In my opinion, I think, I feel
Actually, In truth, To be honest
As for me, To my mind
I’d just like to suggest ~
that we eliminate
these pointless pests
Madness~
wrought from the
inexplicability of
seeming separation~
and futile searching
for a fulfilling
explanation~
some set of words
rewarded from a
satisfying diligence
yielding at last~
Madness~~
England glides in grace.
Heartfelt Oak and Sage herald
Its faery language.
English lightens weight,
Glides through fae-tinged tales to wake
Syllabic rebirth.
The books left
Flying out
All the words sliding
Leaving the pages
As the books took flight
No words left to describe the night
Fluttering with stiff covers
Pages falling/fading with the light
Fires took our history
Books removed to twist the news
Rewritten by barbarians
With which we are smitten
Cannot lose
The books left
All our words gone in spite
Only ashes remain to light our night
Shh...
close your eyes to find your peace
listen to the wind and its mystic secrets
The universe the clouds the sun the moon
have their own cosmic language
and who better to translate than the wind
Shh...
close your eyes and stand very still
give it time to harmonize mind heart and soul
They say “gentle” before “man”
as if softness must be stapled
to power to make it palatable.
As if the fist, once gloved, is no longer a fist.
They say “strong” before “woman”
as if endurance must be embroidered
onto flesh to make it forgivable.
As if the cleft, once crowned, is no longer a cleft.
Adjectives are corsets-
the ligature of language,
cinching identity until it fits,
the silhouette of acceptability.
A strangulation ritual
masquerading as grammar.
Let the noun speak- naked.
Last night silence spoke,
with fear and with dread,
a language whispered
only in the dark,
spoken by shadows,
heard mainly by kids.
Few adults could hear
what light would not bear
but darkness conveyed—
that language of fear
spoken in silence.
But who taught us
how to speak and hear?
What spirits cannot spit,
yet phantoms cry out,
to our trembling ears.
The night holds its breath,
its secrets confined,
trees bend to listen,
their shadows arise,
to echo the hush.
Fears stagger and fall,
as silence takes shape,
a face without form,
a voice without sound,
that silence still dread.
Am I a foul fellow when the house is longer than this morning? Am I the designer of the living room that doesn’t encourage formality, because we’re associated with rigid boundaries? I’m the next citizen of an affluent hovel. I’ll be the next coastal lowland along any gulf & hearing your voice, pattering on every rooftop, I cover all the island-dotted lakes with your shadow. Somewhere within, a breath produces vapour, making the sauna feel even hotter. Now if my shop doesn’t pay you, it means my family goes hungry. No public property is written off here. You’re the capital of these floating islands, a nice account in the only bank here, you can take my people for a holiday to May Isle. I get a bit of capital, nothing is your own, is it? It’s for her, my daughter in a white mask.
When my little poem is sad, she cries.
It happens when people tell lies
about this, about that
and never really get at
the meaning of her sends,
her forwards,
or replies.
By the bye or by the way
either one I never say
I choose to use ‘incidentally’
anyway or accidentally
The only masters of words
are lawyers and politicians,
twisting syllables into chains,
binding the public
with illusions of justice.
International law?
A fragile parchment,
easily burned by power.
The mighty—
America and its allies—
violate it in daylight,
and walk away untouched.
The court that dares to judge them—
a kangaroo court,
mocking its own shadow.
And you, Africa,
you global south,
clinging to Roman-Dutch law,
do you not see?
You punish yourselves
with borrowed codes,
carrying wounds
not written for your soil.
Justice is no relic.
Law should be a river,
flowing with the times,
not a stone wall
blocking progress.
It should shield the weak,
balance the scales,
and light the path
toward a better society.
But in the world of wolves and sheep,
law is but a costume—
a shepherd’s cloak
draped over the wolf’s back,
while the flock dreams of safety,
never knowing
they are already lost.
Teleological
hypotheses bore me
Tautological phraseology
snores me
A beer and a burger ~
I adore thee
fee, fi, fo, fum
eenie, meenie, miny, mo...
absurdities abound
rubber buggy bumpers
for instance… or, blackbirds
baked in a pie… perchance
there's a fungus amungus...
eenie, meenie, desalini
ucha-a-wa'alini
hepta-minika-zokalini
doo-wa-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-doo...
In honor of 'National Bad Poetry' day
(How'd I do-- D?)
She say she wants to go home with me tonight as we sit by the bus park,
but I tell her we can make home right here in this moments,
haven't you heard heavens rumours that the god of love escaped,
maybe the rumours are true cause you are with him at the moment,
gods create let me create love like no other for both of us in this moment,
you realize I cannot stop staring at you heavy chest,
because am already in the world of fantasy you squeezing me with those beautiful breasts of yours
till I ran out of breathe,
don't worry you won't kill me am already dead cause I died the moment I saw you
so am as well zombified in the moment,
let me handle you with care cause that what happens in home,
and I would do a perfect job of taking you home as you wanted
the words scowled
peering through the bars
imprisoned thoughts
rattling empty cups
they had been arrested
incarcerated
denied expression
unjustly accused
charged with
unfettered utterances
benign belligerence
the most heinous with
Double Entendre-ing
They all claimed to be but pawns
Innocent bystanders
Drawn into the fray
Succumbing to the wily whim of wit
Some will be shunned forever
Lurk in the shadows…waiting
Others will “clean-up” better
assume “new” meanings
Many will work behind the scenes
Savor the eerie darkness
Of language and its implied intent and meaning
For “Judgement is Mine…Sayeth the Poet”
Specific Types of Language Poems
Read wonderful language poetry on the following sub-topics:
arts, barrier, culture, different, figurative, identity, learning, sensory, songs
and more.
Definition | What is Language in Poetry?
Poems Related to Language
accent, communication, conversation, dialect, diction, dictionary, discourse, expression, gibberish, idiom, jargon, lexicon, lingua franca, prose, slang, vernacular, vocabulary, voice, word, wording