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New Language Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Language poems are below this new poems list.

On the Origin of Language by Rigoler, Maurice
Body Language by Marty, Lyva
Hurt From the Spoken Language by Hunter, Daniel
Language Of Love by Asuncion, Bernard F.
Do We Speak Your Language by Krutsinger, Caren
Shadow's Language by Sands, Heidi
Language or the Kiss by Dietrich, Andrea
IN THIS LANGUAGE by Pratt, Mia
LANGUAGE OR THE KISS by Rodrigues, Kim
Beautiful Language by Kannan, Supraja

View all new Language Poems

The Best Language Poems

Details | Language Poem |

FEELINGS

FEELINGS


Feelings,
Masters of my destiny
Lords of my life
Strength of my dreams
Instigators of my actions

Burning fire you are 
Consuming my whole 
Being:
My heart
My mind 
My soul
My spirit,  
As you relentlessly
Demand: 
To be conceived
To be formulated 
To be understood
To be expressed!

A Herculean task it is,
I swear, 
Such an enterprise,
For how one could ever
Constrain, you, the unconstrained 
And mold you into:
Phonemes
Syllables
Words
Phrases
Sentences 
And still retain 
Your explosive 
Dynamism?
 
No language exists,
So vast
So deep
So accurate
So supple 
As to pay justice,
To your intensity
To your desire
To your beauty
To your love!

Thus, having no
Alternative, 
I turn to the only language
There is,
The one that the 
Cosmos speaks,
And
The universe alone
Comprehends:
The language of 
Harmony,
That we humans 
POETRY name
BUT 
Even then 
To describe you
I AM UNABLE!



©Demetrios Trifiatis
   28 January 2013

Details | Language Poem |

Language Barrier

I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,

at least not all of it,

but the emotion pouring past her lips, 

the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists

enunciated more clearly,

than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,

and grabbed me, held me still.

                   …In that moment, her soul was in my arms.

In that finite, tender breath of our lives,

she was my mother, my best friend…

but I could not console her. 

I didn’t have the words;

and my heart sank into the 

concrete between us,

wet with the pain of God’s rain

and her tears. 

                  …Were my tears

So, I simply opened my palms

toward her crouched form and 

spoke the only words I could 

fathom, that would be accepted

by a stranger on a dangerous street. 

"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."

I knew she did not understand…

"Lo siento" 

                  “que va a estar bien”    

                            “Dios te bendecira’ “ 

the words were as messy as the overturned

duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly

from my lips, as my knees hit the street.

Two strangers, cried in the rain,

knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,

and yet we shared the weight,

together, for those few moments;

the barrier of language was broken.

Love spoke for us.  

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

…Love transcends any language

Details | Language Poem |

Rhythmic Perfection (anapestic trimeter)

There's a river that twists in the mind
that I plunder and ravish with sieves,
on crusades to the summit of rhyme
where my Phoenix of tropes and schemes live.

In a war to free diction's fair Queen
where the Soldiers of Babel bemuse
and the modern day graceless regimes
are in battles to stifle my muse!

In my quest for her verse of prestige
I have traveled a nexus of words
with this Lexis of language on siege;
where the dissonant hum drum is heard!

Oh, the poise of my bayonet firm
as I pin down my thoughts in a rush!
Oh, the will of the language it squirms
as her essence of glory I brush!

She's the Queen Muse that whispers within
as she watches me battle with style,
she supplies me the yarn that I spin
as she lends me her rhythm awhile.

It's the moment her Highness is freed
that the Armies of Dissonance fall
and the sound of Perfection can bleed
in those lyrical sounds that enthrall!

Details | Language Poem |

Broken English

I love my broken English

Am in love with my broken English

Am honored to have two other languages

The ability to think from language to language is one that many don't experience 
The ability to bring vibes from one language to another is one, that many envy

Sometimes it's like a train, English flows easily before it gets to a halt
Sometimes it's a bus with many stops, some harsh, some dash, some flash
And some mistakenly whether car or train, crash 
Some like aeroplane, are up there in the air
Building their own castles
Creating unfamiliar words

Whether writing from kikuyu to English 
Or kikuyu to Swahili and then to English 
Or just writing from the little dash of English that I learnt from my English classes,
With poetry,I can still escape 
Whether in the veiled grammatical errors
        Or just like a volatile chameleon

Details | Language Poem |

Dance With Me

Writing is dancing with words...
     a titillating tango with verbs delicious...
          a sultry waltz with rhythm and meter...
               a hot rumba with randy adjectives...
                    a forbidden dance with unnamed nouns...
                         if this has not left you wanting more
                         then I shall dance with words no more.

Poetry is a pure passion play
     of alliteration and words dancing in line,
           a quick-stepping, twin-tapping salsa,
		a seductive rhapsody in rhyme,
		     moving metaphors, measure and time…
			   my love is wrapped in this poetry
			   so will you please come dance with me?

Details | Language Poem |

Let Me Translate

Let me translate
My love for you
From written.... to spoken....to touched
From syllable sensuality
To physical functionality
From verbal to nonverbal virtual reality

Or better yet
Let me translate them into YOUR language
Yes, I’m a polyglot glutton
craving your satiation
Interjection velocity 
Groan and grope physicality
Touch and tease and taste temerity 
Chaste words undulating into unchaste carnality

Let me translate
In meanings that you understand
Points of reference that you rant and pant
In my ear…say it in a chant….
Over and over...
I won't let you recant
your forbidden fantasty frolic…
Baby...I’ll grant

Let me translate
Into the language of YOU
I understand
Your savage need laced with greed….
concede....every one...
to me
This wave won't recede
till that passion is freed...
by my deliciously devilish deed...

My pleasure peaks uncontrollably
Rocked in your volatility
Word translation ecstasy
Come together finality
Verbal.......
non-verbal.....
G~R*A~T*F~I*E~D 
unity

So, just let me....
Let me translate
My love
For
You

Eileen Manassian

Details | Language Poem |

Speak My Language

Speak my language
A language of love I can understand
My heart language
Understand my need
My desire to be understood
Speak my language

Speak fluently to my heart
Words of Affirmation
I thrive on hearing praise
Appreciation
Verbal validation
Of all I do and am
Of all I want to be
Words of Affirmation
Speak to my inner woman
And give her fairy wings
To fly to you and meet YOUR every need
In a language YOU understand

Caress me
Run your fingers through my hair
Let them frolic with every strand
Run them over my lips
Dip them inside
And let my lips close over them
Let my tongue tease
Run your fingers down the length of my arms
Give the fullness a gentle squeeze
Let your lips travel down my neck
On their pilgrimage
To the sacred valley 
Between my breasts
Where they will nestle for a while
Before they travel 
Up the soft snow white ascent 
Longing to explore
The beautifully colored terrain
Of the glorious twin peaks

Gently, with butterfly wings touch my waist
Feel the earthquake motions they instigate
Let your hands speak
A language my body understands
The language of Physical Touch
The one I comprehend the most
A language that will not be lost
In translation to my heart
Words of Affirmation
Physical Touch
My love languages
That fill to overflowing
My desire to be loved, wanted

Acts of Service
I will gladly perform
Speaking now in turn to you
What your heart translates
As love from your woman
I'll show my respect and care
In tangible ways
A bed freshly made
Warm food to tempt your appetite
As I will later tempt your body
A massage to sooth away
The cares of your day

Quality Time
Your heart understands
When I give you my full attention
Putting all else aside
As my eyes focus on yours
And the world stands still
I free my mind to listen to the words
Spoken and unspoken
That you convey to me
And having heard all
I arrange my time
So that your heart can see
You are a top priority
To me

And the final language
Is a shared one, my love
Giving Gifts...
A poem tucked in your briefcase
A flower for me
Heart shaped earrings
My favorite perfume 
A necktie
A luscious mango
When my heart craves succulence
Decadent chocolate
Made ever sweeter
For it comes melting to your lips
Spread on the tips of my breasts
For your mouth to savor
Satisfying your sweet tooth tantrums

Speak my language
Hear with your body and soul
As I eloquently “speak” to you
Love understood, lived, celebrated

Yes, my love
Speak to me
In a language
I can understand

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Language Poem |

Captain 'effing' Flint




My parrots name was Captain Flint,
Boy that bird could swear.
I never invited visitors,
So blue was the air.

