We the nouns of this here poem,
in order to excite the senses of the reader,
establish verbs for action,
promote adjectives for color,
and secure the excitement of interjections
to our pronouns and to our adverbs,
do ordain and establish
this here document
for the readers of these words.
The Departing of The Heart
Salutations for the sound of mind and poverty of heart
Reparations that don’t come through in time to rectify the start
Commiserations for the ones who find it hardest to eventually part
Palpitations of another heart that cannot perceive the concept that it must depart
Military consequences that send the young men out to war
Conciliatory influences of the leaders who target hiring of the poor
Crematory inferences necessary as they knock on heavens door
An Adversary without recompense that helps me get up off the floor
Kindness for the people that are on daily parade
Blindness from the steeple as we play Holy charades
They Find less sympathy for the feeble as they huddle close and afraid
Passing through the eye of a needle as the ferryman gets paid
Interjections from the galley as the defendant begins to cry
Objections in a midnight alley as the amendment causes him to deny
Rejections of the black sheep in a family as without her flock she’ll surely die
Comprehensions of the urgency that communicate in sighs
The End by Elizabeth Moroz
Open Word Classes
In language there are classes, we are told,
Of words both new and old.
Nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs too,
And among them, open word classes few.
Nouns, the names of things and beings,
Verbs, actions that give them meanings.
Adjectives, describing how things are,
Adverbs, telling when and where they occur.
But in the open classes, there is more,
Words that keep growing, like an open door.
Interjections, expressing emotion pure,
Conjunctions, connecting clauses sure.
Prepositions, showing position and relation,
And articles, signaling a specific sensation.
These open classes, ever-changing and free,
Reflect the dynamism of language, you see.
For new words can be added with ease,
As culture and technology shift and tease.
And though rules and structure remain,
Open classes expand, our language domain.
So let us celebrate the open word classes,
For they reflect how language amasses.
A rich and diverse range of expression,
For us to use in endless succession.
By Otieno Elvis Gikoi
THE ELO’S POETRY
You set the bridge on fire, burning away all of our connections
You are the most calculating arsonist looking back in reflections
You might as well have staked my heart like vampire rejections
You dragged me in like smack spoon fed with sweet cooked injections
I, no more than a self-proclaimed codependence need for interjections
I was lucky enough to get away from your endless contradictions
When words are running rampant
You just have to rein them in.
By lassoing a few of them,
At least you can begin.
They’ll buck and kick and race around,
Defiantly at first,
Especially the adjectives –
You know that they’re the worst.
But once you calm them down and let
The verbs and adverbs mix,
The nouns and pronouns may decide
To use their bag of tricks…
Releasing prepositions
And conjunctions by the score.
You want some interjections?
Hey! You couldn’t ask for more.
If all the parts of speech are caught
You don’t have an excuse.
Without a poem resulting,
You should go and let them loose.
So string them all together
And you’ll possibly succeed
In creating, from these random words,
Some poetry to read.
Suddenly he is gone
His words unspoken
And, more sadly,
Unwritten
Some said he’d been a preacher
He could certainly hold a crowd
Teasing them and pleasing them
As he spoke his words aloud
A painter of word pictures
Spoken with verve and style
With asides and interjections
Every random once in a while
A spoken word performer
One of that select band
Who could hold an audience
In the palm of his hand
A raconteur and humorist
A veritable bright spark
Love his work or loathe it
But he certainly left his mark
Now suddenly he is gone
His words unspoken
And, more sadly,
Unwritten
Rest In Peace
Her body smells of heady perfume with imprints of metaphors on her bruised skin
Adores herself in the vagued mirror
A smile so pleasing yet so harmful
Beads of similes gather to decorate her with a hook to conceal the brutality of her body,
The handcuffs of diamond personifies to the human trait of possessiveness
Accompanied by the golden ring of epithet entangled within her raw hands
Her pierced ears hearken to the ballads of antediluvian times;lips reciting verses of contemporary world
Her fragility lays in the mascara she puts,smudges the kajal with brushes of alliterations
The messy bun incorporates secrets of love and musings of hate alongside a lily holding onto the desires for warmth
Her brittle nails dip into the paint of interjections finishing with a slight coating of delicate red mousse
The cottton dress of yellow now feels accomplished with a hint of storm caressing underneath.
I wear my heart on paper
Ink fills my veins like blood
reviews cut like a razor
but I’m addicted to the pen.
I pump words with every heartbeat
I hoard paragraphs in my room
I take interjections like a junkie
I wear verbs like a parfum.
I’m feeling the contractions
as I erase awkward phrases
I write sad poems that feel like skin.
and fill sheets of diary pages
I blush at lurid pronouns
that I conjure then,
I consider putting word-play off
but I’m sentenced to the pen
.
.
.
*Inspired by Michael R. Burch's poem: At the Natchez Trace
Wow, vowels, vowels!
