"pronoun" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.
At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.
This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.
“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.
Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.
Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.
Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.
The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.
In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******
of a dangling participle.
Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.
Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.
Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.
Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
So in this Month your Heart begins to press
For Good October promises your Due
Thinking of Delight and Travel Costs less,
And finally meeting her through and through
Her arm must have healed, given Time's duty
No more must such Fortress wall you apart
Her, Blessed Pronoun who cheers you truly
On her own Springboard she performs her Part
As you guide Witness to her own Unique Craft,
That Guideline which does greatly Inspire
Now look! Her Swan whips the Air; And the Draft
Begs humbly deep its legs to retire.
Your Hug was her Reward; Then the Flannel
Covers your Cheers on the Upper Panel.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
It was just a pronoun
It was just a mistake
I didn't mean to call you the gender people thought you to be
I'm still going through the change
I absolutely did not mean it
I meant to call you she
Not he
I know what you are now
You're a woman
Stuck in a man's body
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
"Look at my beautiful girl."
This title is thrown at me
and I find it hard to
breathe.
You label me a girl,
I know you know no better
but it still wounds me
deeply.
"Look at her, she's so pretty!"
You should know better
than to call me this
pronoun.
I asked kindly that you
use different pronouns
but you throw these
pronouns at me in
a taunting manner.
"You were born a girl so you are one."
I was born a human with
female genitalia.
I do not classify as a
girl or a boy.
I classify more as me,
as an
agender.
Please don't yell or shout
or tell me I'm wrong
because then you're saying
you know me better than
I know myself and
that may be true
but I don't believe
it is so.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
She is the vindictive snow
Beautiful, cold causing her chilling touch to leave me numb
She creates an overload of dopamine for me
But like I said she left me numb
She compressed limerence upon me
The concentric feelings I have for her linger
This contours her opaque heart
Leaving her pliable words lay rendering in my mind
She applies this solvent to it leaving me broken
Forlorn she left me
Yet, the tactile, numbing sensation keeps me going
For she is the one I love
Causing our hearts to be diptych artwork off our hinges.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
you sowed this **** into my brain...
why do you even "think"
that i want... you?
i, want your children...
the meme-mutation is what i'm
after...
and there are plenty of useful idiots
to allow me to process
the intermediating processes
for: the sigma, "accomplishment";
which is unlike
what infected mushroom's -
trance party track sounds like,
outside of my own head.
why do these people even
think i'm after their genes
of memes?
i want, their infantile
replicas...
i want to craft a
worthwhile curiosity,
on a canvas, that that they call
their gene replicas, children,
and... like why called me...
easy meat..
einfachfleisch...
what?
i'm not here for these news' anchors...
i'm here for their children...
nibble nibble nibble chew chow
cow tow and main...
prawn crackers...
ah... news anchors are
easy targets...
slightly pointless
20x bulls eye honing devices...
it's their children...
i want their children...
i want their cognition
to become replica of wheelchair
bound infirmaries;
why?
oh... you know...
football and wrestling,
given the Qatar investment plan...
the whole sport "thing"
became a tad bit boring...
had to resort to secondary sources
of entertainment;
children of news anchors?
the secondary, "last",
albeit, the best resort;
schindler...
required a list,
to become reincarnated...
and revive a **** a heartlessness
of an reincarnation
anomaly:
i.e.: what, a limited number
of people, to begin with?!
so the rest is primitive "a.i."?
now i'm starting to think...
thank the blue indians
for their culinary innovations...
but when it comes
to their theology?
**** 'em;
did i advocate that?
if i did... within what pronoun
guarantee of advocacy?
playing the grammar card...
which pronoun?
the plural singular,
or the singular plural,
or the gender neutral?
thank you jean-paul sartre,
for the... "i"...
i simply love, this revised concept
of a unit...
the revision clinging
to the royalist affirmation of pronouns...
i.e. 1 would say... so...
and 1... would, so, will, do so.
**** the pronoun debate
in Canadian politics...
if i have to resort to this?
then i will...
like your plain citizen...
may "i" speak within
the confines, of the royal, one,
given the example:
one might suppose...
to be the former, and the current,
highest, etiquette?
gender neutrality of pronouns...
last time i checked...
one was never allowed
pronoun stature...
why not address this
conundrum, to begin with?!
oh, right... too late...
too many loud mouths
without a guillotine...
so, basically, a cow fart's
worth of argumentation.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
I want you to make me feel naked everywhere
saying things that make necks hot, face hot
don't have to be so ****** don't have to touch
Want to? Do so, though, don't be so mechanical
swim on, flow on, spill on, no pushing
the things said should tear open, pop seams
wonder what's inside, beating
running, ebbing, draining, no inspecting, no prodding
a thorough investigation with eyes, words
make the most difference, words dig the farthest
fill the fastest, reach to ends that previously had
no end
the end
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
you are a:
you
her
she
a
an
i
it
but, w
i
shi
ng
;
i hope
(someday)
you might be a
mine
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 10:51 AM UTC
We are who we are
We love who love us
We love who hate us
We love our Gender
Call us Girls
Call us women
Call us Ladies
We are TransWomen
Stop being confused
Stop being surprised
Stop calling us He or It
We hate that pronoun
We are females we as others
We deserve our rights like others
We deserve love and affection
We deserve Respect like others
We are tired of your nicknames
"Is a he or a she", "what is this?"
It hurts please stop stop stop!
We are fine ladies! Full stop !
You scared our fellow ladies
They are crying in closet
They are lonely in families
Because we are Transgenders!
Stop abusing my brothers
They men and so proud to be
Don't be confused by what you see
A transMan is a powerful Man!
Respect them now and forever
Stop calling them ladies or things
They are men **** and classy
They are men always and forever
See us slaying down town
We are lovely and attractive
We know who we are friends
You can't change us Sit down!
Don't be confused by Breast
That the **** chest of our brother!
He is strong enough to be proud
We love our bodies and gender
We won't hide because you hate us
The more you see us feeling proud
The better you understand us
We are Proud Transgenders!
We ladies need our Freedom
Government think about us
All women are equal in the country
We need all care and attentions!
Stop calling us Monsters
We are human beings
We deserve our Rights
We are citizens like others!
This ain't western culture
This ain't Sodoma and Gomollah
This is the gender of Us
We are Proud Transgender people!
Pastors stop that hate preach
That hell you need us to go in
That Sodoma you always sing
All were from Those Bibles
If you accuse all LGBTI people
To bring back ***** or Gomollah
First remember that bible you read
Was brought by Evangelists
We had gods and goddesses
Africa knew no White God
We had Love and respect
Read , reread and Rereread!
Love wins and will win
You are taking us nowhere
We are here to stay and slay
Ourselves Genger our Pride
We are done by your hate
Is our time to shine bright!
You gonna hate us today
And you will love us later!
TransWomen are women
TransMen are Strong men
Transgender is a Gender
Respect us we hurt no one!
"Transgender Right is Human right
TransWomen are women too
TransMen are men as well
We claim no war but our Freedom
We claim no hate but our Respect"
Poet : Skylar G Peter
Poem: we Are Proud Transgender people
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 4:15 AM UTC
494
Going to Him! Happy letter!
Tell Him—
Tell Him the page I didn’t write—
Tell Him—I only said the Syntax—
And left the Verb and the pronoun out—
Tell Him just how the fingers hurried—
Then—how they waded—slow—slow—
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages—
So you could see what moved them so—
Tell Him—it wasn’t a Practised Writer—
You guessed—from the way the sentence toiled—
You could hear the Bodice tug, behind you—
As if it held but the might of a child—
You almost pitied it—you—it worked so—
Tell Him—no—you may quibble there—
For it would split His Heart, to know it—
And then you and I, were silenter.
Tell Him—Night finished—before we finished—
And the Old Clock kept neighing “Day”!
And you—got sleepy—and begged to be ended—
What could it hinder so—to say?
Tell Him—just how she sealed you—Cautious!
But—if He ask where you are hid
Until tomorrow—Happy letter!
Gesture Coquette—and shake your Head!
7.6k
Copulation of the minds...
as word play
leads innuendos to fornicate
upon the poets tongue...
unrestrained
his fingers give voice to wanton
carnal desires
laying the reader bare
to writhe
helplessly beneath his hands
with ink stained kisses
he forces
words into their mouths
a breathless sigh
resonating his ache to be heard
as he stands naked before them
offering himself
to their voyeuristic gaze
before taking them upon the sheets
in punctuated passionate
embraces
leading them toward the ******
they so
cried out for...
Jesus I'm Good.
~<3~
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:41 PM 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
*Angel torches
filter sunlight
across a vast
horizon
of sea foam
petticoats.
Where
topaz touches
glittering
cyan
&
spirals
downwards
through the
deepest dark
blues - no body
can exist within
jewelled sapidity.
*
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
dead tree forks
arizona heat still goes dumb hard
voices swivel for relief
i mouthed every word
of a break up song
like it means something
giving you up
like you gave up on the pronoun game
callous tongue
imagine if you called me by my name
as opposed to a girl
like i told you to
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
Seasonal construction
Path of destruction and rebuild,
Traffic crazy, in the car ahead,
Face yelling at a speaker phone,
Zig-zag path like the road owner,
3:05 late so a five o'clock date,
And a seagull sits right on the line,
Patient Mockery so sublime,
The seagull "walks the line"
Waiting can be a hating game,
That would be a vacation shame,
shame,
Shame.
So now the seagull is not alone on the line.
©DWE092013
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
Author: Kristen Stevens
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Current mood:outside the loop
And yes I know that's a plagiarization (real word??? no matter) of a stupid show...but you shouldn't watch it anyway so there.
ME! Last week, as you may have heard was not of the fun, so this week in comparison rocked! And, yes, I am going to end every sentence with exclamations! (it's for the sarcastic effect don't panic) As such I’m going to let YOU write my entry…you’ll see.
Once upon a time there was a ______ (adj.) girl. She loved her xbox very much. One day an evil ________(noun) descended on the precious object and smote it with the fury of _______(name of a god). The girl ___________(verb) for many minutes staring at the remains of her once beloved box. She promptly went to the other, less amusing, magic box and asked for _______(noun). She____________(adv.) navigated her way through treacherous and distracting destinations. As she approached the official site, a most ___________(adj.) thing occurred. The destination was ________(noun). Much like the construction in her hamlet, it prevented her from registering her distress. Days _______(noun) slowly, with still no relief for ________(pronoun). What’s a girl to do when ________(frustrating situation)? In her profession the customers would not appreciate it if she came after them with___________(weapon of choice from popular video game).
It had been one week, since the demise of _______(object). She no longer was _______(emotion). The days were literally ________(color). Rain fell _______(verb ending in –ing) the streets. There was still no reply from the xbox deity. Thus ends the tale of piteous woe.
This girl has been considering swearing fealty to another more worthy gaming god! There are three systems and I own two of them! Don’t make me get the third! This is a threat! (not you guys, the __________{insert favorite utterance} at Microsoft) goes away quietly muttering to self unkind and unpleasant things that should be done to xbox distributors
By the way, how was that I figure, if you’re going to take the time to read it. I should give you something fun to do at the same time. Who doesn’t like madlibs? Huh?
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 8:23 AM UTC
I crushed it, and it regrew anyways.
The hypothesis, was more romantic,
than tossing and yearning all night
over losing teeth in a giraffe fight.
Your hypothesis, was more romantically
worded, than a thesis on how birds die on impact
when colliding with a glass windowpane,
retrieving teeth lost during a giraffe brawl.
Worded, like the thesis about how birds die during impact,
each line of the letter dripped with invisible ink,
like colliding with a glass window. Pain
is only fleeting, if the end comes close behind.
Every line in each letter, drawn with invisible ink,
doesn't sound in the pronunciation, which
is only fleeting, if the end line draws closed behind.
So close your characters behind you, and don't let the draft in.
Does it not sound in the pronoun, the annulment of which
leaves every thing indefinite, and incomplete.
So clothe your characters before you, so they don't let in a draft,
and catch a cold from ****** or being indistinct.
What leaves everything indefinitely incomplete
other than the ability of the mind to hypothesize,
and catch a cold in the **** state of being extinct?
The inability to reconcile your metaphorical heart and instinct.
The others, they, have the ability to hypothesize,
about what makes us toss and yearn at night.
I forgave your inability to reconcile. My heart: pure instinct.
So you crushed it, and still it grew anyways.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
wanna twist and shout
fist and clout
the silent wrestle
a lapse of consciousness
bereft of science
and hard as metal
black and blue
***** girl, ***** pronoun game
strewing the fate in a storm
of words strung like wire
what do you want?
don’t call me like a woman
and don’t call me one either
you don’t got any other way
to communicate
it’s blame it on anything you don’t got
close the chapter and the verse
with a love curse
an empty ball and chain
because it’s all you and no me
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 6:58 PM UTC
This is a poem about nothing
which is impossible since Nothing is actually Something
An indefinite pronoun.
Now, I'm discussing nothing
a concept that makes 'nothing' a thing
Confused? I am.
My mind is buzzing with the thought of nothing!
So is my mind empty or not?!
Discussing nothing is leaving me blushing!
Now existentialists,
Sartre was influenced by Heidegger
Heidegger says he was misunderstood
In the effort to bring about a poem about nothing,
I've created something, so this poem is now about Something'
what, I know not.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
My dream began
with a pronoun waking
in the morning light,
followed by a verb
carried in the wind
from across the lake,
as the adverb
whispered a preposition,
adjectives modified
a proper noun, and
I sailed quietly
to your beautiful name
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
You're a pronoun,
I'm a pronoun.
Let's say we grab a verb
and conjugalate ;-)
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 6:09 PM UTC
with you...
the bumblebee
would lose its
objectivity of re-,
and like every bumblebee
in man’s list
of talk there would only be
enough pollen to yawn about
and leave the rest politicised.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC