terminology to excavate a new
grammatical categorisation of words,
from poetry, among nouns adjectives pronouns
and conjunctions... you'll find psychiatry nicely suited
and booted as a word categorisation: metaphor:
all psychiatric diagnostics should be categorised as
metaphorical... 'cos they name it... but have no idea
as to how to behave behind it: it's not like they
say cancer and you're expected to die...
you're expected to live in their terminology
of treating you for a ******* pay-cheque:
you won't even commit a crime, but they'll
treat you like a criminal... so long suckers...
i mean western europeans, i rather live in (as the
americans say) i-raq... and shoot a bunch of you
protected by what i see as the final solution
you thought was once church v. state...
how about segregating democracy (the church)
from bureaucracy (the state)... but of course
the two are mutually dependent.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
i know what the problem with poetry is...
it’s like nick harper tuning the piano
or tenacious d playing the one note song...
it’s almost like
had i the grace (#d)
to fathom the craze (#d)
of each acknowledging stare (#a)
we shared: i guess i’d fare (#a)
much closer to the stardom (#b)
of what i can fathom (#b)...
lead
-ed
red
well fed...
ya ya yawn.
apart from the humanities subjecting an art via mutilating
the one original craft of spontaneity
with such excess of scalpel and anaesthetic
as “discovered” theory...
no expression of language has as many “grammatical”
words to define its learning / interpretation as poetry...
whatever verb has against pronouns to make us anonymous
by excluding a personal stance of nouns...
so has poet against verbs to make us anonymous
by excluding a metaphor personalised given the nouns.
well one note does sound “serene” giving the rhyme couplet
when in music just the same old repeat of the so called rhythm: of a church at 11pm, i.e.
poetry is ruined by rhyme... rhyme kills rhythm
of spontaneity... and i'd hate to make poetry
the ***** of predictability of £110 an hour £10 extra
for oral *** performed on her... enter the realm of rhyme
and you enter a cul de sac:
i was headbanging, unsure whether it was the music
that got me started or the echo of my head autographing
a brick wall as a way to find teeth in a woodpecker's beak.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Have you decided it?
The name of your mascot?
The hair colour? The eyes?
The hair style? The skin tone?
The character race? Nationallity?
Have you?
"Just do it as you wish" — that's how you respond to my question
But no, I won't do that
Because for me — Original Character or Mascot is something that resembles you the most
Why do I bother myself to make one for you?
Because no, I'm not too good in writing, also in english — far below your ability, I often do some grammatical errors
But I'm quite good in expressing my feelings, memories, emotions on drawings — a picture that represent a thousand words
And for me who have been living a lie — hiding behind this fake smile, my world is an empty place
But you've seen the other side of me, and instead of leaving you nurture it
You give me strength with these memories, my feelings with you
That was the the realest side of me, where I finally can be honest to myself
So please, answer my question
And let me draw your mascot
Let me believe that it's true, our memories, our feelings, our emotion
Then carve these beautiful memories of us eternally, where I can find it really lively when I started to get drowned again in my living lie
Because without you that memory is nothing more than just an imagination
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
I'M GLAD YOU
think there's more to me than this
I'm glad that when the sun shines
it shines right onto your back
I'm glad it darkens your skin
and brightens your mood
I'm glad we are complete opposites
you smile at me and I smile back
you'll never be as neat as me
I'M GLAD YOU
say you love me
I'm glad that you love me
I'm glad you think you do
I'm glad that I'm not sure if I love you
it's easier this way
we stay, ok, we don't, cool
nothing really matters to me
I'd rather be halfway than
completely hindered
I'd rather be halfway than
completely hindered
I'd rather be halfway than
completely hindered
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
e3Author: Kristen Stevens
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
happy thoughts
Current mood: blissed out
Going to try something new for this one. I'm going to be happy or an approximate facsimile of it. Now you may ask, how does one go about getting into a happy frame of mind?
-Well, I find browsing the bumper sticker app is a good way if you are using your computer as a sole ***** of happiness.