He'd squawk "pretty effing polly"
Or "give us a cracker you t##t"
I'd never heard such swearing,
I never taught him that.

I bought him off a sailor
Who was heading back to sea,
He said to me, "you'll love him
He's such good company."

And what he said was right
He entertained, it's true.
I said "who's a pretty boy then"
He squawked, " well not effing you !"

The profanities just got too much,
I sold him, with regret.
But the house seems so quiet now, 
Without my 'effing' pet !

Details | Language Poem |

Of Snow And Ice

Fifty-two words in Inuktitut 
A full deck plus a Joker
That's me

As a bike courier 
Each day's weather
Was a new game to play
Winter storms a sport of kings
For traffic riders
Crowned insane

Beneath a frosted balaclava 
A fervent grin with
Road salted teeth
Grinding
Under tread
Fifty-two words for snow and ice

I don't speak but understand
I know them intimately each.



17.11.23

Composed for Viv Wigley's
"My Winter"

Details | Language Poem |

Me Thinking, B Thinking

I’m thinking of the letter “B”
    So close and yet so far
It seems a bit unfair to me
     Let’s stop, reset the bar

We’ve cast the “B” to status, poor
     With quality less pleasing
Like something from a discount store
     A lack of something, teasing

Yet think of how essential,
     I’m sure you will agree
Just think how consequential,
     Not having a plan B

It also fronts some of the Best
     And Brightest of our text
So much more, I’ve not addressed
     But look what’s coming next!  

Perhaps this is somewhat a stretch
     But imagine Hamlet’s bray
With the words he’d have to retch,
     To “A” or not to “A”

Details | Language Poem |

Wales 1 Germany 0

WALES 1 GERMANY didn’t

The Germans take great pride
In long words measured by the clock
But can they compete when vied
With Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

Details | Language Poem |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Details | Language Poem |

Shawty Got Swag

$hawty Got $wag

Shawty got swag,
Shawty mad dope.
Face all cheesin’,
She real turned up.
Goin’ to da club,
She steppin' wit her peeps,
Lookin’ so ratchet,
She’s straight up hoochie.

No racks in her pocket,
No stacks in her wallet,
But she all into bubbly
Slurpin’ and burpin’.
Lookin for a big baller,
Who’ll give her wat she wants,
Wildin’ on the dance floor,
Tweakin’ an’ freakin’,
Shawty actin' so cra cra!
She just like da rest a dem,
But Shawty real fly,
Sure likes a lotta ice,
Bling bling, and Benjamins.

Shawty creepin’ to hook up
Coz she needs a boo wit finesse,
Who’ll give her Yves St. Laurent,
5-star hotels, and 5-star restaurants.
Shawty off the chain,
Shawty off the hook,
She got game and she’s aight!
Shawty da bomb - fuh real!!!

08-18-2014

Contest:      Ebonics – Let’s Do Some Slang
Sponsor:     Verlena S. Walker 
Placement:  1st

Some Terms and Definitions:
shawty – a young attractive female; dope – cool, nice, awesome; swag – style; 
turn up – excited; mad – really a lot; peeps – friends, close pals; baller – a 
thug that made it in the big time; racks/stacks– lots of money; aight – alright; 
wildin’– to go crazy, acting out of control; cra cra – crazy; tweakin’/freakin’ – 
dancing provocatively and moving around out of control; cheesin’ – smiling; 
finesse – man who has swag and can spend a huge amount of money; ratchet 
– ghetto diva; creepin’ – sneaking about; bubbly – champagne; bling bling – 
expensive flashy jewelry; Benjamins – hundred dollar bills; boo – one’s lover; 
da bomb – the best of the best; game – skills; ice – expensive flashy jewelry 
usually diamonds or jewelry with diamonds; off the chain/off the hook – 
excellent, fantastic, awesome; fly – cool, in style; hook up – getting together 
with someone romantically; hoochie – a female who dresses trashy; straight up 
– absolutely, really.

Details | Language Poem |

If Languages Were Instruments

If languages were instruments,
English, the language of my own America,
Would be something like a piano.
Each word is clear and sharp-
When we sing, the note does not waver.
But I suppose it's more fair to say that
English is something like an electronic keyboard
With two hundred different modes because English
Has so many different versions, 
Adaptations of other instruments,
Emulations, or imitations, however you want 
To think of it; there is no accent that cannot 
Be reconfigured to be
Played on keys in distinct shades
Of black or white.

Arabic though...
Arabic is more like a violin.
The sound of Arabic
Flies up and down the scale
In deliciously smooth legato,
Stopping to linger on vibrato;
Poignant

Details | Language Poem |

Growing Up With The Language of Kings

I always had this fascination with the English language.
Ever since I learned to read and write,
it captivated my interest, beside my own native tongue;
Opening for me a whole new world different from my own -
A world of kingdoms, of princesses and princes, of queens and kings,
of knights in shining armor, of noblemen and the common man,
of many innumerable things.

A child who found such joy in a second language or third
would feel like a traitor to her own when deep nationalism
is rooted in her bones. It was not easy.

And yet the fascination remained – despite being inculcated
with heavy ideas on love for motherland and in the words of Rizal –
“Ang hindi magmahal sa sariling wika,
Ay higit pa ang amoy sa malansang isda”.*

To a child who secretly preferred reading in the foreign tongue,
These words were damning. So much so that in my mind
there was always an ongoing war while growing up
with the king’s language and Rizal.

Looking back, mastering both languages would have been a lot easier
had somebody told me: “Go ahead, do what makes you happy,
as long as you do not forget your identity.
Be proud of the color of your skin.
You can be unique and world class at the same time,
there is no need to feel guilt, find your own rhyme.”

And so today, I tell the youth who have their own native tongue:
Enjoy the journey, but do not forget you are a child of your land
while you discover many things, using the language of kings.

Dr. Jose Rizal – Philippine National Hero, who ironically have mastered different languages including Greek, Latin, Hebrew ,Sanskrit, German, French, Italian among others, aside from Spanish and the now commonly used English language

* "Anyone who does not love his own language
is worse than the smell of a rotting fish."

26 July 2015
The Doesn't Fit Contest
Sponsor: Carol Eastman

Details | Language Poem |

The Word

In the beginning was the word
Before that, no noun, no thing
Then no sound was ever heard
And no passing bell would ring

So therefore no adjective was needed to describe it or deplore it
No preposition required to be positioned right before it

No verb to do something to it or say what act it was pursuing
No need for an adverb to describe how well or badly it was doing

Since not even one noun existed, conjunctions would have been redundant
There were no things to act on and to move across the face of the fundament 

So the first word there had to be - was BE, and that was the very first in existence
And from Genesis and Eden to Elsinore, it has had a remarkable degree of persistence

Now, in the Oxford English Dictionary which is venerable institution
There are 171476 full entries of words (2nd edition) all capable of elocution

Of these, about one seventh are verbs, therefore there must be around 24497 give or take, to enumerate all action
And that should be enough for even the most garrulous to get some satisfaction

This is a limited calculation and I wouldn't want to be tied down to it 
We can be more free in our estimates so while we are about it, we might as well do it

It seems that once BE had been exercised, the dam broke and words poured out as from a cornucopia. 
And verbs would soon exist in an abundance enough to carry you from here to Ethiopia

Except in the culture of youth where it appears this multitude has been reduced to the deplorable "was like"
To them I am tempted to say: "Learn some real verbs"; OR I would employ a phrasal such as
 'On-your-bike!'

