"misspellings" poems
"She did the laundry
in the mirror of me
I saw myself in
the mirror and disagreed
with the smell,
The thought of you
was beautiful,
but I was wrong,
and a feeling of discontent
-ment
came over me,"
Misspellings
Mispronunciations
An unconquerable world
of big money
I parted ways with the large
and saw another even larger world,
One that was intelligent and reads
the Wall Street Journal, listens to NPR,
and says "wow" at the sound of hearing
one million dollars, or upon hearing about
San Francisco start-ups,
or Silicon Valley.
Or the opposite, in some ways, but still very
similar to - Virginia Woolf.
whose book on feminism
which I'm unable to explain fully other than
to say that she suggests
that women only need
a bedroom, money, clothes, etc.,
or rather, less than etc.
in that, they need little, but only the bare supplies.
That they should be able to supply themselves with what they need
for when their husband, which, you know, is not required, in her eyes,
for when he separates from her
and leaves her 'in the dust,' alone without anything,
perhaps only with a child, or in another instance, estate-less,
with only a white dress, really more of kitchen-robe than anything else;
like Virginia Woolf says, we should really try and dismantle the patriarchy
that we write and tell about. Reader, what do you after reading a story, article, or book on radical or moderate feminism say? The boys, like me, who will tell, or, try to tell their perspective of the book and say to the closest person around them, "I just read a great book by Virginia Woolf, she brings to mind an image of a university with white buildings and ends of roofs of university buildings leading along to the the main hall of architecture buildings, with sidewalks pristine and underneath people walking in their sweaters, collegiate, and later to make their way to art history classes in the fall evening. So, like Virginia Woolf, who makes you ask why you're not at the Parthenon, but instead are inside of your house, in a city that you don't want to be in, at a hospital, in your apartment, or surrounded by whoever, she nevertheless gives you have a feeling of longing-ness and a strong emotion of want. Virginia Woolf when will we go to Greece together? What do you know about Athens and classical architecture, I nearly beg you.
December 30th 2018 7:11am
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
VACUUM CLEANER TANGO
---Lyrics by Jonathan Caswell
(Some misspellings are due to rhythm keeping)
The Vac…cuum Clea…ner Tango,
Is like…a juicy…mango,
Those fi…bers will…entangle
Your teeth or brushes, pretty quick!
The girls…who do…the cleaning,
Are ev…ver so…well-meaning,
To move…around…guys leaning,
That watch…and approve…the show!
Plugs must…be changed…more frequently,
If lon…ger hallways…decently,
Are cleaned…the most…expediently,
It’s all…a part of…the dance!
The vac…cuum clea…ner tango,
A dai…ly chore…is wrangled,
By clea…ners star…spangled,
Perfor…ming it with…extra class!
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
Even if
nightmares, cats, leaders, *** beauty, hugs, feelings, melodies, technology, communication, life, abandonment, longings, mornings, electronics, kingdoms, followers, humiliation, darlings, hyperventilation, depression, Alonedom, ghosts, trundles, Hell, gravity, tickling, hearts, unicorns, twins, education, lost ones, ink, medications, pavements, thoughts, souls, suicide, walls, hatred, alcohol, oceans, soles, music, misspellings, transportation, buses, guts, Heaven, time, attractions, ***** hands, blindness, organs, dreams, bodies, distances, understanding, currency, energy, love, spaghetti, contentment, happiness, tears, fire, people, oxygen, tongues, children, peace, death, papas, zombies, homicide, blood, kisses, drugs, families, caffeine, mamas, space, parchments, baked goods, economy.
didn't exist,
I would still wish you would
But you don't anymore
so nothing matters.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
A close read
reveals that
I am nothing
but a rough draft
riddled with
misspellings—
a work in progress
watered down by
superfluous adjectives,
non sequiturs, and
smothered verbs.
Love is an editor.
She courts me
with a pocket of
sharpened pencils,
blue and red.
She marks me
up meticulously—
dele, stet
dele, stet.
Decades punctuated
by intermittent edits.
Sunlight slanting
through an hourglass.
Her hair as white
as the final page.
When the end comes,
will she love me enough
to give me another pass?
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
Please re-read as I will be making changes to this poem over and over
I want to tell you something
I am a man who loves changes
Changes of everything
You will see me suggest
A change in every retrospect
This morning I was re-reading
my own HP site and I was impressed
by my choices and how I ended up
With 3 different reposts of "My Fears"
from 3 different poets
that I reposted without me knowing
It's amazing how I am amazed
of my choices and have read them
like as if I am choosing them again
Now hear out my new suggestion
To HP and if you do like
Please make your voice be heard
It goes as follows:
If you like to relive the poetry
and you like to re-read your choices
and you like to reread the poems
you chose before once more
and get surprised while reading them
as if you did not choose them before
Then, we either need a second love button! Or
we need to automate the love button
and every time we reread it knows
and the love gets even stronger
and somehow it grows
Another suggestion that hit me in the head while I was re-writing my poem
*"The new suggestion is to give a comeback wink
to the previous folks who just read my poem
and ping them of my new important fix
To invite them to re-taste the cake that I just re-cooked
Or the cooking does not get posted
Until I feel its real good
and I press the release button
Before I let it go like I should
And may be we need to check our poem button with people that we trust
Before we embarrass ourselves badly
with a poem that may bust"*
The problem with this is honesty
That we don't do it for just the fame
So for this I need your opinion to fix
my suggestion in playing the game
and make HP an even a better place
and enjoy it again and again!
Additional suggestions to HP:
* please fix the current suggestions which is still lit even when I fixed my suggested misspellings. .. Call it repair
* a suggestion button to HP in the menu
* a share with others button that can grow .. You can click and see who I shared it with ... it can also be private
* a playback button ... Reads out loud
* a favorite button .. Quickly adds it to your favorites
* a read later button
* by double clicking a word you can ping the poet for a misspelling or a suggestion of a new word or love that word
* a unite with another poet button
* Go Interactive button .. Others can re-write your poetry!
* a challenge button .. Encourage challenge with another poet
* a marry me button .. which starts with an enragement ring ..
*friends .. siblings and brothers and family button ... they have to accept you as a family member!
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
Open shell
Pry fragments
Step
Step
Grow
Flag
Even upper
Higher
Move it like wildfire
Riff it like snot
One more time
Don’t corrct misspllings
Fix grammar
Correct misspellings
One more time
Even once more
Move on
to
another
mispld game
Fight fight ight
Kepz it kleanz
Doin it right
Conceptus
Remember
Nxt Level Cookie Maker
Chef of lives
Mix in souls
too many numerous few up down closed soul hole
Not profane enough
Fukc
Don’t correct misspellings
Ingrained.
Open your mouth
I’ll open my ears
I’ll close my ears and we’ll keep it up
Pullin’ faces
Eating too much,
but fasting on stuffing
incubate
synchubate
**********
Try
I won’t find
New thingsssssssssssssssssssssss
Old things
People n stuff
Open your eyes
I’ll open my nose.
*****
Foomf.
Pinch in fiction and fingers
Level up
Order of operations
Fades into subconscious
Pious
Holier than Mao
Heads & Tails
Open your feeling
I’ll open my fly.
(2014)
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
O sweet honey bun,
I'm scribbling as fast as I can,
writing deep penetrating thoughts,
things I think you'd like.
O, isn't this hot,
thrilling,
scintillating
raw techno-fun?
Your responses are so sublime,
genuine sultriness,
you have suggestive-words
of your own,
it's hard to keep up!
O, pardon my misspellings,
but the excitement is taking
me over the edge,
auto-correct can't even stop
my intent to be with you,
giving you my ******
O, I think you should know,
I cannot fight you,
the aura on my screen,
that view of you
makes me feel explosive.
So here goes doll,
I'm getting close,
I'm strumming myself
to the beat of your words,
I think I love this,
kissing you in space,
exploding to the glow
of modern moonlight.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Misspellings.
Coincidental; little mistakes
that make us
oh, so very
human.
A stroke or a little flick of ink that makes that dizzying difference
between what your lips wants to say
and
what is starkly conventional.
But trust me,
sweets,
when I write
I love you
at the
very end of
creased
coffee-stained and red lipped marked
napkins.
It isn't quite a mistake.
Hush those slightly alarmed eyes.