God spells vowels out
and they turn into verses, tales and novels
about the fall, the banishment, about
the last goodbuys to innocence. The vowels
of interjections that you spell before
you overflow over the edge, my goddess,
turn into a new heaven. Two, three, four,
not, five spikes of the pleasure! A black bodice
is on the floor. The big-eyed mirror spies
on the immodest shadows. The avowals
of love and a discreet, a clockwise rise
of the new passion.
Vowels, vowels, vowels!
You are a poetess (a fancy feast of interjections and alliterations): blue eyes, thing lips, long legs, straight bangs, small breasts and a short temper. Our relations are not a dialogue between two sides - my side is silent. Contrary to common perception, poetry divides lovebirds. Alas, I am a poet too.
I simulate excitement when you read your verses out load; I pretend it isn't just about love; I bleed over your drafts at night; I understand I’m done for poetry: it’s not enough for both of us... I switch to prose, my love.
Love Poems For Her (That Special Romantic Interest) Poetry Contest Poetry
Sponsored by: Team PoetrySoup
08.07.2019
RUN OVER
a child’s mind at play
with the words
“he was run over by a mack truck”
his books flew as he crossed the street
from the public school not far away -
a most busy street.
did i say there is a school there?
kids ne’er slow down -
they keep trucking along.
a huge tire track across a brown grocery bag
the cover of an english book.
a teenager on crutches (years later)
on crutches, on crutches...
how slow does a truck have to go to miss
a small child with books?
a child’s mind at play -
the words had nowhere to go.
i was still learning how to form sentences.
how to express awe and place interjections!
you cross our sleepy village,
near the firehouse,
(they don’t run over children)
and cross the busy busy street
to get to the school.
i rode a bus to Catholic school,
safe -
except for one crazy nun,
who’d run over some.
5/7/2019
Durin' my shaky academic career I was an 'A' pupil in gym and art,
But when it came to parsin' sentences, my grades just fell apart!
I could never get the drift or hang of puzzlin' English grammar,
Tho' teachers tried to pound such in my skull with not a too gentle hammer!
Beyond me was the understandin' and use of conjunctions,
Nor did I perceive anything about indefinite articles and their functions.
Predicates and past and present tenses I would not dare define,
Nor could I figger out how verbs and adverbs intertwine.
The definition and use of nouns and pronouns gave me a fit,
And describing adjectives, well, I could hardly pronounce or spell it.
I could not conceive the rules regardin' simple interjections,
And Lord have mercy if teach called on me to explain prepositions!
Somehow I muddled through English classes to gain my degree,
But I could have done without parsin' sentences if'n it was left up to me!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Silliness coupled with much humdrum
drains creative energy from the minds of children.
Bored kids, raised by televisions, make warped decisions.
Viewed daily by the hour, murder becomes ordinary.
The wild lunacy of far too many people
causes vulgarity to erupt at an early age.
Integrity is not taught by crude interjections.
Reality: kids mimic adults without perception.
Elegance is foreign; brutality, common.
In modern childhood decorum is misunderstood
as mere rules and likewise humility is worthless
Laxity reigns with sporadic parental harshness.
Today’s children have a mentality and morality
that would rattle our great-grandparents’ false teeth.
Our children are wiser than their peers of yesteryears,
re: street-smarts, fits and starts and body parts.
Writers Are:
We are all the carnal
offspring of nouns and pronouns,
verbs and adverbs, conjunctions,
"INTERJECTIONS," and adjectives;
with the occasional preposition
thrown in there for good measure.
When feeling naked we clothe
ourselves in form, meter,
syntax, grammar, and style.
Fortunately, we do have the DNA
of the nine muses on our side.
So,to quote a famous movie star,
"I've got that going for me!"
Addendum:
I went searching online for
writing journals which accept poetry
for publication or posting.
I saw on one of the journal websites
which accept poetry submissions
that they were only interested
in poetry which is "intellectually provocative!"
So, while the Muse was upon me, I
stripped naked, sat down, and wrote
what I thought was a damned fine
piece of free verse. They have yet to
respond to my submission!
i've taken up drinking.
talking to a wall.
a wall of confusions.
delusions.
agitations.
in depth analyzation.
sadness.
the word
of the day
of blight.
smite?
a worldly
glorious
delight.
she sits
in one spot
gladly staring
into a face
a
face
a face
a face
a
face.
the face
with
eyes.
with mouth.
with mystery
with
with
depth
long gone.
wonders
what
it is like?
why not?
why so?
why anyway?
ever?
why.
because!
because!
the face replies
showing her
dismay
and assemblage
she thought she had,
but inferiority
takes over
like a raging
baboon
over her young.
her young.
their youth
the youth
of questions
and no answers
the youth of mirrors
the face
and
the ass
tonight
she too
like me
will take up drinking
away from
confused questions
questions not even
formulated.
a
blank.
a language vacation.
start with an
adjective
she ponders
an adjective
a simili of nouns
[auto correct
interjections
correcting her
created words.
the fascism!]
going over
the past before
the word
of written
words
a word?
a word.
!!!!! flee !!!!!!!!!
she flew
melted
into a word
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.