Long Prepositions Poems
Long Prepositions Poems. Below are the most popular long Prepositions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prepositions poems by poem length and keyword.
I pattern my rhymes to relate to the divine plans of the maker/
Marvel at how my nouns and verbs seem to dance on the paper/
Advanced orators don’t hesitate to drop the prepositions/
And don’t use words unless you know the proper definitions/
Create metaphors and similes to enhance the verbal imagery/
Discard any absurd words that disturb the symmetry/
The energy used in your verses should be used in your chorus/
And don’t be ashamed to use a dictionary or view a thesaurus/
The law is never to bite a rhyme cause you’ll face relentless hell/
Always practice your elocution when the opportunity presents itself/
And defend yourself whenever you’re faced with instigation/
Constantly write what you see. Don’t waste the inspiration/
Some misuse their muse and write pieces that barely move/
Find topics in your daily news or try views that’s rarely used/
Don’t choose to follow pop kids in their quest for tall pockets/
Their life is all profits as they digress to false prophets/
Claim to be discerning entities without learning empathy/
Requiem for fallen emcees as their bodies burn in effigy/
My recipe for writing lyrics of all classic varieties/
Mix in skill and honesty and add small dashes of irony/
Don’t lie to me about packing heat for handling stress/
Damsels in undress and how your style’s damaging reps/
Can I suggest you keep it real and spit I can feel/
Ink scripts with writing skill and flow sick with mic appeal/
Don’t get discouraged for fear that all your peeps will hate it/
This is the primary obstacle on the road to being creative/
And be original, whether you’re a warrior or a pacifist/
Find your own niche in the realm of emceeing and master it/
/
There’s 7 billion stories in this world all ya gotta do is tell em….
In English classes my skull would be reelin' with a myriad of perplexities,
Strugglin' to cope with English Composition with its multitudinous complexities!
I could never comprehend (and never will) the mysteries of verbs and pronouns,
Or danglin' participles, prepositions, conjunctions and irregular nouns!
"Your future will be mighty bleak", my patient teachers hinted indirectly,
"If you don't learn the intricacies of the English lingo now and correctly!"
The long-sufferin' teachers considered me a dunce and their hopeless bane!
I wanted to be a pilot! How was this folderol gonna help me fly a plane?
Incomprehensible to me were past, present and future perfect tenses!
Invariably, I bungled those terms in trying to compose any of my sentences!
Fiddle faddle! Why, I mused from my naïve and youthful perspective,
Would I ever have any use for a comparative or superlative adjective?
My favorite classes were glee club, art and gymn, each in which I did excel,
But adverb clauses, proper and predicate nouns to my mind just didn't gel!
The use of consonants, vowels and indefinite articles left my head a-spinnin',
I couldn't understand the use of predicates or proper titles from the beginnin'!
Thankfully, after the vicissitudes of high school and bewildering frustration
I somehow managed to accumulate enough English credits for graduation!
Well, I reckon I ain't never gonna be no good at parsin' a sentence no how!
(Wouldn't my teachers be proud of that line - or would me they disavow!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
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
In English classes my skull would be reeling with a myriad of perplexities,
Struggling to cope with English Composition and its multitudinous complexities!
I could never understand (and never will) the mysteries of verbs and pronouns,
Or dangling participles, prepositions, conjunctions and irregular nouns!
"Your future will be mighty bleak," my patient teachers hinted indirectly,
"If you don't learn the intracacies of the English lingo now - and correctly!"
The long-suffering teachers considered me a dunce and their hopeless bane!
I wanted to be a pilot! How was this folderol going to help me fly a plane!
Incomprehensible to me were past, present and future perfect tenses!
Invariably, I bungled their use in trying to parse my sentences!
Fiddle Faddle! Why, I mused from my naive and youthful perspective,
Would I ever have any use for a comparative or superlative adjective?
My favorite classes were glee club, art and gymn - each in which I did excel,
But adverb clauses, proper and predicate nouns to my mind just didn't gel.
The use of consonants, vowels and indefinite articles left my head spinning.
I couldn't understand the use of predicates or proper titles from the beginning!
Thankfully, after the vicissitudes of high school and bewildering frustration,
I somehow managed to accrue enough English credits for my graduation!
Well, I reckon I ain't never gonna be no good at parsin' a sentence no how!
