"spellcheck" poems
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Marshmallow factories
Are covered in goo
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Not all of these
Are going to rhyme
Roses are red
Violets are purple
Whoever wrote that
Was an idiot
Roses are red
Violets are blue
My favorite is Discord
Who used to be Q
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you count in binary
You'll never have 2
Roses are red
Violets are blue
MEEP
Roses are red
Violets are blue, da ba dee da ba daa...
Roses are black
Violets are black
Everything is black
I'm Batman
Roses are blue
Violets are red
Something is wrong
With my head
The Math section is red
Social Studies is blue
I have too much homework
I want to cry
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Please don't get stuck
In the spilled glue
Roses are purple
Violets are green
I'm just here revving
My limousine
Roses are red
They have thorns
Don't touch them
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I want to turn this
Into a haiku
Roses are crimson
Violets are the fairest blue
And so fair are you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
That was pretty good
For being written on the fly
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Ridiculous Inflatable
Swan Thing
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I need to sleep
No
you are so And
sweet is Sugar
blue are Violets
red are Roses
Roses are red
Violets are blue
There is no try
Do not or do
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Dab on those haters
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Think I'll paint them
On my shoe
Roses are red, dilly dilly
Violets are blue
Is this copyrighted, dilly dilly
I have no clue
Lavender's blue
Lavender's green
I store my sanity
In a canteen
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm too cynical
And yet too cheesy
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Spellcheck doesn't know meep?!?
Roses are rosy
Violets are violet
I want to be
A submarine pilot
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Something something
Pikachu
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Illuminati
They're watching you
Gryffindor's red
Ravenclaw's blue
WHY IS IT AN EAGLE
NOT A RAVEN
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Be mine
I'm desperate
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't want romance
Stop asking
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm running low on ideas
We're almost through
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
Don't eat too much
Roses are red
Never mind
Life's too short
Eat all the sugar you can find
Roses are red
Violets are blue
You're still here?
Good job you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Happy Valentines Day
Bye
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
BRB, LOL
*** what the hell?
Can't today's kids learn to spell?
The things they write
I cannot tell
Has education
Gone to hell?
Can someone out there help me?
I can't read what they've written down
They're writing's really rotten
Penmanship's a basic skill
That most kids have forgotten
**** BRB
404 AND BBC
These don't mean a thing to me
Can someone out there help me?
Spellcheck is their holy grail
Without this app, most kids would fail
There'd be no words in tales they tell
Can someone out there help them?
I read a letter I received
The writing I could not believe
I've seen better on my sleeve
Can someone out there read this?
GFN, GFAP
FAQ, ASAP
Explain what I just wrote to me
Can someone out there help....please?
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
*did you buy all of this on credit
and can you do without
going to ceremonies for awhile
look what higher learning
and empty rituals have given you
a distrust for humanity
and all that's truly valuable
are you a nihilist or a solipsist
what a life to be so twisted
like an elliptical esophagus
so strange the way we spell things
what would we do without
spellcheck or a dictionary these days
is a thesaurus a dinosaur or a literary device
the swelling went down
right in time for your dialectical revival
while didactic strange attractors are strangely repellent
selective attackers leave your marriages despondent
disparaged orthodontists leave fluids on your face
still you wipe your chin with sandpaper
and leave greasy finger stains in their place
fluoride is a bargain complete with its own argument
and quite often batteries are not included
but that doesn’t mean you’ll never use them
for what's a *** toy to do
if its lacking its adjacent latex compartments
or if you're really just not in the mood
i guess this human body will have to do
grooving to the music is all about our choosing to
becoming outdated or faded like a tax evader
these equations are meaningless
when you are fermented with libations
if you drink more amber liquid would you be negated
relevant for a moment and then
just as quickly discarded as a piece of paper
the receipts we diligently saved
are just as well used to light your fireplaces*
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
Why do you think you’re so weird all the time? it’s nothing more than insecurity
*not entirely, it’s society mainly, social norms can’t be something I accustom to
you know that flaley
spellcheck made it difficult because it changed your name to flakey
which would be accurate in description but from depiction you’re
there as can be which most of the time makes people think you’re
creepy which maybe you are or maybe you just care too much*
stop getting my ******* in a bunch
you’re not an uncomfortable pair of overalls
i like writing: i like
and stuff i feel it makes living seem real and etherial ******** like those rambles and made-up words like quwanamble
*this is probably why you didn’t make it to the second round in the poetry slam
and why you’re so embarrassed of your poetry because you know you go ham
in the most personal narcissistic way, kinda puts the bad at bay
but only until the vyvanse wears off and
your **** jar is empty
and your cigarettes have been smoked
and all your klonopin has been digested
and your bank account is empty
and the only thing left to take out your self pity on
is this poetry*
i like writing words like cigarettes
and rhyming them with causal **** like
regrets
i miss my studded cardigan, i regret leaving it at toads place
i regret smoking all those cigarettes
but that doesn’t mean I won’t smoke another one
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
We started out being cheap,
but being impoverished eventually saved us...