-Watching the HMV hell video on my main page makes me giggle like the school girl (let's face it I was never a giggly school girl but the metaphor works)
-Thinking about how few people will actually survive the coming zombie apocalypse due to their utter stupidity finally catching up with them. (oh, I believe I’m getting giddy now)
-2012 because whatever is/is not going to happen people are going to lose their minds and well, I call it culling of the genetic herd.
-Milk, it does a body good. (I know, I know for any grammatical stickler out there it should be “does…well” but that’s not the line)
-Dr. Who, although I’m still waiting for my TARDIS boarding pass one day my doctor will come
Ok I’m going to quit now. If I get any happier, I might do some permanent damage to my cynical synapses. contented sigh
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
Is that an exclamation mark !
or an explanation mark !
when Life, is in a comma,
and all alphabets seems to have
broken their legs,
The word is the only
hope of life;
also one word answers ;
like
Life, love, lust, birth, death;
No grammatical errors;
Still the sentence is wrong;
hope is in comma,
Love is in a semi column;
Struggling for life.
pages have been removed;
Cancer cells are dotted lines….
ending with an
explanation mark!
exclamation mark !!
*
**
By
Williamsji Maveli
Email
[email protected]
**
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
Take the words
out from my mouth
please chew them well,
don't spit them out
Swallow them
deep into your throat
let them circulate,
let them float
into your mind,
into your heart
with my words
inside you,
we'll never part
and if
the time comes
that you should speak
in sharp punctuation
across my cheek
know that I might,
for a second,
hold my tongue
before it unfurls
and becomes undone
it might lash out
in a burning sting
from the shock of
the lexicon
that fervor brings
but then rage will
melt upon our lips
in satin threads
of fire
that burn their tips
and no temporary storm
will declare our pain
in language sacred,
and then
profane
I'd rather bind
my lips to yours
let the waves rise up
on speech's shores
let the tides of
forgiveness
spill out in phrases
as the moon whispers
bliss in hidden phases
and we'll forget our
periods and commas
and grammatical structures
as polished vernacular
turns to animal lustre
as we slide to the floor
verbal cannons unfired,
unheard
finally at
a loss for
words
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
So, this is the poem that I will end up writing
when no other poem is willing to do the work.
This is the poem I write when I'm past not
being able to sleep and I'm beyond
even trying. This is born of body burnout.
This unfolds as I unpack myself from
bags beneath by eyes.This is an ugly poem
unfolding from ugliness.
In this poem, I'll make an ambiguous allusion
to someone who is missing. The kitchen
feels suddenly too small.
This may be one of a few kinds of resentful:
parental, psychosocial, rebel-without-a-cause sentimental
but the poem blames something for what it is.
This poem is to say I am not a talented poet.
I'm a poet with a stammer, a non-poet, speech impaired,
a poet with neither the rage nor the riot.
So this poem may even plagiarise, for
not even poets have measured how much
the heart can hold. -Zelda Fitzgerald.
This poem throws itself down the stairs.
It burns down the asylum with stolen words inside.
How do I urge this poem to do better?
I can't, I can only keep writing it.
Writing out my resentment, my restlessness.
Wretchedness, Wanting. I can even break
linguistic, grammatical and syntactical
regulations By capitalising some arbitra-
ry Words and messing with enjambewhatnow.
This poem has found a neologism.
In this poem I CAN RAISE MY VOICE
for my wanting, and then in the same poem
shut my voice into a music box
to leave on your nightstand.
This poem has managed a neat trick. Illusion?
Some rhetoric magic. Some see a rabbit appear from
nowhere. Others see a girl being sawed in half.
.
The best (- though, at what?) could see both
but know it's not really about that.
They know it's about appearing as something
that are you not and that's a craft in itself.
As I or this poem already told you,
I am not a talented poet. I am just a girl
masquerading as someone she's not,
because she doesn't know what she is yet
or wants to be or could be, yet.
She and this poem may seem to have more
to them, to be even interesting,
but both are waiting for you to grow bored.
"
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC