"predicate" poems
I feel like he was created just for me.
I think im holding hands with Destiny.
He Encourages me to be The Woman The Father has presdestined me to be.
Hes like a dream given unto me.
He sees straight thru me like he can hear my thoughts telephatically.
Got me fiening for him like jodeci
Plunging into the depths of his soul's love as I enjoy The journey of his story....
Hes The Instructor of love and Im the student thinking critically.
He has left An impact on my life tremedously.....
Im drowning in his love ever so endlessly.
He is Waves from the oceans currents of
pure bliss
And I......I am his ocean shore that his waters of love kiss.
He's like a precious treaure I have discovered.
Unlocking the chest to look inside and see what I have uncovered.
Im happy for what I have found
Hes A King worthy of Sparkling crown.
I wish I could wear his love Like a White Flowing Wedding Gown.
I feel he completes me like a sentence Yah is the subject, He's the predicate and im the noun.
With his words he painted a vivid picture of me
Its a picture with definition, depth, and clarity.
Its almost like he captured every little detail so Carefully.
As if I were an image of an angel made so Heavenly.
Apparently,
In his eyes Im a portrait crafted very delicately.
A beauty constructed with integrity.
Sparkling like the waters of the deep blue sea.
To Be held in The Artistic nature of his Creativity
Is a Wonderful sight to see
With his poetry I see The illustration of his spiritual Imagery
I caressed the Compassion of his vibes that discerned The ambience of his Frequency.
His Energy Sweetly Speaks so pleasntly
His Diction shows me his style Musically.
His wisdom shows the level of his Maturity
And it makes me drawn to him as if Its a force was pulling me closer into his gravity
Ill admit this experience is kind of scary
But My lovely Beautiful Mahogany
theres no place I rather be than with you standing by my side next to me.
Feeling as if I am Soaring like a bird so Free.
He Surely bring out the Best characteristics of me.
I Believe Im Subconsciously holding hands with destiny
#destiny #serendipity #Love #beauty
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
Do what I say,
not what I've done.
What I did was past tense
to the prose I've become.
Words spoken
shed truth
on the bells rung.
Pronouns succumb
to life underneath.
What has the sun shone?
Same thing moon's shunned.
Twirling thumbs
and grinding teeth.
Prone anxiety
beneath a fleet
of coarse thread sheets.
Only fans speak,
oscillating on an
arrhythmic beat.
What are the limits of your speech?
English, French and Spanish
when haphazardly
conscious.
Noun (Verb + adjective) + predicate
is the constant
variable in
idioms.
It's an order of operations
within phrases
understood amongst
sages.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
Sana pwede akong patulugin at paganahing kumain ng inyong mga at least.
At least hindi sila naparis sa mga nawala na lang sukat.
At least di sila nakitang palutang lutang sa ilalim ng Jones Bridge.
At least hindi ko na kailangang halughugin ang mga gusgusing morgue
makita lang sila.
At least buhay sila-
nakakulong nga lang,
may kaunting pasa sa tadyang.
Sa totoo lang,
nakakabingi ang inyong mga at least.
Wala itong silbi sa akin sa kasalukuyan.
Parang gabundok na labahing poproblemahin.
Parang lukot na polo na makikita ko sa salamin.
Parang masikip na brief at basang medyas.
It *****
Hinuhubad nito lahat ng panatag na larawan sa aking isip.
Ginugulo nito ang relasyon ng subject at predicate sa aking mga pangungusap.
It really *****
Bakit naman kaya ako makukuntentong-
at least buhay sila?
Eh, sa ganitong bansang
ang mga namumuno’y tila 3 for 50 na DVDng ibenebenta sa Raon-
sino ba dapat ang nakakulong?
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
You & I
are the rhyme & rhythm
song and dance
spring and fall
subject and predicate
Lung and heart
care and caution
health and wealth
strength and solace
power and peace
present and future
Life and death
Given the choice/chance,
Let us repeat the show
a milling million times,
in the pavilion of life
as Adam & Eve
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
Although February is always out of control,but Today it's sunny and pretty ! I don't know what's going on With all February's days ... This month might have twenty-eight days or Twenty-nine days ,but It depends ... Some days are sunny , Some are cloudy and rainy , Some are crazy ,and Most of the days are in-between ... No one can predicate well What's going on with this crazy month ... Indoors and outdoors are mixed with Its cold atmosphere anytime ... Although cold and rigid ,but We still keep that pretty love for it ...