It became a fad,
almost everything did.
Whoever had money,
would spend things to make themselves more connected to the singularity,
more tapped in.
We were all suffering from information addiction,
looking for our next fix.
Likes were a thing of the past,
we didn't just want digital affirmation anymore,
we needed to feel more powerful.
Of course this was just something we created in our mind because we saw others gaining this perceived 'power',
of course if you can,
in your mind,
research,
copy,
paste,
spellcheck
- everything a computer could do,
you would seem more capable of a human,
but in reality,
once you left your mind's energy up for just processing power,
you were nothing more than a machine...
some of us let our minds go entirely,
favouring searches and what is already known to fill in the blanks for our own exploratory research.
Mods weren't cheap.
But so many people were willing to pay for convenience.
- mods help us think,
they can schedule our lives.
- certain ones are just cognitive enhancers,
basically a microcomputer that knows which electrical impulses to fire in your brain for improved cognitive functions,
muscle controls or even releases of certain chemicals (serotonin)
- Others are just things like ocular mods (contact screens)
- Viruses are terrifying.
- New wave of humans who choose to be 'fed' - near braindead. Enabled to know made unknowing,
allowed to follow,
sometimes the struggle is necessary.
Reporter
main character either snaps back into reality or
overpower systems with willpower
she sees past the hiccups of self
and knows how to command the bots
break it down, robot girl,
make the demons dance for you,
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
(If you knew this place as I know it)
I am not just me. I have never been just me. I am a patchwork of everything that has been done to me, and that has nothing to do with being just. I am not perfect because I have never experienced perfection, my life has never been picked through for the best footage. I’m bearing the weight of the dailies, every last one of them.
I am not a story. My body is not made of letters, no meticulous thought has gone into me, I have not been drafted and re-drafted until there are no spelling errors in my bones. That does not mean I cannot create stories. I may not be made of the things I write, but the pieces of the world around me are enough that I can give a little of myself to many while still being whole.
If you knew myself as I know me, you would hate it, too much, too little, unevenly and over-dramatically. I don’t know myself at all and too well, all at once.
If you knew this world as I know it, you would love it. Love it and hate it, hate it because it’s going and love it because you’re going with it. I will keep telling myself that different does not mean good or bad, but I’ll still miss picking a crimson leaf out of a stream of sunlight in the middle of snowy fall.
You would miss it. You would miss sleeping. You would miss not being scared. You would miss being able to love everyone. You would miss thinking that everyone was willing to love you. You would miss your friends being free and knowing what you wanted for Christmas and not worrying about being afraid to look in the mirror.
You would miss six feet of snow in November.
And you would love it. You would love knowing more, knowing better, knowing more clearly, more complexly, and more meaningfully. You would love knowing that spellcheck and calculators that do long division exist. You would love re-learning how to imagine the world, to question everything, to accept and believe, to understand a life that is not your own.
I am not just me. I have never been just me. I am not lonely. I am not alone.
(I'm sorry if I sometimes need reminding).
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
feel
I’ve forgotten how to
My nerves are on fire but I
don’t understand what it means
Do something
Give me
Give me anything
I need a way out
I need to feel
Pixels are shouting at me and
I think I’m going deaf
please help
I know who did what and when
I know you
I know your ups and downs and dreams and fears
I am the ultimate ******
And so are you
And I don’t know how to
I don’t know how to stop
Make it stop
Give me anything
Something real
Something physical
Give me pain
needles and knives and back-alley mistakes
Rough brickwork bruising a back
Is it my back? I
can’t tell anymore give me more
Cement scraping skin from fat from muscle from bone
What does marrow taste like?
Google it
Blood pouring from eyes but
we’ve seen worse in CoD
Give me more
Rip the bones from the flesh through a hole in the skin
Taste the inside of a tongue
Let’s practice Frenching
I can’t tell anymore is this pain or
is it pleasure is it hunger or satiation
Spellcheck
Is this death or is it euphoria
Why should I care
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
with one look,
she had me wanting to be with her
make her so hot, skin feel like fever
not only do I want it, I need her
just to touch her, I am longing for
and to feel her, I long for even more
Jul 14, 2023
Jul 14, 2023 at 6:09 PM UTC
the fact that i can never spell
unfortunately right
never ceases to **** me off.
unfortunetly?
unfortuntely?
what ****** me off even more
is that spellcheck always thinks i'm trying to say
fortunetelling
...punk ***
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
Dear Diary,
Do you remember
The little ten year old girl
Who wrote in that book
The girl who couldn't
Spell business without spellcheck
To save someone's life
The one who told you
About how she loved airports
So much she would fly
Who believed she could
Be a pilot, reporter,
and a researcher
The one who went on
For pages about mangroves
And the local reef
Who loved the world so
With all of its things to do
In such finite time
Who stood mesmerized
Over Miami's night lights
In a hotel room
The little girl who
Made an essay's outline in
Her polkadot book
The one who said she
Hated when her sister took
The hotel bed's sheets
The girl who dreamt of
Her eleventh birthday, so
She could be a witch
The one who knew that
She wasn't entirely
Regular or sane
Who wrote of her mom
Who threatened to burn you if
She kept on writing
Who wrote of her dad
And mom arguing in both
Private and public
Who was afraid of
"Inappropriate" things, since
Her parents said so
The one who told you
That she had no other friends
On her school's blacktop
The one who panicked
When she got less than eighty
For any test score
The one who knew she
Could never tell the grown-ups
Just how bad she felt
The one who vowed that
If MPs and psych wards came
She would kick and scream
Well I'm starting to
Because she was right here for
My entire life
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
I read your comments
I do agree
That you are you
And I am me
I don't tell fibs
My poems are true
I fell off a roof before
Have you ever fell too
Roofing is a dangerous job
As are some other jobs too
And I,d just got two words 4 the spellcheck
Thank you
I,m not as bright as others
As you already know by a mile
So I really got to ask you
What is a pluviophile??
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
MEMORIES DON’T DELETE.
AND WORDS THAT YOU CAN’T BACKSPACE
RING AND RING AND RING.
THERE’S NO LOGOUT FOR RELATIONSHIPS.
THERE’S NO SPELLCHECK FOR MISTAKES.
AND NO OFF SWITCH FOR
MUSCLE MEMORY TO REPLAY
OVER AND OVER AND OVER.
THERE’S NO RECYCLING BIN
FOR THE AWFUL THINGS SAID.
THERE’S NO VOLUME CONTROL
FOR THE WORDS TO SCREAM AT YOU.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
I’d write you a love letter but the thing is
My printer is out of ink and my internet is down
plus my spellcheck is ****** up and I don’t want to
misplell anything.
I should get around to writing my congressman but the thing is
I doubt he even reads those letters and it would
be just too depressing to write to some
old, boring **** who doesn’t give a **** about me.
I get enough of that already.
I might try to write some more but the thing is
I don’t know what to write about and it won’t go anywhere and no one will read it and even if they do they won’t get it or maybe they will but seriously who the **** would put themselves through these asinine ramblings that don’t really mean anything but I think are important and
Oh
How long have you been standing there?
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:18 AM UTC
there are days when my poems feel less like bruises
and more like crop circles waiting to spread their soft bones across
the earth of my page- these stories need to be told .
my voice used to be just a side effect of having a body ,
until it found paper and learned how to scream ,
the kind of scream that evaporates in all the noise .
i’d rather write about people who got lost in the cracks of my sidewalk -
so i can write about them clawing their way out -
than write about people who were born with every limb already above ground .
because sometimes every word is an act of therapy ,
and there’s no better listener than the reader who finds relief
in every oil spill of ink . because sad poetry is the truth ,
and i’m tired of biting my lip .
because the people i write for have been going through hell
and sometimes , if i spellcheck my words carefully enough ,
a line or two will flame brighter in that person’s heart
than the flames they’re so used to being burned alive in .
when i was a kid , i used to try mending the broken wings
of all the moths and butterflies that crossed my yard ,
until some of them gave up on flying with stitches ,
and i learned that sometimes people quit on life like that too .
so now i write all these poems to teach people
to start giving to themselves
instead of giving up or giving in .