Perhaps, it's just my white heart painted red's
blissful
fall.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
spinach,
baby arugula,
alfalfa sprouts
typos, misspellings,
guns, gods, lies, news,
jokes.
mushrooms, sauté
suite suit
suits
you well.
you are well.
i am no more lonely, but physically alone.
or yeah, maybe just that much more lonely.
i hate work. not equally, but differently.
i love music, because it's all i have and
my life depends on it. get me through this!
me?
i crave
***
connection, even without ***
love.
or apathy.
i'm not sure where to go, what do do....
25 in 17 days.
i thought growing up made sense.
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 11:54 PM UTC
I don't want to **** you.
No, I want to be the midnight air
seeping into your pores,
witness the horrors
of your mind
and make them no more
I wish to row,
row,
row,
gently down your stream
of consciousness
and to arrive safely
at the solutions
to all your heart's
conundrums
and hope to God
that I am one of them.
I'll make love to you,
if you want to, too,
or lie silent in the night,
syncing heartbeats,
never touching you.
But I don't want to **** you.
I want to set sail to your words,
to conquer the ebb and ride the flow,
establishing allies and vanquishing foes
I want to know the history
of every mystery
that you find compelling,
to correct your m̶i̶s̶p̶e̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ misspellings.
To be the lyrics to your favorite song
to be the sunrise when the nights get long
Yes, I long to be the object of your sideways looks
and to sleep between the pages of your favorite books
To stare in admiration at your eyes
like constellations
and wish on every star
to know every part of who you are
To have my sun-baked skin
be consumed by the waves
on the curves of your face
To trace and map
every landmark
on your effervescent skin
and be the nervous sweat
that clings to it
I want to let your strong lungs intake me
and let your cool air sustain me
and pray that you might save me
a spot in your heart
I wish to start pulling your mind's
fibers and wires
and to start a fire
under your frozen tongue
and be the unsung hero
who rescues you from yourself.
I want to silence your loudest thoughts
and embrace your silent tears
and I want to make this clear:
I do not want to **** you.
I want to be inside you.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
reposted for my granddaughter, Emily Riddle, in memory of my wife, Karen Riddle.
I just couldn't do without
my grandma's heart necklace -
It was a gift to me, although
she passed away when I was little.
It also holds all of my mad,
sad, and happy memories,
just like it is a part of me.
I wear it on very special occasions,
since it is so unique.
When I wear it close to my heart-
it makes me feel special.
That's why I would always
feel happy, or at least, a little joyful,
when I hold it to my chest-
to pretend my grandma is
still alive.
She was very important to me-
We did so much together,
and I miss her,
and the special times we shared.
I can feel her with me
when I wear it, or hold it,
close to me.
Without this prized possession,
all of my feelings
would be lost,
with my grandma, in the sky.
My heart necklace
means the world to me,
and I wouldn't change
anything about it.
People say
"jewelry is made
to look beautiful."
Well, I say,
It was made to be a
"Memory Holder!!"
copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013
My granddaughter Emily, wrote this essay as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle. (She is about to turn 13.) Love you, so much!!
Granddad.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
My fingers barely connect with the keys
Making letters appear in perfectly straight lines,
Misspellings automatically corrected,
Bland sentences erased and replaced
If I ever wrote as well as I intended to
I would work for my words harder than
they've worked for me
I would form thoughts in shallow trenches
Working out every letter, digging the flow
Reopening blisters and blinking on stinging sweat,
if I ever wrote as well as I intended to
Let my verses stretch the length of the valley
Giving the earth a fraction of what
she has given to me
Let them climb the cliffs, bleeding
nubs of fingers guiding their path
Let my words fall to the sky in towers of smoke
And when I am finished
Let them be swallowed, corroded, and filled
Let them dissipate and separate, for no one else
will I ever write as well as I intend to
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
By Emily Riddle(age-9)
I just couldn't do without
my grandma's heart necklace -
It was a gift to me, although
she passed away when I was little.
It also holds all of my mad,
sad, and happy memories,
just like it is a part of me.
I wear it on very special occasions,
since it is so unique.
When I wear it close to my heart-
it makes me feel special.
That's why I would always
feel happy, or at least, a little joyful,
when I hold it to my chest-
to pretend my grandma is
still alive.
She was very important to me-
We did so much together,
and I miss her,
and the special times we shared.
I can feel her with me
when I wear it, or hold it,
close to me.
Without this prized possession,
all of my feelings
would be lost,
with my grandma, in the sky.
My heart necklace
means the world to me,
and I wouldn't change
anything about it.
People say
"jewelry is made
to look beautiful."
Well, I say,
It was made to be a
"Memory Holder!!"
copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013
(She turns 12yrs old on Feb 16, 2016)
My granddaughter Emily, wrote this as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
I guess this is more procrastination than anything else,
But writing is writing, amiright?
it's funny, starting a line with no capitalization,
you know what else is funny? Misspellings.
But that's not really what I was going to say.
There's something about pieces of my past that drum up passionate writings.
Congrats to you, if you're reading, you're a muse of somesort.
I was reading 1 Corinthians today.
Workin' on dat daily struggle, that getting closer to Christ grind.
Grinding on the cross.
hashtag: blasphemy
Conjures up images of Jesus at a dance
Back to the point: Paul urged us to stay single.
I find that so weird, but in reality,
It's no weirder than desiring others to fill our hole(s)
*There's a **** joke there somewhere...*
I'm being crass for the sake of it
An *** because that's what I make of it.
I write, I writ, I wrote
Am I right? This rite? Is it rote?
Wordplay
Really though, stay single, for the sake of your relationship.
That's what Paul said.
A married man or woman is tied down to this earth ever more than those unmarried.
Is that why I'm single?
I ain't even mad.
Even if I do miss the touches,
The hugs
The intimacy
I know that in it,
When I'm in the thick,
I miss my relationship with Christ more.
Where's the blood
Where's the body when I need it most?
I am the one locking myself away.
Eucharistic struggle
The Communion struggle.
That last line is a good summation of this piece
If this is a poem, indeed.
Maybe I need to make some lines that rhyme for the sake of the time you've spent reading this journalistic entry for the sake of my last century and maybe this one coming.
I'm bumming around for cigarettes that I don't smoke, for **** that I won't **** for a joke that won't end in any punchline you find funny.
Baby, honey, I need to leave; you need to see the light of day, and I need some time to pray, because everytime I'm with you I'm suffocating. You're pulling, and there's no more rope; you're the trickery, and I'm the dope. And every time my flesh was in yours and you were on me, I knew what we were doing couldn't be, and that what we were doing wasn't for me, but all for you. I'm all for you. I'm never not.
Except when I'm not.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
When I was younger
I had this idea of love
As being a prewritten script
I’d spot you on the dancefloor
Our eyes would meet
You would smile
I would smile
We would dance the night away
All of a sudden you would have to leave
It’s okay though
You would leave your slipper
That way I could return it
So that you could be my princess
What I didn’t know is that dancefloors aren’t meant for lovers
Or that your eyes would be like medusas
Turning my soul to stone
And that when you left
You shoe would stay on your foot
Leaving me with an idea of love when I was a little older
Love was my dad in the navy
My mom the traveling nurse
Meeting in Hawaii
Getting married in a church
Her waiting while he was away
They’d love each other forever
After all, they had me.
But sometimes mom and dad fight
And sometimes mom and dad cry
Because let’s face it
Mom and dad had this idea of love
When they were younger
And this wasn’t what they had in mind
When I was a teenager i had this idea of love
She had freckles and green eyes
One half Irish
One half Indian
She had all of my heart
She told me to write down my feelings
And to trust in love
Love way talking on the phone till 2am
And holding hands in public
But no one told me that love could have a father
And that sometimes dads drink
And go missing for a few days at a time
Or that love could leave for 6 weeks
And that talking on the phone till 2am
Could turn into never sleeping
Because love wasn’t there
No one had warned me that love’s letters sometimes have misspellings
And that when love returns home she wouldn’t feel the same
And she never did
Four years later
Sometimes I think about love
But not too much
I am kind of done pretending
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
By Emily Riddle(age-9)
I just couldn't do without
my grandma's heart necklace -
It was a gift to me, although
she passed away when I was little.
It also holds all of my mad,
sad, and happy memories,
just like it is a part of me.
I wear it on very special occasions,
since it is so unique.
When I wear it close to my heart-
it makes me feel special.
That's why I would always
feel happy, or at least, a little joyful,
when I hold it to my chest-
to pretend my grandma is
still alive.
She was very important to me-
We did so much together,
and I miss her,
and the special times we shared.
I can feel her with me
when I wear it, or hold it,
close to me.
Without this prized possession,
all of my feelings
would be lost,
with my grandma, in the sky.
