Best Nouns Poems
My Floribunda
Rosettes apricot and peach
My garden angel
I loved it when you were learning
And practiced with adjectives at every opportunity
You would frame my face within your hands
And kiss me fiercely before announcing
“Happy kiss”
A kiss that had no special reason, coming as a sample
Proving the glow upon your face was real and marvelous
That you were at home, safe within my heart.
I loved your questions that confused me
“Shake hands and say How do you do . . . .
How do you do what?”
And you would wait for an answer with that cute frown
And there was no answer other than “That’s what we say”
“You’re crazy!” she’d respond. “Thank you, you’re welcome!
Welcome? Welcome to where, to what?
That’s what you say, right? English is for crazy people!”
You loved autumn above all seasons
Pointing and practicing, “Leaf . . . . bush . . . . torrente . . . .
“Stream,” I’d tell you and you would nod pertly
And repeat, “stream . . . . stream . That’s a pretty word.”
“Sure, and gonorrhea sounds like a South Sea island
English is crazy, remember?”
But you would ignore me and walk on muttering
“Stream . . . . torrente . . . . stream . . . . stream.”
That night we sat on the sofa
You with your legs tucked beneath you
And you took my hand with eyes teary bright
“Sometimes,” you said, “I want to lock the door
Never open for anybody. Food is not important
I just want to stay here, inside this place
Here, beside you, inside your arms
Because I am frightened of everything out there.”
Existence was defined by emptiness
Your side of the bed, the chair before me at the table
The seat belt dangling and your place on the sofa
Your side of the dresser, your towels on the rack
Your shampoo and your place to lay out clothes for tomorrow
Everything was abbreviated and nothing complete
Because reality knocked at the door
And everything you feared invited us to this moment
Rice walls slide secrets
Hand paint intellectual lips
Tear Kimono wings
Grapefruit floats in milk
But milk curdles in grapefruit
Nouns are funny things
A group of fish is called a school.
A bunch of whales, a pod;
And crows comprise a murder,
Which I’ve always thought was odd.
Many goats become a tribe;
Lots of apes: a troop.
Hares: a warren; chicks: a clutch
And geese: a flock, not group.
Squirrels form a scurry;
Antelopes create a herd.
Platypuses make a puddle,
Which just sounds absurd.
Bats, a colony do make;
Butterflies, a flight.
Oysters congregate in beds;
For hamsters, horde is right.
Collective nouns are lots of fun.
Let’s bring this lesson home:
Many rhyming lines like this
Combine to form a poem!
Written by Gail Debole
November 26, 2024
Adding "ing" to nouns has taken over the town.
English Traditionalists - turn your frowns upside down.
"Being an adult" is now one word.
We are all "adulting" or haven't you heard?
So I guess the next noun to be "verbed"
Is that a child is "childing" or is that absurd?
All languages evolve through the years.
Face the facts. Get over your fears.
Nothing you can do to stop the "ings."
"Verb-ing" the nouns is more than a fling.
Younger generations speak their own type of speak.
Older generations try to keep up so they do not look weak.
No one person controls the words we say.
New ones arise and old ones lose sway.
Now all the nouns can be "verb-ed" or "e-d-ed."
Language creativity cannot/should not (shouldnot?) be impeded.
And, in the future, how many words will survive?
Will acronyms and emojis be the language that thrives?
Cedar, pine, holly
January evergreens.
branches, needles, leaves.
parliament mischief
unkindness and murder
crow family
homelands / husbands / playing house / strands
& strings of horses behind strangers lounging
un-belonging to Thebes of Sevens or women,
depending on how you slice matters, as a perspective
as a twisted bark of favors
sneaky is a wooden gift donkey at a garden gate
overbitten hinge with ten front teeth, grinning
hidden from you looking into it, questioning
its motivated patience rolling up in wait—
weighted with sweat-salted men huffing
inside an oaken belly chewing tight lips, they be-lying
trojan claims of apple cake philanthropy, a ready hoof
as a broken wood tooth busted off in breaching trollop
secretly hiding a picked body of men
beckoning their silent armies to bolster a side
there lies in its midst a flatulence of language
no fox lays a stake on the hole—
protecting its skulk in prevention of domestication's leash
as all before have done, better a murder
of crows than shifting troops proving
stud horses hiding should be stabilized
as leashing foxes having lost the lead
chasing a venery— manufactured hare meant for horse
plot-plottering hooves against his own wood
stoking a smoke-show inside a swollen belly
raking at the gates to get out of the agreement
of being,
for being part of the picked body, scrutinized
for pulling short to remain quiet at the dying chaos
of the rattling sounds from a losing side
Potpourri of collections
Hug of affections
Season of winters
Track of sprinters
Road of cars
Street of bars
Pad of flies
Pod of eyes
Tin of sardines
Western of jeans
View of lens
Peck of hens
Pulpit of preachers
Lesson of teachers
Smack of bottoms
Perfume of blossoms
Fist of thugs
Bed of bugs
Table of logs
Circle of cogs
Score of musicians
Face of beauticians
Kiss of loves
Peace of doves
Whistling of birds
Conversation of words
Blind of blinkers
Twitch of winkers
Curve of bends
Finale of ends
~~~
Inspired by “An Exaltation of Larks” by James Lipton
Alas I sit alone with all of them
Afraid I might offend them on a whim
They’ve backed me out upon a flimsy limb
Above the water knowing I can’t swim.
It’s worse, I tell you, than it really sounds
For if the branch was over solid ground
I’d shout the names in hopes I’d somehow found
The proper use of new and old pronouns.
When Shakespeare shook the tree his words were true
Misunderstood in painted crimson hue
Thus, did he come to one day sadly rue
The day the pronouns gave his name the shoe.
Forced him to masquerade as evil bard
As living with the pronouns proved so hard.
John G. Lawless
©11/15/2022
Collective nouns, what do you mean?
Let me present-
A gaggle of geese,
A moose and some meese,
A tuft of grass,
And a band of thieves,
A fleet of ships,
And a flock of sheep
A flock of sheep?
Well, if the goose is geese,
geese are a gaggle,
moose is meese,
So, why is it not a shoop and a sheep?
ENGLISH! I think I might even sue!
I will take you to the BENCH of judges,
There we will resume!
You make a porridge of words
In your cauldron of 'sense',
Whilst you horridly cackle!
Your words need to be observed
Under a great big lens!
Two Small Verbs/Nouns
Love and hate,
two peas in a pod.
Two words so alike
yet not alike.
Both filled with passion,
evoking strong feelings.
We act on them,
or not, each in our own way.
Both, the opposite end of
an emotional spectrum.
They are the root and evolve
into other verbs or nouns.
Two peas in a pod, so
similar yet so different.
They both lie deep within us.
Which one will we choose,
we are capable of both.
Two small verbs/nouns
with outsized results.
My heart bleeds words which take the form of poetry – by poet
There is grace in the nouns
Freedom in the verbs
There is music in the prose
Whispers of light in the poem
There is hope in the thoughts
Promise in the ideas
There is silence in the heart
Joy in the kindest breath
There is faith in the inspirations
Rhythm in the stanza
Laughter in the romance
Feelings powerful and clever
There is expectation in the lyrics
Recovery in the soft conjunctions
Pearls of wisdom in the style
Life that welcomes gentle insight
There is harmony in the quiet songs
Magic that reminds us to love
Beyond the words and phrases
All the way onto the blank pages
There is beauty in the compositions
Tunes of melodies easy and gentle
Coloring souls in hues of serenity
Peace that surpasses the empathetic
There is kindness in the starry shimmers
Hearts both breathtaking and brilliant
Souls so warmed by their passions
They are shadowed by love without conditions
There is longing in the one who writes
Both sad things and glad things
Whatever details might enlighten
Bringing to life the story, the poem….
Felt by a heart who knows words
Give their lives the dance, the waltz
That brings life to their souls
And a narrative to their goals
Written by a heart who bleeds words!
Scots golfers do not 'golf'
as they say in the U.S.A.
invented in Scotland
it's as they ought
a sport the Scottish play
the first tennis player
known by name
(Louis X)
did not 'tennis'
when he played the game
even so I may one day
bend my elbow
consider the racket
and give it a go
looks like the language
is slowly downward drifting
and come this Christmas
you won't see me 'gifting'
when did a noun become a verb
misconjugated by ignorant clowns
as English is oft Yanked and twisted
by illiterate dimwits verbing nouns