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
finally came home from kgale hill and a weekend with my baby cousins and my head is throbbing throbbing throbbing heart is sobbing sobbing sobbing have i always wanted to become that good like all those big people or is this a recent thing i do not know i stare at peoples poetry like how the hell did you write this and not me and i even do it with big established dead people like ts eliot who i used to spell like ts elliot until everyone kept correcting me including google chrome spellcheck
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
i’ll just get... nothing new where i’ve been aged 16 before the prom with a stretched ponytail aged 17 about 20kg lighter... what does it matter... it’s not like christ was crucified weighing in at 120kg on the cross.
it’s in belgium; d’uh!
there’s an umbrella open in my house,
and there’s a rose blooming in autumn...
and there’s me with the catwalk brigade looking
at cats taking a stroll into individuality taking care
of not caring about fashionistas in **** khaki;
because like shit-smear mattered to originate
a sun-trail-tan of the sunrise libido of theory in unwelcome
art scorching into fashion of the tightened cancerous
grip with lard tanning to excuse -
well... originated from this, excuse my spellcheck.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
There are phrases that I cannot explain when I speak to you.
Maybe it's just a thought or maybe I've gone soft.
Like the clouds thinking its cotton candy, passed memories made
shadows
Tears that
made Rain.
Roses I met indeed,
but let here rose peddles leading my scents to other messes.
My passion became no more an made the seas quiet.
Juliet WAS the name for all my lovers.
Juliet WAS only a costume to hide there names.
An empire I created with flirts
But it BURSTED -
out into flames
an became my worse nightmares
an my worst pains.
Trying to cover the sun with just a finger
Blindly out shined by it's own beauty.
A Mystery
Where misery has chased me,
An started to become Happy endings.
Errors paint my screen beneath the dark
Unworthy to ever press spellcheck.
Maybe is a curse of ur endless beauty
or has my eyes seen through your purity.
A world of matters
Where I have dissolved my pasted.
To tell my thoughts that they have never forgotten you.
An say opportunities come rarely, an let me be your overcoat when NightFalls.
Sincerely
Yours Truly
Romeo
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
Write me off, that's fine - if I'm honest, your eyes are not why I've bled blue on loose leaf for all these years.
I gave away a rough draft of my life and skipped the polish - yeah, I get that I'll never be published, and to you, my words likely look like incoherent ******* because I'd surely be full on illiterate if it wasn't for spellcheck & this stupid heart of mine.
My goal wasn't to be relatable (it was always for me so I could go back if and when I needed a reason to breathe I'd reread to see how far I've come) and so (I have no grand delusions of "success" or even dreams of recognition) I know I will never be a great writer -
A lonely man's truth has never been a valuable commodity.
I just wanted to let you know that I've seen your poetry & it's simply beautiful in all it's intricate complexities -
and mine is what it's always been (and bare with me now, as I attempt a metaphor) my ol' trusty lifejacket.
It just helps keep me from sinking all the way down to rockbottom.
Thank you all for sharing, I like to think I have a good idea what your words mean to you - and for some of us they might just mean everything.
And for now, I'll leave you with this
Dear Poet,
If you ever feel the urge to give up, just remember that if you do, everything you went through will have been for another man's (or woman's) kindling.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 1:57 PM UTC
message to my future kids. don't try too hard. dont be smart people. ask questions. you're innocent. you don't deserve my **** don't wear thin circle glasses. but you might have to. don't worry about money. if you can, don't fall for the wrong person. if you can't, i get it. write about sheep. think about suicide. but don't do it. if you do; i'll spellcheck the note. i always was a smart **** don't do what i did. don't take my advise. listen to your mother. if she's an idiot, don't. i might not be around. don't hate me. it might be complicated.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:56 AM UTC
You write your
Poetry
With
Stray
Indentations (affectations for added effect (redundancy for rhythm (alliteration just because)))
I write mine lik an asignmet due in 10 m,inutes. (Spellcheck almost killed the metaphor)
Your Cae-sur-a (The deliberate yield for words)
versus
My The-saur-us (The potent yield of words).
Verse vs. verse
the poet tries
poetries contrived.
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC
she orders a sonnet about modern tech
nology , some recent language urban
slang. wiki & googling helps while spellcheck
defeats nistakes . publishing on blurb and
lulu. gifs no issue. focus on taste.
.work. memes are impossible to pronounce.
denounce the pass it forward, copy/ paste.
why write verse when we can talk or announce
loudly.. save in my cloud to edit share
. no rhyme no more. no elizabethan
manner. we taps it clear. is with difficulty
keyboards sticky, some have no empathy
that I prefer old ways. yet computer
smart create in a more abstract manner
©sbm
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC