Best Phonetically Poems
Forevermore, this fantastical
free verse features
a fortuitous tale
featuring forty-four flirty
frilly fabricated faeries
fractionally forsaken,
forever fictionalized
philosophically and phonetically
free to force
feisty forest phantoms
to frenzy. These feisty forest faeries,
frequently act like
femme fatales, for whom
we fire phantoms feel free
to fixate for future faerie flocks.
Foundationally, this un-formidable free verse
is free of falsities, but fraught with fiction and fantasy.
THE DAY I VISITED GIORGIO V.
The day I visited Giorgio V.
It was poetry that received me :
Poems lined after poems
Like the military in morning parade ;
I saw words command words
I saw words send words on errand
Every word in its rank and its place
Like items in Lidi or Audi’s shop.
There is gender in poetry’s palace :
The she-poems need no introduction
Their body features speak for them
But many are he-poems in Giorgio’s league
That Lexicon or Thesaurus must first introduce ;
The array is beauty to behold
Variety is the jewel that stands here out.
Then came the Marshal
The commander of the battalion
On his epaulet I read : poetic anatomy –
His dexterity in letter wins queens ;
He grows poems where men grow hairs ,
He took first step , gourdlets of poetry were dropping
He took the next , gourds of poetry were falling
He took another , it was barrels of poetry that were rolling down
At this point I heard a thunderous voice :
‘‘Stand at ease , stand alert
Quick march , slow march
March in review order
March in advance order
Open hair dresser
Salute.’’
Majestically he walked , like the Irish Colum ,
In the columns of words as he inspected the guard ;
Sundenly he turned back and made my point his path ,
Could he have seen me ? Yes, he did ;
As he got to me , phonetically he pressed :
What can I do for you ? Like in catechism I replied :
Your servant has only come to glorify the god of poetry.
Faculty meeting. Formidably flippantly fortuitously fluffy and forgetful.
I began to write a little list of F words, because I was in the F word mood.
Frilly. Free-ha-ha. Feast. Forget-me-knots. Fallacy. Farming. Fastidious. Fun-filled.
What are you doing? A non-friend asked me. She had already broken my chain of counting when I was
Counting syllables, making me angry.
“I am writing F words,” I tell her. She looks at me with fanfare, farcically, fantastically.
I am relieved to begin anew. Now I am adding PH words, because they will go along well with my theme.
Phonetically, phenomena’s, phenol barbital, phosphate, phantom, philosophy
“You can always ask Caren.”
Uh-oh.
I look up.
Everyone is looking at me including the principal who is pleased as punch I’m taking such great notes.
I nod my head.
Feline, foamy. Form-fitting, fleshy, flesh-eating, fractions, fanfare, fishy, finished, foamy, Phillip, fixed, fixt.
Someone puts their hand on my paper.
I glare at them. “What are you doing?”
I put my finger to my lips to shush them.
Fluffy. Faerie, Fairy. Franchise. Farmer. Freshman. Frequent. Frequently.
Feminine. Farcical. Feisty. Fibber. Fibbing. French fries.
I look up.
Clock says 4:35. Time to go.
Totally un-socialized, I fly out the door, knowing the union is on my side.
My Lark, whom I plucked in the Dark
Alouette, gentille alouette
Aloutte, je te plumerai
Alouette(a) we are all a wetta
Alouette(a) I will pluck you dry
Pluck you dry, pluck you dry
Ben oui, mais ben oui, lets look to the sky
Alouette(a), gently let me caress you
Alouette(a), these words make us wetta
Je te plumerai le bec
Je te plumerai le bec
And a kiss
And a kiss
More more kiss
Alouette, let me kiss you oh my my
I will look you in the eyes
Avec un bec
Je suis un mec
Alouetta, let me make you wetta
Alouetta, let me hold you near
I will pluck your wings you hear?
Just to keep you close and near
Alouetta, let me keep you here my dear
And you legs
And your neck
And you your eyes
Alouetta, I caress your coeur so red
Alouette, my love will make you wetta
Et le cœur
Et le bouche
Et les ailes
Alouetta, je te donne un bec(a)
Alouetta, je te plumerai
Alouette, je suis un beau mec (a)
Alouette, je te donne un grand bec(a)!!!!
Svp, Svp
Alouette I will make you wetta
Alouette I will make you mine!!!!
Notes and Physiologists notes!
Ok LOL where to start
Alouette is a Lark in English
"Alouette" is a popular French Canadian children's song about plucking the feathers from a lark, in retribution for being woken up by its song. Although it is in French, it is well-known among speakers of other languages
I of course used many play on words to turn this into a lyrical naughty love verse based on the song. Not only did I intermingle French and English, but some of the play on words apply, even only in French. I know many will not understand the French, however the English language is universally used for the very reason that is does incorporate so many words from other languages. Anytime you bring ideas together, you are uniting rather than dividing, a theme in many of my poems.
Alouette = Lark, I misspelled it sometimes as Alouetta as that’s more how you would pronounce the word in English.
Je te plumerai = I will pluck you
Bec = beak in English, but in French can also mean a kiss
Ben = is closer to how the Quebecois accent would sound
Mec = boyfriend a term more used in France
Svp = abbr for “please”
Some words I spelled phonetically for those with cell phones.
Do I really need to explain “wet-ta” ? LOL
Text Speak--A newly developing dialect whereby the speaker can convey a lengthy thought by abbreviating phonetically or through the use of substitutive characters.
Any attempt to speak it out loud is both impractical and unusually difficult,
Hme skoolled
Nvr took nglish
lrnd on cmptr
:-)
omg luvd star wars
brb
ok lol!
Translation:
:-) I’m happy
brb- be right back
lol –lots of luck
My speech ain’t elegantly refined,
my words don’t dress up none too properly
Simply cloth words with no aristocratic design,
just plain, unassuming ghetto vocalese
Though I’m very familiar with
the Queen’s English tutorial
I don’t engage much in heavy conversation
that’s Harvard professorial
My talk is Oxford bent,
I got a deep Detroit-Harlem accent
Me be the son of a slave,
my nappy sentences ain’t straight
Neither is my speech, I’m afraid
My English is bent, I know ...
don’t always put my vowels where dey need to go
Teach sez me grammar skills is graded low,
I speak phonetically pure Ebonics with an Afro glow
But when it comes to surviving the Establishment game,
I’m da best you better know
Sometimes I speak me English right,
and sometimes I don’t
Still, I know how to ghetto walk at night,
us black owls don’t easily fright
We say, who say dat when I say dat
We say, who is dat talking like a rat,
creeping like a cat
We don’t like front runners
who don’t got our back
You understand what I’m saying,
though my English be bent
I don’t have fancy letters like some of y’all,
but me message always get sent
Now you received this truth water
straight from the Beth-el well,
so drink it all down,
it’s crystal clear speaking as a ringing church bell
And if my speech sound liberty cracked,
that’s when ya know something’s out of whack
Bent ain’t always bad,
‘specially when ya ducking from a bullet attack
Verbal or otherwise ...
my ghetto Bentley got a high market price
Me keep da conversation clean on da inside,
ebony gleaming outward on the black hand side ...
Leaning bent in da back diamond life
is a beautiful soul scenic ride
One particularly memorable critic referred to me as a neckbeard in a conversation with a friend this morning. Both of the twats were skinny, pencil-head net-dweebs, the types who frequent cesspools such as reddit.com or 4chan.org. I observed that both geeks were clad in t-shirts emblazoned with figures from Asian cartoons. I laughed to myself, and remarked that fans of Anime should not mock bearded men simply because their own kinds are maligned for their pointlessly lazy grooming. The offending dorks cohort cackled and muttered 'total neckbeard, man.' More cackling. I reached into my pocket and gripped my mini-kunai, which was sheathed into the waistband of my sweatpants, but released the grip and smiled at my antagonists. They needed no punishment. Their only crime was being stupid and hive-minded. I proceeded to the next table, this entire incident having taken place in a McDonald's dining room, and overheard their conversation, a robotic exchange of very old memes and esoteric World of Warcraft lingo. Their odious laughter filled the store, triggered by loudly shouted acronyms pronounced phonetically, such as LOL and ROFL. The couple sitting at the booth across from me was giggling in embarrassment at the idiocy, and the employees looked capable of homicide. I however, lounged lazily in the corner, feasting, the
Neckbeard Warrior at rest.
By any other name what is in a name prosody Rosa Dee the sweet voices arise in Consonance assonance resonance Renaissance you see being reborn by the word frequency colorfully resurrected euphoric euphony your flowing down along the Dee an Irish sea without life the screams of cacophony cantos of Muirghein the queens nightmare winds of change blow upon the wordy mare but the word in question rhimes with prosody so you see to alliterate the marrying sounds honest dissonance choosing rather to write it down nomadiclly poeticlly phonetically as Rosa Dee instead harboring to the odic glottis lotus within hours hope to see a singing laughing flower
Criss-Cross Acrostic: Ai My Eye
Criss-Cross Acrostic:
Note: *Construe as “words” not as “letters”: Lines 1 and 3 read alike reversed; Lines 2 and 4 read alike reversed; likewise vertically and diagonally from up-down or down-up mode.
"Ai Ai My Eye !"
I Was Saw Eye
Eye Saw Was I
Eye Was Saw I
I Saw Was Eye
Another Permutation:
« Ai Ai My Sore Eye !"
I Sore Was I
Saw I Sore Eye
Sore I Saw Eye
I Was Sore I
FURTHER PERMUTATIONS for SORE EYES
Eye Sore Saw I
Saw I Sore Eye
I Saw Sore Eye
Sore Eye Saw I
Saw I Sore Eye
Eye Sore Saw I
Sore Eye Saw I
I Saw Sore Eye
Eye Sore Saw I
Sore Eye Saw I
Saw I Sore Eye
I Saw Sore Eye*
This last quatrain diagonally reads as:
"Ai Ai Sore Eye" (phonetically): « Ai Ai Saw I"
The two men stood in the dusty street,
it was inevitable that they should meet,
suddenly one of them slumped to his knees,
justice had provided one of life' s certainties.
The Marshal strode towards his adversary,
kicked the gun on the ground away slowly,
I went to a party and met a Chinese lady
who phonetically was called High Noon.
She joked about Clark Gable but I told her
that actually it was Gary Cooper, who
recenty had been given a lifetime achievement
award for being such a great trooper.
We met again and so I asked her 'how?'
I said that it must be nearly two o ' clock by now.
.
Past hern Leabeeyah
hern ither
whence lexis cannot be
dislodged
Mine
*Sad to witness this second occurrence where
POETRYSOUP.COM would not allow me to use the
Word ***** “laybia” i had to phonetically
spell >>>>>>>^ (lips) *smoocherz
.
Slipping twixt mine dukes digits
hern pretty
moaning
Beguiling mine
her Marabou stole
Emerald eyne
Too
hern tinted thew's sheath
their whence
Intrigues me not
Not az her
limp
her protuberant stare
the silence
Inciting
Mine noisome sneer
her
offed
hefft
* for the astute indulgerz uv this write; thanx for the visit...
for those who indulge for the guess why i wrote this: the original
pronunciation uv Macabre, in the 1400'z by the french iz, how it iz written.
in english, we say 'macab' ...phonetically pronounced: mah cobb.
it comes from the french "danse macabre"; death dance ;)
You chose McHenry for your home . . .
Settling here, so that your children could have a bright future.
Your life was given for your children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren . . .
A loving mother who thought of their welfare, even to the end.
Never thinking of yourself . . .
Even in your afflictions, your laughter brought joy to others.
When your eyesight became poor, "Who is that?" you would say . . .
And your smile would always make them feel welcomed by you.
Your love enriched the lives of all in this town . . .
And many of those well beyond its borders.
Though your vision was fading . . .
Your love for others never did.
We are saddened because you are gone . . .
Our world has lost a great treasure.
We will miss you "Ma", "Gramma", "Poa", "Nien", "Bat Bat" . . .
But we will always treasure the heartfelt love you gave to us so willingly.
"GNO HAN NEE, HO AW"
I wrote this for my Mother-in-Law . . . who was a Chinese immigrant, raised three children on
her own, and started business that touched the lives of many in our community by her
singular courage, honesty, and love. The last line means "We love you, very much", and
may not be spelled correctly, but is correct phonetically. I was blessed to know her.
Although she has been gone nearly four years, I wanted to share my feelings with you.
I speak loud against the noise that wants to stifle my voice. I speak so the echo
of my message can be heard above the clamor of the ordinary or the mundane.
I speak volumes unknown to man but are already applauded in heaven so that
as true wisdom can be heard even by a turned, deaf ear, which has been resting
in the shadow of routine; never seeking greatness, just able to blend in.
I speak....do others hear the eloquence of the passage of verbage or are they still
standing in line to be the first to receive, "Yeah man, I'm with it". I pray not; for if
that is their plight it is sorrowful indeed.
I speak! Loud, enunciating through teeth clenched like fists, so that every word is
phonetically correct and pronounced without flaws so that I am not
misunderstood and what is gained from me is clear.
I speak loud with a husky voice wrapped in honey and a warm blanket so that the
words are soothing and the message is healing to the very core of man who is
fighting not to die in a world where language is slurs and slanders and what
used to be savored as pristine, mot just sounds like distant clanging to this
generation's untrained ears.
I speak to be understood, to overcome my own obstacles, to encourage myself,
to bless the lives of others, to teach the babies at my knee and to share my life;
but when I speak loud, above the waves of twisted idioms and misplaced
silloquies, am I heard?
I t is always my thought to speak not just to be heard but to be understood; and
yet now, I wonder... am I being heard by my precious mother? For it is her
attention I still desire most and that to me is the most dear to my ear.
It is perfectly preposterous not
To fall in love with poetry.
For the poet creates the air…
…And the heavens
Sweet verses we breathe.
The first time he made love to me
We danced.
He led me one word unto another
Leaving me entranced
In his stanza.
He chanced a pen stroke
Then spoke his flow
Slow, deep inside of me.
It mystified me…
Kinetic heat, in theory,
Lyrically emulsified beats…
…And liquefied my sheets,
Literally!
Over again
He cried his piece
Rekindling my misery.
The memories from his words
Stirred my emotions unheard
Upon deaf ears
He referred it to:
Open-My-Heart Surgery -
Poetically taking me apart while
Piecing me together phonetically…
…He controlled me.
I’s his faithful servant
To which I followed him fervently
Deserving his expressions commends
I married them
Condemned
To no end…
That night I became
MissApprehend:
“The Lover of Hymn”
Yet all over him
I misunderstand his rhythm.
Vague traces of symbolism
Plagued the pages like
Some “Bubonic” Organism
In spite of skepticism…
He vaccinated all criticism!
With that
Blasé Blah mannerism
Nonetheless,
I loved him thru the prism
Of unspoken words
It never occurred to me
That Karma’s relevance
Was written in silence
Benevolence was the medium
He needed me
And I needed him
We are the “HE” and the “POET”
Though it stand to be no other
Voice of My Poetic Lover.