My heart necklace
means the world to me,
and I wouldn't change
anything about it.
People say
"jewelry is made
to look beautiful."
Well, I say,
It was made to be a
"Memory Holder!!"
copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013
My granddaughter Emily, wrote this essay as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
I am a poet
who cannot spell
I prefer to love words
with my lips, my tongue
the inflection in my voice
its not that I don't like
writing
the action of ink on paper
but sometimes I **** up
and I injure a strong
colorful
word with my pen
and the shame of this
is enough to keep me distraught
if only for a few moments
because I love words
all words
especially the vibrant ones
I love the soft curve
of their voluptuous vowels
and their sharp corners
consonant collarbones
I love the words
who's many meanings
swiss-army swap
them into sentences
where you would not
expect to find them
I love soft words
who hiss past teeth
with a susurrus
and I love long
complicated words
with edges that could
cut. you. right. open.
with vitriolic intent
I could have chosen
any one of dozens of
lovely
words to fill that space
but I chose one
that I could not spell
Maybe it wouldn't be so hard
if I didn't always write in pen
but I am a stubborn man
who finds it easier
to forgive a few misspellings
than to live with the knowledge
that all he has written
will someday smear
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
my brain vomited
onto the page
all squiggles
and misspellings
unpunctuated
heiroglyphics
a secret language
only i
could understand
not prose
not poetry
not correct
just me
my pen
wreaks havoc
on unruled
paper
i am errant
i am irritable
i am irreverent
i am making
my way
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
you make fun
of my poem about sunlight
shining through your hair
the poem about how our hands
are created to fit perfectly
with the others
i understand
why you doesn't understand
but listen:
my love for you
can not be counted in touchings
or flowers or blushing
it will not be seen og heard
in the curve of my smile
or in the rhythm of my heart
mostly
you will only see it in my words
that become hundreds of poems
about how your eyes
become another colour
as your mood changes
and about how you laughter
fells like kisses across my cheekbone
about how
you are my sun and my moon
and all the starts and galaxies
caught in 179 centimers
if kindness
my love for you
can be seen
in the way my hands cramps
after i've written your name
all over the toilet door
it is seen
in the filled trashcan
with crumpled pieces of paper
because you don't deserve misspellings
or wrong punctuation
you don't even deserve
poorly written poems
you deserve real words
and a mouth
whom dares to speak int he daylight
instead of writing
on the lowest point of your back
and that is why
i smile and laugh
and reach out
for the paper in your hands
whispering april fools
and go home to the burn
my collection of poems
about your hair
and the sun shining through
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
I wrote once to the hypothetical love.
I said love your letters to me have had some misspellings
First of all, the name was all wrong
And so was the person behind it.
So a little while later I was up late.
And I had this thought.
Finally, the name on the page was right.
The laugh and smell and smile and hair and love
All of it was what I had waited for.
Sometimes I look at you and just smile.
And you look back and say What?!
And I say nothing never mind.
Let’s face it its hard during the moment to say everything
How can I tell you what you did for me?
I don’t really trust people because a lot of the people close to me have ended up ******* me over. You helped me trust again. You allow me to live by the standards I feel I need.
But most of all you bring beauty to my life.
You make me smile and show me yours and I just about die
And you hug me when I am sad
And when I am happy
And angry
And nervous
And sleepy
You kiss me when I need to be kissed
And when I don’t and when I really want to be
You inspire me to do what I love
And you have given me a person to call family
I love it when your hair is on me
And I accidentally spill your ***** paint water
And get sauce all over
And I drive to the middle of nowhere
And then realize you don’t know where we are
I can’t imagine being happier while being annoyed
Because you are you and I am me and that’s enough for you
And that’s why sometimes I look at you
Because what could be better to look at.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Dictionaries are wonderful things.
Spell-check, I’ve always admired.
My brand new tattoo
has misspellings of two
Of the words for which
you were hired.
Now I’ll wander through life
As an object of scorn
As this ink artist failed to reflect
That it’s “E’ before “I”
When “C”’s not involved
I mean, really, how could he forget?
There’s a ship that won’t sink
On my chest, done in ink,
With the slogan of
“Ankors Awieght”
I was drunk at the time
But you ought to be fined
Or at least give me back
What I paid.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 7:49 AM UTC