The possibilities are now endless particularly if you include the phrasal
Giving us enough elan vital to at least maintain a metabolism basal

So to whoever first said BE, whether God or someone with similar propensities 
though another name or description:
I say Well done! I couldn't in my wildest dreams with a wish to create a rich life and culture, 
have produced a better prescription

Details | Language Poem |

Now gone

No good mornings
No good nights
You just know I'm fine
And it's killing me inside

Details | Language Poem |

FREEDOM OF THE WRITTEN WORD

Does not the pen yield its ink unto the bare page,
For expressionism to spill forward expelling inspirations
Liberal curve, it’s the power of freedom of speech is
It not.
How many have died for what they believe in,
What weight in blood soils, have these brave
Individuals has cost in life’s causes of the justice
And righteous.
These voices sounding can be heard even though
The flesh flame has been extinguished, hope light
Flickers in the darkest corner of silence, and it’s mighty
Winds wave can still be felt amongst the living.
Know one stands alone in a justified cause, if the truth
In the written words is spoken out loud, and is proudly
Bared by the author.
The next generations seeks our kindling fire, to inspire
There small embers to burn more brightly let us encourage
Such raw fuel to ignite, not smother it by smug self righteousness.
Set ablaze the pages of the future generations, let their inspirational
Spark spread, setting the very heavens a fire with enlightenment's torrent.
In this world we are given the gift of speech, thought, and wisdom,
For what other reason but to share the best of ourselves with others,
It is the gleaming light that sizzles in the eyes of the human spirit,
And severs us from the beast of the fields, and it is called Intelligence,
Compassion, and the freedom of speech.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Language Poem |

Broken English

He speaks in broken English;
It's interesting to see my language this way-
Spread out like pieces of shattered ceramic,
The edge of each word tossing off glints of meaning
Like bits of light, illumination; a kaleidoscope
Of light or sound dancing in the air before his lips...
At times he seems embarrassed, pausing before he speaks, 
Like the boy who tipped over his mother's favorite vase-
He knows how I love words- and scrambles to piece back
Together the fragmented ideas, hoping the cracks might
Be overlooked; the result of his efforts is often unconventional,
And yet... impossibly lovely too... 
It's a picture puzzle of a lonely landscape rearranged into a flower
It's a mosaic; the pieces don't have to fit to make the image radiant
It's a kintsukuroi bowl, the language veined through with gilded passion,
More beautiful for having been broken

Details | Language Poem |

An Echo Through Time

An Echo Through Time
 
An echo through time follows all now in kind;
It’s the moment when poets find their rhyme!

Past-Present events give us a mirror to see from,
Of what Present Perfect events have now become.

Poets must write to truth what surely they mean;
With such wondrous verses the reader shall glean!

Writing with tone, tenor and syncopation is grand,
Giving poets that mellifluous effect desired by plan.

The echo quality of a great poem bespeaks its passion,
Whilst its literary panache shall always be in fashion!

An echo reflects a poem’s true resonance by intention;
Ensuring one’s mind shifts to an intellectual dimension.

Poets’ rendezvous with this echo through time is divine;
It helps us enshrine our thoughts now in continuous time!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 27, 2015 (Rhymed Couplet)

Details | Language Poem |

teach me in a dream

Constellations of values and ethics 
like dancing stars in onyx nights. 
Majestic fields of ideals stay grounded 
in what only seems right. Keenly, I search 
philosopher’s heels to grasp theoretical 
notions, held together by gravity’s scales 
as comets of light circle in tails
and teach me in a dream.




What is the uniqueness of your poetry?
Someone once said to me that “poetry can’t include abstract language.”

Well, that really got me going! As a lover of language and theory I just couldn’t let this one pass. The uniqueness of my poem is that I use abstract language with planetary imagery to lightly illustrate two mega-abstract ideas, ethics & philosophy. The end culminates that all knowledge is refutable (i.e. “and teach me in a dream”).

Details | Language Poem |

Voiceless

Misunderstood, trapped and rarely
considered an equal; confusion
dominates many faces that try to
comprehend my broken voice.
No-one seems to recognise my
body language and unusual hand movements.
Wrong conclusions are drawn towards
my level of intelligence; many view me
like a lost child desperate to be one with
its mother.
I may speak the English language but
it appears broken; my voice is thus 
lost, like a treasured belonging long 
been misplaced somewhere unknown.
My hearing remains but I speak like
a deaf person; hand gestures are made
to try to convey my thoughts and emotions,
sadly, hardly anyone has learned how to
interpret someone like myself.
I am voiceless and thus I seem not to
belong in this world of fragmented images
of what is deemed normal.
Regardless of my affliction I remain as 
whole as I can possibly be.

Details | Language Poem |

Sleepless Nights

Insomnia, familiar friend,
crawled into bed this summer night
so once again, inflamed with dread
I wander now in pitch of dark 
and touch the places, now by heart, that sprawl unstirred by weary minds

This lonely place, where I used to come
where armless grief, and headless doubt
and worry filled the rooms
I know you cold, my land of oz
So ruthless do you change your face
into a place I once refrained

But,  don't pretend to make me fear, toxic robber of my sleep
I've known you much too long
You masquerade in shades of gray
And now I know that dark of night, is not the blackest thing
And room by room, I'll play the game
until the light of day

The shadows magnify your art
and though they magnify my loss of sleep
and while I've tossed and turned in vain
I've lost the lonely albatross
that pulled against the grain

From hooded thresholds I embark
to find a language of the dark
A liquid language of a mystic night, 
that switches on the light

I've walked the halls of ghosts I knew, and those I hope to meet
I've felt the stares, and shared myself, no secrets left to keep
But not tonight, familiar friend
you bask in myth I understand
I'll fill the tasks that need my hands, until the light of day...
---------------


For Leonora Galinta's Contest

Details | Language Poem |

Jeeeeez

In years gone by, folks didn’t like to say
God’s name to show  surprise or great dismay,
and so you would hear “Goodness,“ “Gol” and “Gee,“
and also euphemisms for J.C.

Jiminy Cricket! Doesn’t that sound nice?
Jeepers Creepers, Jason Crisp or Cheese and Rice?
Godfrey Daniel! Surely you know that
is slang for God and “God rot it” is “Drat!”

“Oh my gosh,” “My goodness,” or simply “Lord”
replaced expletives that today come poured
from mouths of kids who can’t be mannerly
to just say “Leapin‘ Lizards“ or “Golly Gee!”.

You’ll hear (for damning something with God’s name),
“Dag nabbit” and “Dad gum.” They might seem tame
but fit the bill and give us a small thrill!
But dang it, why would someone say “Sam Hill?”

Words from the Holy Bible we enjoy
employing when we say Holy Moley,
Holy cow, Judas Priest (but WAIT!)
For Pete’s Sake! How did Judas ever rate?

Great Scott, there’s even Jumpin’ Jehosophat!
How the HECK did they ever come up with that?
By Jove, I’m nearly finished. Now pretty please. . . .
Instead of using Christ’s name, just say Jeeeeez!


Written July 26, 2015

Details | Language Poem |

The forgotten language

Mystery symbols in our dreams
Are night's telegrams with strange themes
To grasp the message
Of what these scenes presage
The ancients knew decoding schemes


Author's note: Our inability and lack of desire to interpret dreams in the "modern age" is partly the result of our reliance on reason and science.  Our predecessors would be shocked at how illiterate we are when it comes to this skill.  Eric Fromm's book with the same title as this poem makes this exact point.  It is unfortunate that modern man can not properly decipher these gems of information from the subconscious.