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
(In Memory of Miss Araceli M. Katigbak, TMA’s Miss Grammar)
You taught us
to talk and write head up high
in a tongue to foster,
that is not our mother
The scroll of rules
and the roster of exceptions
you’ve mastered
and you made us master,
patiently you nurtured
the timid buds
diligently you challenged us
daily, and your voice
still reverberates –
Correct practice makes perfect!
Beyond subject-predicate agreements
Your treasured grammar lessons
taught the young at heart,
the malleable minds:
Every man or every woman is
but
Men or women are,
regardless or irrespective
of beginnings,
required to know:
1. There are rules to be followed.
- and we expanded this to our lives,
and not just our paragraphs and sentences
2. There are exceptions to be considered.
- and you indirectly taught us,
to recognize differences
and that difficulties of the English language
are just like people’s frailties
and our friends’ idiosyncracies
3. Mastering grammar is good
but honesty is the best!
And thus, your lessons most precious
are far above your prim and proper dress and shoes
and your gospels of correct usage, syntax and other linguistic gems
delivered good citizenship and how-to-be-a-good-friend items.
The Good English we learned are words to live by
You’ve given us treasures no money can buy.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 10:07 AM UTC
You & I
are the rhyme & rhythm
song and dance
spring and fall
sun and moon
day and night
subject and predicate
Lung and heart
care and caution
health and wealth
strength and solace
power and peace
present and future
Life and death
Given the choice/chance,
Let us repeat the show
a milling million times,
in the pavilion of life
as Adam & Eve
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
Sick be your Service to her Majesty's earned
As Subject connects to the Predicate
For these Numbered Fathers wring Clocks adjourned
Her firm and footed Heart accumulate
Never has my cloud of such Clouds combined
How her months spent Moons for your Just Return
Which, by Day, tie Knots to her palms by Night
By strafing those Bullets will deflect a Burn
At this Point, the Line where I bid salute
None but the Stars-of-Jack best achieve
That you - Potent Sample - pay resolute
Which the Iron Man will always believe.
Thursday calls. The Crescent good-bids your Glove
To fill your Mission; Yet maintain her Love.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
You & I
are the rhyme & rhythm
song and dance
spring and fall
subject and predicate
Lung and heart
care and caution
health and wealth
strength and solace
power and peace
present and future
Life and death
Given the choice/chance,
Let us repeat the show
a milling million times,
in the pavilion of life
as Adam & Eve
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
Thinking of consciousness seems, oh, so cliche,
But it's something we ponder day after day.
We each think we are so much different from one another.
Perhaps asking this question together will make us feel like brothers:
Is there a reason to our lives, a general purpose?
Are we just here to enjoy the universe? One big circus?
Is there a specific goal that we should be chasing after?
Or is that goal a ghost only determined by pastors?
I search for the true definition of the term "right",
Webster's dictionary leaves me with such mental fight.
It reads: "That which is morally correct, just, or honorable",
This vague syntactical predicate will only cause trouble.
Stand alongside each other and maybe we'll end this discomfort;
War, discrimination, and other human faults must divert.
We have the answer on the tips of all our tongues.
The answer that will make billions of people, one.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 11:04 PM UTC
He’s a ***** of in-
tellectual acumen. A real conveyor of post-modern acuity.
What he has to say doesn’t make sense to me.
No one understands his esoteric complexity.
He speaks of Aristotelian “virtues”, Platonic Forms, and other
“practical” participation by the particularities.
Part of all that not even he fully understands.
Juxtaposing Quniean “webs of Knowledge” with Davidson Coherantism
He is challenged by McDowells 2nd nature Bildung.
His conventional English is thus un-sung, while meta-physical abstractions are then hung
Out to dry, in the abstract realm sky. What color is that sky?
“Unfair Question” he cries.
“Tell me about God” I ask, “very well” he replies.
My brain is numb after one question, and a few words.
He continues, “Do the God(s) agree upon what is good?”
Yes is my reply. “If so, do they love what is good?” Again yes.
“Then, is the Good whatever the God(s) love, or do the God(s) love what is Good?”
He must be on drugs.
A little philosophy makes a man an atheist.
A lot makes him a believer,
just not in God. He praises Reason, his room is a shrine.
Within four walls one will not find, no not any sign
Of conviction.
What? All this time thinking, reflecting, meditating, abstracting, observing, weaving grand tapestries of thought and still he does not find a foot hold in reality?
What the hell were you thinking about?
He responds.
A stream of consciousness is all that is,
past is a referent future is a predicate.
I am not the “me” I refer to when I say “my book.”
No sir, I have never spoken to you any knowledge of me.
For that I have none of, but knowledge I am not without.
If it is one thing I know, it is that I know nothing.
I tell him certainly my English teacher would know something to defeat him,
I am soon disenchanted, for he has ammunition for her.
“Ask her”, he says “to ascertain the truth value to this grammatically perfect declarative Sentence.”
Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 11:29 PM UTC
Way out in its own oasis
Its very own brand of homeostasis
Passed the jarred ideas and whacked out mazes
Is a spot
Full of unknown faces
Hailing from unknown places
Look at it, fall out with out protracted traces
Vacant lot
Then let's settle the score
What is your original face before your mom and dad were born?
Why not start over with a clean slate, as the smell of new dawns pervade
I forgot to eat
Maybe if you gave the derelict half a chance
And looked at things from the ambivert's stance
People wouldn't notice your ego's protuberance
Upstaged by an under study
Pull the button, turn the lever, push the switch and flip the ****
Predicate the incendiary infraction
Reductio ad absurdum
Lip service provides scrutiny
We've been normalized, what the recipe for ice?
We're full of emptiness, nothing exists
No-thing, not a thing does not exist
Life is deathless
I'm looking for multifaceted individuals
To fix something that's irreparable
An eerie parable, something terrible
My future's told by flash cards
I put my head between my knees
Just wipe my memory
Leave me at the bottom of the sea
Leave my dignity to discard
When two separate divisions are over lapping
What's the sound of one hand clapping?
Comparing then and now every now and then
Again, never will I say"never again"
-Tommy Johnson
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
Starve fasces-brandishers who predicate
Authority from appetite to lead.
Uproot the system bred to overfeed
Flush priests of law whose acts emaciate
The restive body of we third estate,
Condemning propaganda of the deed
By terrorists like Johnny Appleseed.
We must invoke our right to eat the state.
Roast those who'd charge an honest cannibal
For planting liberal teachings to displace
The syndicate, and share economy.
Fire up the cult of the imperial
And ration insurrectionary grace
Ample for all to feast on anarchy.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
The sun leaves,
A shadow spills.
Shallow fields buzz and
My thoughts are deep.
Fried my brain like devils.
Who's the chicken now,
Make your riches bow
Who's fooling who.
It's not the sentiment it's the predicate,
Predictable or scripted
Deprived of life and
Gifted.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
i decide the title after i have written
predicate properties once they
are revealed
then organize
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
What came first, the subject or the predicate?
"I am."
The shortest sentence.
Why can't I just forget it yet?
Both It and I meant for this
(the that which made this way).
Both It and I sent this self to blossoms and decay.
Relentless,
the fray.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
In this chair is where I'll be,
It is where I will be when I write the grandest novel.
In this chair is where I'll be,
It is where I will string together the most magnificent predicate,
I will sow my words to make the most wonderful sentences.
In this chair is where I'll be when I watch it all come together,
A Voyer to the construction of a spider web of fiction,
Spun so gracefully.
It is a lot to behold in such a chair,
a chair in which chafes the fringe of my buttocks.
A chair that wails.
It is very old, and its cracks are showing,
for after all it is little more than a dying tree,
mutilated for our comfort, though,
it has become my own discomfort,
In this chair is where I will be,
When I purchase a new Chair,
and the that is where I will be......
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
It's darkest before dawn,
But I still hate the sunrise,
Cause it's another day to predicate
On empty, hollow lies.
A debt to anxiety, always ready to collect
Cause once I made the fatal mistake
Of sticking out my neck.
Isolate for safety, quarantine my mind,
Cause my conviction of contradiction
Is embedded in this grind.
Of self validation, through false obligation,
To keep myself alive.
Cause to write these words, it's quite absurd
That it's where happiness will derive.
The reflection in the mirror is the one I truly fear,
For it can't hold my secrets in,
But if my heart starts pouring out,
I won't know where to begin.
So disguise it in humor, cloak it in wit.
Dance to the fate maker's song.
Cause for the sake of all I love,
It's the only way to move along.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Language is the spice of life
The icing on the cake of my meager existence.
A period may stand to connect a subject and a predicate,
and to end a thought,
but a period only leads me to crave more.
The moment before the turn of the page is a drug
calling me back and back again.
Words start in the most distant corner of my mind and flow to the surface
like the beginning of a great tsunami.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
The sun bores the light and the moon bores the dark
Some awaken at dawn, at night do others make their mark
The pure course their routine as the bee feeds off of the flower
The unnatural rise against nature's tradition with terrifying power
Abominations are born to destroy the balance as they are cursed
Coming together by wolf and man are a result among the worst
The human is a dweller of the light, and a sleeper of the nocturne
Full shining sun does it protect the human from the appalling turn
The full moon is the only eclipse to this haven of temporary peace
For the lunar cycle assigns the human to monster upon release
To stay in the light maintains the course of all normality to tell
For the one when light descends to shadow does Heaven turn to Hell
The growth of searing teeth, claws, and fur are terrors before the howl
Signalling no mere wolf but a humanoid beast to begin its nightly prowl
Pain induced by the exchange from man to beast is a tremendous flood
Upon the finish is granted a hungry taste for all things pure blood
The sleeper becomes the hunter of the night and the slasher of many
Tall does it stand with a gaze of death drawn to the prey plus twenty
A roar is the threat to scatter a lion pack and a predicate to destroy
Once in sight, escape is impossible for all are the werewolf's toy
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Where were you
When the rope snapped
Predicate your excuses
The vernacular dichotomies
of savants and fools
These love lessons comparative to
Step dancing in a mine field
These guerilla tactics of yours
Are lamentable
My neck already broken
By the force of your linguistic blows
Etymologically patterned for adoration
Love theory wasted on your lap
Sanctuary for kittens and babies
I bear the distinction derived from years
Of practicable nonchalance
The inflectional brutality
Of casual words
Spat out barbs of cyanide
We could have ..... forever
But I gave you my soul
Now the best of me is wasted space
Asphyxiated by the torque of adrenalin and ****** frustration
There is nothing left for you here
Pick up your paper chains
And wander home…
121209.
TL Boehm
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
Community,
they told me I
I was a part of it,
that I must comply.
We’re told to comply
in the way we speak,
in the way we interact,
in the way we feel.
Those who oppose,
those who stand
for a transcendental nature
are fitted with the title
of an Outcast.
An Outcast: A person
deemed unfit to live
amongst the classiest
of society. It’s a title
given out by the Elites.
They give out a title
under the predicate of a
falsehood and the personal
perpetual facade of laziness.
I am neither.
I am in the world, yet I am
somewhere that isn't Earth.
I am here, but I am not.
I exist, but my mind, my
opinions become a blur.
My mobility becomes a leisure,
and my leisure becomes my labor;
My labor becomes my profession;
My profession beholds my title.
I roam in the society casted by the
Elites, but I am merely a chess piece
to their game.
I am not an Outcast, I am not an Elite.
I am the class of the inbetween.
I am the silenced voice.
I am the history that’s repeated,
I am not a part of the community.
I am of the voices that
are disregarded.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
To what must I suffice to see,
The apex of my desires free,
Foreboding lust, my vice is thee,
Your hex—a web I cannot flee.
Words would falsely predicate
In ways they’d only misconstrue
Although, I wish to postulate
For my heart it leaps ado
So what must I sacrifice to be
In light of your fires company,
As foreboding lust advises me
Entranced by your mystic beauty
Effects you’ve caused must follow through,
Affections laws, I must pursue,
Though passions flaws are all too true
I’m given no choice… but to yearn for you
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
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Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC