"onomatopoeic" poems
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a fermentative reality,
Where words are symbols of relation
That you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
And how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August, Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repitition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
*(asterisk)
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a figmentative reality,
where words are symbols of relation
that you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
and how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August 28th
Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repetition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
Asterisk*
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
Nobody knows who Mona Lisa is in reality
Oh Leonardo my love
you need not tell
that I come to see you
invariably in your dreams
reviving our first kiss
No I shall not pronounce the last
each and every painful farewell rhymes
an onomatopoeic verse of please stays
and stay this time Please
I know that you can if
you make it such that
truth belongs to everyone
All as one made of our love
spirit born as You
and I will gaze through
lifetimes and generations long
exchange love to love
be of yours and theirs
there is no difference really
when each look carries the code
of your of my of our
and mirror their
enlightened face.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Regret is the consequential disappointment
That the thrilling transgressive frisson your
Online ****** therapist offered for a number.
On the web no one knows if you are a dog
But the Daily Mail knows if you are a love rat
Their readers will wallow in your misfortune.
Millions have had web fantasies exposed
Sharp onomatopoeic cheating thrills have
Become a fear of secret lives found out.
Their private diversions now public lead
Nervous executives newly emasculated
To realise life is short, shorter than desire.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
Vanilla vowels
and creamy colored consonants
Naughty or nutty nouns
of almonds, apples, apricots
Aphrodisiac adjectives
and very berry adverbs
Passion fruit phrases
pirouette like peaches in thought
A pomegranate patter
that pronounces a pronoun
Or perhaps in veiled vines
velvet verbs purr
Wondrously whipped
words of love
Salacious sentences
with strawberry stirred
A mellowed musk melon
of a metaphor
A salubrious simile
sits like a sapote crown
Amorous alliterative adventures
with romance and raisins
An ooh la la of orange oomph
onomatopoeic sounds
An orchard of the alphabets
in a fruity potpourri of speech
A bearish pearish play and
plum pun on words
The language of love
written with love
In this hash mash
bonhomie
Valentine verse
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC
Bells, bells, bells,
I hear mellow bells
Merrier than sea bellows,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, sang a cloud grandly dressed in white.
Bells, bells, bells,
Who canst tell the mellow bells
Merrier than birds of the Vales?
Bells, bells, bells,
Upon my back novelty shores he'll sight.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, cheerfully didst reply many a Kite.
For Christmas is here,
For Christmas is near,
Just around the corner
Heralding so fresh a year,
For as fades the sun this year's to avaunt.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
They're but jingo bells—bells of delight.
O, dear Kites hold on tight
Whilst we set for our flight.
So, upon the back of the cloud,
There proudly didst shroud
Many a kite, I say, many a Kite,
And away from human sight
They didst glide and glide,
Yonder a dewy rainbow-like glade,
Yonder silvery whispering rills,
Yonder verdant charming hills,
Yonder so halcyon a limpid indigo sea,
Yonder a realm of many a golden tree,
Yonder a realm of lofty towers,
Where there are opalescent flowers
Well watered by eternal nectar streams
Serpentining by in the land of dreams,
Yonder a rose-scented ineffable clime,
Yonder beyond restrictions of time
Whilst whispering, bells, bells, bells,
To the mellifluous whispers of the bells.
#Onomatopoeic #Diacopic
*Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
21st.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.*
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
the beauty of english nakedness, look at it for long enough
and you get to retract or at least crab-walk east
into the pincer plateaus of the frozen tundras and see
again, proustain afresh in the cork-lined room:
what bothered me was the acute stress on the faroese a -
english really is a blank canvas: or a complex canvas with
many unique distinctions of individual words - perhaps
the dementia crisis in english-speaking societies -
also why the accent diversity between all those who come
to learn it, and those who live in the zeitreich
of the absteigen sonne - but theories are theories.
so back to the blank canvas, which allows so see
the dynamics, although as i said, the acute faroese a
(acute, because derived from the latin verb of needlework /
puncture) - ~etymology (approx. because not
related to words but phonetic units, i.e. letters)
thus reveals that the latin accents died, truth tooth
of the phrase latin is a dead tongue - but not as dead
as when you see remnants of the transformation,
in that certain latin activities (verbs) spawned the stressing
revisions on letters to appropriate the nordic and germanic
slavic, *** and celt into its ***** acute to puncture -
like the polish acute o (ó), meaning to puncture the o
and make a U sound, although when otherwise acute is
needed, but the geometry is less obvious it means not to stress,
but sharpen, cut-short, exfoliate into a range of onomatopoeic
comparisons: sneeze - wheezing - high pitch flute -
play the clarinet - pincer the tongue - pliers -
god knows what instrument i'm really playing: ć, ń, ś, ź -
cut the letters from cen nan sap zed into the uniqueness
of the actual first letter, go into roman do re mi fa so la
****** musicology) rather than greek omega omicron
alpha beta. so this acute faroese a, what bothered me
was the suffix -áp... the p you see, if the accent dynamic
was to end with a german umlaut -äp or with a
māori macron -āp... i would have said the p...
rather than ending with a b.
