"phonetically" poems
they always seem to ascribe the stone age
with inventing the circle,
dinosaurs and the loathing of
x-ray via Archaeology -
ᛟ, or an ancient egyptian manuscript...
got the ******* wheelie on that ***** boo yah!
this is even weirder than Wittgenstein's observation
of late Copernicus... ᛟ-ray... huh?
you've been a peasant and you're still
curating a chance sharpening edit?
where's the ******* wheel with romans after
ancient egyptians and the babylonians
and for fuck's sake Hindustan!
O... where's O in Sanskrit? so who got the cartwheels?
the romans? huh?! a.d. b.c. buttered-up ****
if this makes sense... forget the universe,
alien civilisations... my own makes as much sense
as a gram of pepper and salt sneezed with.
hey flamingo! here's a signature in sepia!
banging on the bathroom floor - with Disney - passed
in those days: Lion Kong or King...
oompa loompa ooh ooh gorilla tyrant said so too.
they invented the wheel but forgot to phonetically
encode it with something similar...
runes, right, Scandinavian... ᛟ... i.e. O...
but i'd like to see ᛟ in a roller-coaster... just for gorging
on a regurgitation of jokes - and so i can
slang and slapper quick a blah in Jamaican slang
and say... yah mon' poo daddy do a diddy eff a flex
wit bling bling, cursor vector to noon
and da dwarfin of a shadow.
**** man, they invented the wheel but waited for the
romans to write the O... and it was music by then...
suddenly! huh?! the **** is this? whiskey straight up.
no wonder.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
funny
funky key
funeral rally
funnel nully
functionally nully
fungi guy
fundamental mentally
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
It's always your words that undress me.
Sobriquets, honeyed and multiple--
neck slowed over by narrator's
pale parlance. It's always my hands
that undress you. Motion diverse,
more adept than I expected. My
fingers feel separate and strange.
Our skin feels so starkly the same.
Dialectic crack in monologue,
made soft by the hot tongue of discourse.
Your open vowels morning-like, balmy.
I want you phonetically, fondly.
Our languages, various as Babel's.
We touch like snakes in love.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
ONLY for dear Eliot and his Amount
that’s in my serious head that counts
WOW! Dear Poetess, (referring to a best friend)
Your rhyming skill comes up to the HP service,
I mean surface,
ah, phonetically it sounds the same,
no one to blame,
in fact, I am an evangelist
and that's for HP true bliss,
IF I think what it is as it IS,
ah, that bliss
we may give through to dear Eliot as he IS,
he needs that amount
for his account
is also our account
as we all mount here
our creations
for many nations
worldwide
nothing to hide
as it comes only to demand that amount
for his and our account
his special baby
his special lady
seriously this is a thought-provoking one
huge one,
non comparing please, to none
but If I may say
not as huge and difficult as the Mount Everest,
the New Zealander Edmund Hillary and the Sherpa Tenzing Norgay
mounted the world's highest mountain,
is more than that, I reckon,
it is also known in Nepal as the Sagarmatha, now I start to sing
and it flows till Tibet as the Chomolungma, haha!
Remember this poem is just for Eliot from our dear HelloPoetry
from me, just the simple and humble Sylvia
as usual as we are creating poems for HP
we are oft in greatest glee
please don’t forget
the pure meaning and close target
of my poem today
well, I wanna say
make way
and hurry up to donate
an up-to-date
firm donation
as fewest as you can
but of course IF you can
as much and many as you are able
for our dear Eliot knight of our Round Table
he is fighting for this most important strife
we must help him ‘coz we are also part of this ardent life
worthwhile
for the apps mobile
HelloPoetry has become true famous worldwide
please help Eliot as quickest with this
‘coz this bliss for him, is also our bliss
and then we can create and send many a mile
our loved poems through our mobile
be noticed that I have done this blend
in a few seconds of moment
I have done this only for dear Eliot
may we have in the nearest future
for our poems a better structure
spending more time at our mobile on this spot
then we will enjoy a very lot
greatest glee and happiness for our dear Eliot!
This concise
I hope you’ll regard it as nice
thought it would be a brevity
as you can see I ain’t that wise….
PLEASE, don’t forget the Donation
then we can say to Eliot: Felicitation!
Sylvia Frances Chan
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
You've got a lot of black hair on the top of your head
that drips down your neck
shining rivulets
makes pools in your collar bone
ready face ready eyes like
I'm looking straight at you Mr
You've got weird skin that you pick at with white teeth
a smile that spreads across your body like an infection
You say sorry with a downward glance
pausing a stare that presses into my lungs
A voice that sounds like the taste of a peach
lips that taste like the sound of turning pages
If anyone could taste them. Ha
Clothes wrinkle in lumps draped on your angled frame
awkward and embarrassed out of place they seem to try to slink off
They don't like you for the lacking length of you finger nails or the way
You sit in the doctors office
Askew *where the **** do I put my feet and my elbows?*
hoping for something grim to come falling past
yellow teeth and purple line lips
parchment skin cracking a purse
(dribble drabble shibble shabble,
your face does something funny
phonetically
when it spews
truly inspira
ired bravo) my god be quiet
Mr dr sir
hoping for something To match the electricity in your head
Sit down for this Stella this is it is,
this could be it
I'm sorry
but
you know it's time to go
Cause they don't like you here not even love you
I don't think; I don't either and no one here
You don't either
And that's okay you know it's ok
It's time
It's okay
Stop talking to yourself
*****
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 11:13 AM UTC
If I was to describe her poetically
She's role her eyes and frown
She's to the point, explains phonetically
Always planned, with details written down.
The first to arrive at the party,
and lone behold, last to leave
Her buzz down to shiraz partly
But mainly her free spirit, or so I believe
Never one to hold herself back,
She'll sing, dance and chat to all,
And manages to keep her dignity intact.
Forget the belle, she rocks the ball.
Yet in her I confide
Catching me whenever I fall.
I feel there is no secret to hide,
As she has raised me to stand tall.
Over my 15 years I've learned
We are very much alike each other
And only one thing makes me concerned,
Prematurely, I've turned into my mother!
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
September 30, 1995:
My name is Ni Young Yoon,
Nye Yun Yun,
Nai Yung Youn,
Nhi Yon Yün,
Ni Young Yoon,
I can only spell it out phonetically.
Ni Young Yoon,
the three syllables float in my mouth
like the gibberish of a baby, bubbling out sounds,
resembling a language I never spoke, but taste on my tongue,
babbling to a mother I’d never know, but see in the mirror.
My name was Ni Young Yoon.
January 23, 1996:
My name is Natalie Rose Sereda,
Natalie, my dad’s favorite actress,
Natalie, my mom’s favorite singer,
Nata, my grandpa’s twenty-year-old nickname,
Nat!, my younger brother’s call from downstairs,
Neeeatalie, my older sister’s Chicago accent,
My name is Natalie Rose Sereda,
words tucked into the bed of my tongue
fast asleep under the roof of my mouth,
a baby wakes up after a long flight over,
she is greeted at the gate, named in the airport,
and in this moment, in the arms of her parents, she is born.
My name is Natalie Rose Sereda.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
rectilinear, oracle, eschew
today's words
apparently eschew and a sneeze are
interchangeable, phonetically speaking.
have you been holding out on me?
i'm all for said sensual urges and
wild manic destroying of the yurt, but please-
rest of us just gotta be sensible.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 1:10 AM UTC
as space sufficiently expresses, or succinctly paraphrases with the concerns for time: or hue, or suntan, or baritone hummed weakening into a humph... crazy-bone etc.; sometimes poetry is so much more than the usurping of onomatopoeia... life is the essence of being timed, but that's hardly the essence in the space we occupy - over-versed thinking never formalised toward an outer-reaching imagination that might become copper-raindrops' worth of Disney, or a way memory is made adaptive to cure dementia... yes, space is the essential component for the compartment of life... i believe time has no place in what's to be called life, i believe time exists, but on an Olympic scale, in the metres and millimetres, on the minutes and seconds scales... space is the essence of life: so diverging from known apparatus to unknown operations, thus so diverging from known operations to unknown apparatus... and so on and so forth, until dinosaurs roar and we merely say: yawn - arrogant in our guise.
true, space devalues time; as said the people between us who we never had a meal with, but had the crazed look of craving an unnecessary contentment with despair. can i guess at something? i like your alphabetical onomatopoeia, i.e. pun for knocking, a sorta p p p / b b b, not necessarily needing the suffix for rhyme, why is it that poetry requires the echo, why not rhyme upfront? anyway... but it's there, that alphabetical onomatopoeia... a repeating of the first letter, like opening an oyster... which contradicts the orthodox methodology of rhyme... meaning that there's a repeated seance of an opening... which (although alphabetically staged to a prevailing repeat) equips the reader with many more surprising alternations - basically you begin with what rhymes alphabetically, but not necessarily phonetically: the lost suffix -ing via i had a cat called blinding, and he said all things were shining... one of your poems enabled me to spot this reversal of poetic orthodoxy, in that the rhyme became less musicological, and more rubric enlisting a coherent schema, such as a list... or rhyme via propped first, and cascading into oblivion, never really minding the waggling tail of a bouncy-ball of accepted verse. aardvark and acupuncture... the rhyme begins with A, and ends as it should end, diverging, so there's no feel for a repeat akin to drum or rhythmic bass... otherwise: shout an A into a cave and hear an echo... that's what poetry is damnably worthy to congest one's thinking with... don't rhyme: echo! and ensure that echo is alphabetical rather than musicological. perchance lessened talk, i too would have revised this example with some worthy emoticon.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
Why are you not capitalized?
Capitalized but not as granted, but mutual gain.
I talk to You and oh insignificant I seeks to look down upon its better and is assisted by the selfish nature of punctuation.
The way I talk pales in importance to You, phonetically we stand together as vowels; sometimes why, but always You.
The inspiration of You is the very motivation to write what I think.
So why, when You are the origin and I is the eager, fervent reaction, that culture dares to credit i for what You caused?
© Cole Silvers
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
Reverberating random radio waves
waves of blank blasting bells
bells of unfounded fickled fear
fear in cumulous clouded clatter
clatter of sick ******* sounds
sounds like you yearn your years
years of finding fallen failure
failure to see second sight
sight of blinded brilliant brain
brain farts form filthy fumes
fumes of angry artistic air
air is thick with wasted words
words that remain regretfully wrong
wrong way to tell twisted tales
tales of virtual visual *****
New style of poem i am working on. In first verse, the first three words must start phonetically the same. In the other verses, it must be last three words. Hard to make sense by these rules, but it was fun.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
she's no deva of mine
no caterpillar concubine
no cocoon consort
no butterfly courtesan
she's four tigresses in one
suckling, wandering, denned and leashed
And I'm following the track of them all
She's my white tigress of Nanjing
and though I haven't ever practiced kungfu nor qigong
I have applied to be her jade dragon
Or at least one of her green dragons
In order to help her to reach one of her nine illuminations.
So I fused my qi and ching and shen
and turned myself into a Knight of the Order of the Porcupine
and offered to gently tatoo with my quills
Her mound of Venus
with a motto of invisible yet immortal ink saying :
"Qui s'y frotte s'y pique"
Written phonetically [kisifrotsipik].
I thought because I sat just like a buddha
I was at that moment a buddha
I thought that if I breathed like a green or jade dragon
She'd let me have a bite at her immortality.
No way, my tigress said :
You just can't be and have been
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 5:28 AM UTC
I once sat here on my balcony
-around this time I think-
Writing songs out
Phonetically for you all to read..
Eventually I decided to just set
Paper and crayons
On fire while surrounded by
Those three dead bees my mother killed
With my chancleta earlier...
**** was brutal because she was
Yelling while killing them...
And I remember that I couldn't help
But laugh at her and her distraught!
I imagined her as a ******** vocalist for my band..
I think she'd suit a straight-edge band though..
Maybe some Christcore..
But she hates my music and we've grown apart.
But just as I was sitting here melting
And burning stuff, and writing stuff amongst the dead,
I was sitting with them, the bees,
For those past few days when they were alive..
I even took pictures and videos..
I can imagine myself saying "I didn't want them to die"
Because perhaps I didn't want them to die.
"Go **** them! Death to bees! Take this broom! It's on the net!"
But I didn't do it.
I once sat here on my balcony
Around this particular time and
Wrote a similar poem..
I once, but in intervals, did twice
The movement of a single brisk breeze
For double the time of a considerable
Moment amongst the living.
It was deafening.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
*it all started so innocently, a man sitting in a
darkened garden, just prior, a thunderous
calamity passed the skies - in the darkness
he quickly surrendered himself to a mantra:
wee wee wee vee vee vee
wee wee wee vee vee vee
wee wee wee vee vee vee
wee wee weekly vee vee veering...
ma ma ma na na na
ma ma ma na na na
ma ma maternity na na nativity.*
upon noticing the many forms of the mouth,
the serpent tongue, whenever used, and how,
the collapse of the lips, or their opening -
it started on the optical basis:
why is w named a double-u? optically speaking,
the symbol w represents a double-v,
after all, a cruder, easily chiselled-in symbol
for a rock-face, nothing akin to the omega curvature,
which does indeed look like a double-u (ω) -
phonetically speaking, it has to be investigated
looking at the pronunciation of every letter
when governing a word alphabetically -
for example, in using v, the central incisors touch
the bottom lip ever to briefly, there is no use
of teeth when *w" is spoken, although the lips create
a ~pout (approximate of)...
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Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
when a person's
internet usage
is reduced to a genetic malfunction
and you begin to wonder
if x
S
x
actually means a
fear of words,
an oversized emoticon -
a selfie gone awry -
or an Amazonian tribesman
finally finding an outlet to
phonetically encode farting... mm hmm...
time to shine! bobbing buttocks ahoy!
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
I just had this light go off
in every brain cell I got
that as a young amorous lad
all full of it with no
other thoughts 'cept
girls and baseball
I might have come across
lustfully
or recreationally
the two )baseball and her moans( did meet,
with Susie in the back seat , in '75,
when I felt I could not hold back
long enough for her
to also reach the top of
Mount Ecstasy,
that is another story
so, several decades have passed
since grand
was
more grandiose, now
more with wisdoms
passions,
than the fertile
fumbling in a Rambler did
back when,
i think of words, and passion
more phonetically
than tactily.
And write as if
the metaphors
might bring the feeling
back.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
Isn't English fun to learn--
Especially spelling and pronunciation?
It's hard enough for native speakers
And is the cause of a lot of frustration!
Think of female deer, does,
And then the form of "do," "does."
Consider the "a-s" found in "as"
And how it is pronounced in "was."
We have ears on our heads.
Add a "b" and you've got "bears."
There's also "e-a-r" in "earth."
And a funny "e-i" found in "heirs."
Look up and see a star.
Add an "e" and you've got "stare."
That is not so hard perhaps.
But why does "stare" rhyme with "where"?
"Say" is easy to say, all right.
But add an "s" and you've got "says."
But if you add an "s" to "hay,"
You do not pronounce it "hez"!
Back to "where," which rhymes with "air."
But look at the "e-r-e" in sphere.
"I" before "e" except after "c"…
But what about the weird word "weir"?
"Tough" and "though" are always fun.
Then there's "through" and "ought" and "drought."
Don't forget to drop the "b"
When you say both "debt" and "doubt."
Throw in apostrophes,
And English teachers really have fits
When they are used for writing plurals
Or when "it's" is used for "its."
Forget all the silent letters
In words like "write," "knot," and "pneumonia."
If you said, "I made the rules,"
I'd have to say, "I disown ya!"
It wouldn't work to try to write
All the words phonetically,
For Easterners and Southerners
Don't say all the words like me.
For many years I've been around English--
Hearing, speaking, discerning it,
Exploring its countless nuances.
I guess I'll always be learning it.
-by Bob B (8-28-17)
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
zyklon: ficken ratten!
we called them: Swabians... sh-v'ab-b' and then the hollowing out either Y or I... szwaby... schwabian... you call one germ the other: something to be rid of.
have you noticed
how the multicultural
factions of "nation"
begin a rare
migration wave of invetment
in Darwinism
i.e. less primate
and more vermin...
how they... run away...
how they...
retain: scuttling like rats?!
who's the vermin now?
ficken ratten!
i still said that sour-kraut made
sense with a kebab!
the acidity would have cut through
the fat!
ficken ratten!
who's the vermin now?
no matter...
gas 'em out.
- and they better speak
proper Bedfordshire accenting
on their way out!
******* vermin.
for someone who doesn't reach much journalism
if one "they" read the story in
the english newspapers,
once upon a time not too long ago...
there is much more spite in
calling an ethnicity vermin
then being lazy phonetically
and not invoking the suffix
-stani...
what, provoked by prickly
word shortening via
a mere prefix ****
no one budges when
Afghanistani is shortened to
afghan-...
do i even need to make that
a prefix i.e. with a hyphen invoked?
obviously being misinformed
is the new: being "informed",
notably in a global world combating
local media, local affairs,
local grievances...
but no! word on the moon
counts as more than the word on
the street...
and if you don't walk
the same streets as the person who walks,
breathes, speaks them,
what word of a citizen half way around
the world, actually differs from
the word of the politician
to the local?
apparently a private citizen half way
around the world has as much
power over a local citizen as
the local politician has over him...
populism at its vaguest,
solitary confinement populism,
populism without a cause other than
the cause for individualism,
and the soon to impede claustrophobia
of the ultra-individuated "self"...
yes, that's "self", for sooner or later,
individuation will creep upon
abstracting into insignificance
the point of a self to speak of.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
Hearing your name is
like hearing an infant say
dada! for the first time
Phonetically I know it’s easier
The babe will never have daddy issues at the rate she’s going
But I’ve got mama issues
Alwayswantingtobeeverythinglikeher
Alwayswantingtobeeverythinglikeher
Alwayswantingtobenothinglikeher
To you
I must be
Everything
like her
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 5:27 AM UTC