(Wouldn't my teachers be proud of that line! Or would they me, disavow!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved)
Full moon brownies are breaking up adjectives
in the fairy land of poetry
Mushroom elves ignore their efforts.
They have nouns to chop up
Leprechauns toss some lively verbs
Owl rolls her eyes,
Although this is just the usual evening
At the fairy land of poetry
Colloquialisms? What? Why? Queen Faerie asks.
Her consorts do not know, but they have heard of them.
So now they want them.
She scoffs at their crazy notion.
Where are the prepositions? the Queen demands.
What kind of castle would it be without them?
Over the rafters, under the eaves, and in the water?
Moat faerie laughs because she has hidden the prepositions.
Second row to the board!
These words could not just be ignored
I’m thinking but a vintage few
Would even start to have a clue
Nostalgia begs those days at school
With steely nuns whose stare would rule
Blackboards and their squeaky clamor
Chalked Arithmetic and grammar
When called upon to diagram
By row, we took final exam
Our sentence structure, now to see
Whose brain has not been absentee
With prepositions, verbs and nouns
We hit the boards, such eager sounds
Arms held tight, just the right angle
Participles must not dangle!
She waits,
eight black spindles joined at one end by a pivot, a compass.
Each pinpoint balanced at the intersections
of self-drawn polygons.
Legs jointed like the fingers of a skeleton,
deft, dexterous as a harpist.
Body in two sections with ample abdomen,
the African who carries the water jug on her head.
Or an Indian, the untouchable with her caste mark,
the microscopic grains dropping through the hourglass
like drops of blood.
Blind, she has the surrogate sense of a seismograph.
She would feel a disturbance in the web
were it only a thought.
Never mind she lives in a dark corner
as devoid of light as she is of personality,
she needs neither.
She does not look as the wrapped body of her cannibalized mate
as at a gilt-framed photograph of the dearly departed.
The egg sac is not a silk-lined bassinet,
the hanging ornament
to all her future hopes and dreams.
She is absent of frontal lobes,
moralizing modifiers,
second thoughts.
An instrument of logic,
mate=food
sac=young,
syllogisms minus all prepositions,
additional excess cargo to be jettisoned
as the dried shells of devoured prey.
No welcome mats on the front step,
no settees in the parlor,
no cunning seductress with scarlet claws.
Only a modem waiting in the spaceless black.
poems this mine here else often lists
economical text much inferred
few words fewer articles prepositions conjunctions sometimes needed
rhymes or not
short but slowing fast world trick make think
visual poems stolen cummings
is new question un marked re able
s pa
ce s
runonswhereeveryfit together
i don't know how you know
it's yours now
maybe makes much sense war
98% genocide
rev wright was right
possible not since rexulti
kill bear with ukraine cannon fodder
so iran can't stop merrikkael turning gaza
gehenna turning resort luxury hotels casinos
offshore oil rigs election want blame drumpf
but have zero credibility ever after praising president credit cards and truancy warden
go ahead watch strait hormuz raise inflation
like when merrika blew nordstream blame other monster
young whippersnapper brain
pours out her last idea
flicking adjectives into dirty dumpster
nouns prance off, disgusted
without elaboration or fancy descriptions
verbs take the lead,
kicking their adverbs to the curb
your nuances no longer welcome,
a mob mentality
seeking satisfaction in a brick alley
prepositions begin to arrive at the front
under the discarded boxes
searching through the rubble of the day
one climbs up the filthy trash heap
jumping into a pile of overused words
word play being what it is,
startling, laughing, loving gerunds arrive
carrying participles on their backs.
They cannot stop hitting, hurting and killing each other
Stop! Title yells. I want some kind of legacy.
I have no words to add, being mute and respectful of my elders
I am a mere homophone,
too consternated to know these two warring factions
well enough to take sides.
About the time you voiced to me
Above the river, by the tree
Across the bridge we saw the lights
Against the setting moon of night.
Behind my fears and fitful mood
Beside the others chatting rude
Between my silence and vacant talk
By evening on a summer walk.
Except for fumbled fervent words
For you I wish my feelings heard
From a challenged passive way
In wait my lonely times would lay
Into the words, what could I do
Of nouns and verbs and pronouns too
On days I scout without success
Over terms I should address
Through magic words a pact is made
To phrasing language dues are paid
Toward prepositions, there points a sign
Upon the start of every line