Language Poems | Examples of Language Poetry

So my mom's parents are from Ireland; her mom is from Galway and her dad is from Cork. My grandma had 13 siblings. My great grandfather was a schoolmaster (principle) with a family farm, so they were sort of uppety. Side note, my grandfather from Cork was one of five, and all of them were Angela's Ashes...

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"A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." (W. H. Auden) They sit in their glass-paneled chambers, these judges, tuning their ears to the hum of silicon— eyebrows raised at every metaphor too deft, too dressed, too drenched in sense. Who wrote this? they ask, tapping screens that blink like oracles but lie like...

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Once upon a dreary time A boy set out to note a rhyme Pen in hand with paper lined Prepared he was to share his mind But thoughts lay barren and confined Without sense, reason, or rhyme Suffered he did this weary time Both his soul and cheerless mind His eyes grew dark, his face grew lined And tho he sought to redesign Something, anything...

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/ "Like Open-Mic Explosions from the End of Language". ~ Chat-GPT / _____ Madmen leaked a rash of sky-blue puddle; fatally cloistered the hat-flu's hubble - To wit: - the half-time half-life smile of she and the other half-wonder of me. Far far ready to say maybe to love; moved in half-dream to plumb half-baked memories. ("But weren't their novel 'dogs-of-war' and lovely...

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When handed a stuffed pullet looks like a stunned mullet should I turn surly in high dudgeon please don't bludgeon this old curmudgeon and not to be outdone altho' I am an only son blame my parents by all means as I'm the result of their poor genes which run the gamut of the spectrum but I don't care one bit not a jot nor give a sh*t more politely put I...

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Truth is not for everyone -- some prefer lies...some prefer dyes, and not natural soul color. Some prefer love~ and some just mouth the word...never to be heard nor felt deeply nearer the heart. It's like that with most things, the prose and cons of openly living as opposed to falsely revealing: Some contrive a story-line, while other authors...

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Are nasty words used to express emotions to a heighten degree Am i suppose to understand you any more than you understand me Vocabulary words isn't hard to learn and to use I can use words that aren't so nasty and still blow a fuse Stand up comedy isn't the same due to foul language When it comes to being...

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## I Tonight, I dig up buried footsteps, each stone beneath my feet weighs heavy with goodbye. My shadow walks backward through forgotten maps, following roads that no longer know my name— a compass spinning wild and blind, a voice that stumbles over foreign words. ## II The city erases me as I...

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Aristotle, doth he opine, That parrots grow saucy with wine. I can't help but think He drove it to drink, The source of its moral decline....

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IX. In the ICU, machines create their own songo— ventilator, heart monitor, IV pump— forming an accidental orchestra the clutch of machinery holding time like a hi-hat choking its own decay. Underneath the electronic rhythms the human body maintains its own stubborn organic tempo— proving that even at the edge of existence we are fundamentally musical beings. The climate protestor's chant becomes a militant clave pattern— Save our planet!...

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If only wings all words would soar...too many anchors yet to endure. Knowing is maybe less important than living? Certainly we are not here, to teach God anything. We soak in our grief -- till the black robed thief returns us. Traveling more deeply in sometimes is the only way out. We travel and...

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[German Version] Wenn Gott seine Hand über das Land schwingt, wirft er Blautöne, gab er uns allen ein Skript zum Lesen, bei Kerzenlicht und silbernem Mond, wenn Engel weinen und Sterne fallen, wird der Dichter im Himmel über uns alle aufsteigen, wenn der Himmel grau wird, und all unsere Gefühle sich mit den Jahreszeiten ändern, ergreife einen Topf voll Gold, wenn Gottes Regenbögen seine Gründe...

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Being a lover and a poet That's as melancholy as we know it Me, myself and I Collide with you, yourself and mày...

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Ah, words, the lunacy of language The cackling currency of the confused Squandered in vain attempt at conversation Words, the spit balls and snow balls of youth Sharpened to become the epees of aging Slashing thrusts rendering opponents silent Daggers wielded swiftly in rhetorical deceit Pretentious pandering of pointless swords Dancing on the edge of a quiet moment Words, guttural curses of hurled...

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I slept at the foot of the mountain, There’s cheese in the trap waiting, Bait out the prey, Counting out every second it’s taking. Haven’t ate in several days, In a week. Listen for the snap, Now there’s dinner in the trap waiting. I forgot my second language, Guess I have nothing worth saying. Thank god for...

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