*"heimlich" tongue-numbing d.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
Metaphors like similes
Alluring alliteration
Onomatopoeic sounds
Swish swash through its creation
Full of figurative constructions
To skyscrapers of the soul
That rise to a crescendo
Then with bathos quickly fall
So what is it I have written?
Just a stream of consciousness?
For if I claim a classic poem
Then you’d be right to take the …. :)
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
Menaced by a triumphant chanting of lament
Entrancing the soul of Hades’ kin
Missed eruptions of the sensory nerves
Onomatopoeic of hollow gongs
Resonating, maimed through the indescribable facets of
Your forgotten youth.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 5:32 AM UTC
Don't forget your lighter. Your mother only has one and the stairs are between you. Matches aren't great, their strike catches the onomatopoeic air, and your hands will smell like birthdays. Don't leave them either, burnt out, on your white windowsill. Check your window opens before one in the morning, they don't like to be woken up. Don't panic if it creaks; guide its sleepy sash with patience and that t shirt your mother hates. Try not to think of spiders. Pile pillows by the door, loose the sheets. Your sister has very good hearing. Look at the grey wool sky, count its sparse stars. Be quiet, be still, and do not think of the boy who has kissed another girl tonight. This, is your time.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
A poem, to me:
A statement, speech, a view.
Onomatopoeic metaphor
About me and you.
Plotted and planned,
Or just a thing I do.
From instress to inscape,
Hopkins-like,
So very, very true.
A riotous myriad of colours,
Scented roses,
Touches new.
In verses and stanzas,
Pocket pictures you see;
Iambic rhythms and pulses,
Traditional verses,
Or free.
Time for tea.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 5:21 AM UTC
Old Harry talks too much,
Devoted to onomatopoeic sounds.
He listens as consonants
Emanate from his mouth.
The gentleman, patriarchal
In his way, deprived, solitary;
Talking to the hypothetical
Companions in his psyche.
Old Harry gets no reply,
Devoid of company is the liar.
They used to sing years ago,
The devil's only friend is fire.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 4:03 PM UTC
I attended a poetry session today,
Enacted by poets through their
Onomatopoeic, gesticulated gestures,
Clenched ****** strained or wide-eyed,
Shifting their weight from one foot to another,
Like dodging their public speaking fears,
To the other leg,
As they tried to build
A rapport with the audience,
Through their words as they (the words) sifted
Through the folds of the air
To make a silent thud against
An attentive soul's solid, soiled exterior.
While reciting, looking into lit screens,
Scrolling up and down,
And trying to look for that line,
That trail of thought which was (most) perfect
Only in its untimely, chaotic, vague birth in that mind.
As the poets tried to familiarise
Themselves with their feelings
Presented on a fresh paper in
A font different from how
It had felt in that first gush of thoughts,
When they had probably first thought of
Penning down their thoughts,
Wise as they were to realise how
Precious they were.
Maybe they wanted to
Articulate their thoughts in written,
But ended up pinning them down.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
Xanadu; quintessence of the words,
Of beauty to our ears.
Not love of mind nor fanciful sight,
Nor tenacity of breath of those who might,
Speak provocation of effusive tears.
Diversification of those whose diction,
Expansion was sought imploringly,
Displayed meek thirst,
For knowledge first;
They’ll be blessedly beset linguistically.
Longing rills of liquefied utterance,
Reverberating waves aplenty,
Bellowing whispers loud,
Heard from within a shroud,
Giving rise to a barrel never empty.
Roaring murmurs of ripples in thousands
Cascading to oceans below,
A fast falling downward demise,
Sounding white truth and that of black lies,
Of onomatopoeic H2O.
Not stringent is the string of letters,
Lax are the words to be strung.
Not sequentially,
But dulcetly,
Outward beauty will be rung.
With a patterned strike using one’s cerebella Mallet
On the gong of one’s cerebral stock,
Eloquence imbues,
The mind your ears use,
Curtailing the perpetual tick tock – tick tock.
Facile masks circle that face,
Consuming as they revolve.
Filched is elation,
Taken is creation.
Yet knowing the inevitable resolve.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 6:16 AM UTC
You were once
A random etcetera,
Woman I hardly knew;
Best friend I always wished for
Muse I always dreamed of,
You came into focus
Out of the blur,
Now you are my synonym
And the world is our antonym,
Let's become an onomatopoeic,
Sound of joy,
Two drops dripping upon the waters,
A splash a spray or sprinkle
Whooshes in the breeze,
Fluttering flags of independence,
A sign for all to see,
Two souls united
Inseparable hearts,
Beating as one
To a tune all our own,
If we inspire before we expire,
Let no one extinguish this fire...
© okpoet
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 2:41 AM UTC
I have a difficult time saying, Awkward.
And it's not easy to spell.
It isn't forward, or backward,
Just awkward.
Oh! That was awkward, the duped say.
He's awkward, but will grow into those feet, quipped the coach.
When I met you again,
Awkward hardly was enough to define the moment.
And, months later, it's still awkward being near you.
I need to touch your hand, purposefully,
To get over this awkwardness, because
I don't see it in your eyes,
Or hear it in your voice.
We don't have time for awkwardness;
A word so onomatopoeic,
It's awkward saying it.
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 12:14 PM UTC
Words shout and clang
In a bouty bang
Putting this state in a pang
Caring not about death showing its fang
The cause of the hullabaloo?
A protest against the heart
Who arbitrarily gives orders
And expects words to group
Even if they don’t like each other
Hate always shatters
When he has to be with love
His placard says
“Pay overtime, your work drains”
Obsession causes a ruckus
When she has to stand with reason
She, like fire, blames reason for
Always pouring water on her and inviting calm
Fear shouts in concern
He never wants to meet death
But at this rate, his life is in danger
And his manhood is never to be questioned
Obsession bangs reason
Who sings and cringes
As hate pushes love who falls
Cupid gets to the scene to help
The heart shuts its doors
Sits scared at his desk with worry
Listening to them
Knowing not what to do
They forget they have rented a head
Their clashings, crushings
Bangings and suckings
Creating a war on my quiet head island
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
is it too much of an onomatopoeic dissonance that this is synonymous to
regret dubbed as slouched nirvana. Across the bonfire, there’s volition
as glare, light as judgment. Why they call her
Luningning, I know not.
Take excess for jaunts and flesh, and pay no heed to illusions. The mirage
on the wall is but fire-dance on the bitten lip of true company.
heady static pierces pinecone. Soon the moon will sink like **** to **** Or felled star as tripled glaze of salted lip. Or the ****** of the butterfly.
Are we here to metamorphose these tiny susurrations into a commune?
Dank and stale as piss-laced pavement, the whole world now
spires in uneven strobes. The last song on the karaoke as memory. The knead
of temperamental air on the scalp. Take pork rind for bread, intemperance
as tribute. The night dons its silken robe and shows her pair: two moony eyes
piercing the noise.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 12:54 AM UTC
Let's have a gathering.
I'm inviting all readers and contributors of HP
To my house for New Year's Eve.
Ring in the new and all that stuff.
We'll have a bonfire.
Bring your worst poems
(not the ones published here)
I'll keep the fire going for the first hour.
All our tinder will get free light.
Bring your inkless pens, blank paper,
Keypads, phones, laptops,
And we'll toss them all on the heap.
We'll drink, and smoke, and curse;
May even use some bad Trump words
As we quaff, inhale, and turn the air blue.
We'll feed the metaphoric coals with odes,
Watch them rise to heaven in simile sparks,
Smell the figurative smoke,
Hear the onomatopoeic couplets sizzle.
We could burn an effigy of Elliot,
That's with a Y not a T.S.
(Just for fun...)
Several pinatas, one Pence for sure,
You can bring your favorite to beat on.
Can you imagine the fun we'll have?
And when the evening comes to a close
In the early morning,
And the fire has died down,
We can read our best aloud
To put everyone to sleep,
To alleviate the hangover.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
'Quit!'-- the most powerful word
I know
one that
I'll never let go-
sounds grandiosely onomatopoeic
( a word that never fails to stick)
it shakes
the existing foundation
and order of things
it compels
listening and reckoning-
the establishment
is held aghast and asks:
'Is this a sting
to everything
we hold sacred and dear?'
( why should the present masters fear
if of their own stand they stand sure?)
'Quit!'
a word
so final
affirmative
decisive
prophetic
as though
the bulwarks of the old
must give way to the new
(and what's that 'new' happening?--
those who are threatened are asking)
' Quit!'
how glorious the word!
audacious
pugnacious
cantankerous
unrelenting
uncompromising
non-conforming
unflinching
unyielding
irreverent
intransigent
belligerent
most triumphant !
unashamed
contemptuous
of the current state of being
virtuous
as it would not prostrate
before what it deems to demean
human morality or decency
it would not cow
to suppression or tyranny--
' Quit! if you want to be free!'
How often
in my youthful days
' Quit!' swamped my mind
before those who controlled and bullied me
as I was poor and weak
with no recourse
to any safety nor sanctuary-
how they took delight to see
me at their mercy--
my misery made them happy
' My time shall come'
myself I did promise
through sweat and tears
I laboured waiting for the dawn
when I would shake off the yoke
of my unhappy years-
' Patience, patience, patience'
to myself a thousand times I said
' The time has not come, you must still wait
in more patience, yet more, more and more' --even in the dead
of night the word returns to haunt
weeks followed days, months followed weeks
years followed months, decades followed years
my struggle took three decades-
the price of freedom didn't come cheap
then came the crowning moment
and before the inquisitors I threw my gauntlet
looked into their fearful and perplexed eyes
and exclaimed : ' I QUIT!'
(the most senior of them fell from his seat!).
Quitters of the world
unite!
you have nothing to lose
but your chains!
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
slipshod toboggan feeling
before nakedness reeling
past dried vandals on walls
colorway harum-scarum
entrails of blinded sides
open to eyes and their
possible misconceptions
such that
baring all is showing less
and showcasing more
is no other than pretension
going guillotine
sick or sane in one
asylum afloat
like flotsam there
and jetsam here
hoarded onomatopoeic
cacophony: street beat
back to basic superstition—
no continuations or ellipses
tell-tale that gamblers all
and losers swell, the jazz needed
to synchronize in tune,
an off-beat gyration in split-screen
flat affect. exeunt.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
"No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt." - hunter thompson
but it did, Hunter.
and the silence grows fuller
like a plane to Nicaragua,
or the sudden surge of quiet
after two bodies have already
fallen from the vertigo
of pleasure.
treading the barbed line of
living as the wind acrobats
and mangles itself into
a dagger - a sharpest edge
of memory's telling:
i am endlessly searching
for something i cannot name.
scouring for lost things
in the pocket of this
realm. tentativeness
a tenfold - sink or swim.
mind dwindles somewhere caught
like a flailing fly in the lair
of a relentless tarantula.
furiously this night grows
insectile in its habiliment,
buzzing and drilling against the
walls pounding on them like
a man would, angered and hostile
behind narrowing faces of wall
in steep confinement.
tiptoeing
through shards
fire
song
light
no light
silence.
this won't hurt
under secret strobe and
cigarette haze
this won't hurt
underneath the parasol of
influence as the cosmos rains
weighing down eyelids close to
pavement
this won't hurt
this won't hurt
won't hurt this,
won't this hurt
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
see, i'm with the kids, cheese, down with the kids, they write in acronyms and emoticons, i just incorporate many symbols that make sense.
oh, wait, now i know,
it’s because you’d say ‘miu’ for μ
rather than onomatopoeic cow ****
like you say miusic rather than moosic -
it’s the same in russian,
an invisible softening of the m - hence mьusic:
or just the invisible hovering i,
littera non grata - or an iPod:
the mishandled judgement concerning
advertisement strategy.
in other words, given a mathematical
sense of what was being said:
akin to f(x): ь(x + ~y), the Russian indicator
of a grapheme (e.g. æ - strange that
this grapheme should balance on -sh,
as in ash, tongue swallowing antics
in practice); as in the case of mьusic,
whereby x = m, and ~y = u, due to
the insertion of i.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC
Launch a caustic haiku turned flailed terzanelle
Three lines of blather from a piqued poet’s feather
Skillful syllables omit nature; gone straight to hell
Obsession sketching rhythms rhyme then measure
An ink blot parking lot commencing to swell
Three lines of blather from a piqued poet’s feather
Jot, “Not the verse that got away!” I yell
Prosodic and onomatopoeic
An ink blot parking lot commencing to swell
Fingertips that linger quips mythopoeic
Bring monochroic wars of subtle allure
Prosodic and onomatopoeic
My iambic pentameter’s amateur
I’m done with these words, ink, terms altogether
Bring monochroic wars of subtle allure
To ponded frog on a bough’s frond, any weather
Launch a caustic haiku turned flailed terzanelle
I’m done with these words, ink, terms altogether
Skillful syllables omit nature; gone straight to hell.
A. Paige White 6/1/20
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 10:47 PM UTC