If only grammar were simplified
we then could speak uncriticized.
Or, if grammar were abandoned
we’d all be speaking standard.
Think how easy it would be
to speak flawed yet naturally,
and not worry that what we say
is the right or proper way.
The purist will of course object
and castigate me as a derelict,
arguing that ungrammatical English
is speech reduced to gibberish.
But I remind him of this fact:
language is a spontaneous act,
and much of what passes today
as proper English was yesterday
condemned as bad and therefore
unsuitable and socially improper.
How, then, is it today acceptable
when once it was objectionable?
I’ll tell you why and clearly: Because
language does not progress by laws
fixed and rigid: rather time and usage
are what mold and move language.
And so, to every stuffed shirt scholar
I say, don’t get hot under the collar,
what you angrily dismiss today as rubbish
will tomorrow be proper English.
If a “friend” cancels you like a stamp, they never were you
friend in the first place!
Friends give people space to be themslves! They welcomed you,
and trusted you in their heart’s space,
Moreover, not one of us wants a friend, that thinks they are a god.
A Mr.or Mrs, stuffed shirt, an inelligensia of know it all?
A friend need not be a Ph,D to us, nor flash her or hishatred in our face.
That is an inhumane, arrogant disgrace!
Just someone who truly cares about us, who and honors us as we are!
With understanding, grace andd gentleness, of and compassion beyond par!
And always remembers.. we all part of the human race,
By God’s most kind and generous holy grace.
Hatred and genocide in any, a hideous and ugly face!
1/26/2025
My name, William A Cleator, sounds like a stuffed shirt to me,
but Billy TheKidster sounds like a lot more fun possibly.
There once was fellow could really jump
But his arms were blown off, left with two stumps
When with a new girl
He made her hair curl
He would dive in there, knees first, for a hump
The girl said, "Please, dear, don't do that; it hurts!
And your bare knees are just covered with dirt"
But the jumper's reply:
"I'm a civilized guy
Not a stuffed-shirt or a mud-caked pervert!"
I’m your eldest daughter, but I ‘m not for sale
Stop lying about my temperament and telling other tales
Father, this tradition is archaic and no longer necessary
You’re putting your wishes first and mine are secondary
The parade of pompous suitors really makes me sick
If they get to close, I’ll beat them with a six foot stick.
I already have title and wealth living in this house
Why would I marry and live with some stuffed shirt louse
I will not marry someone I don’t love and like
If you will not understand this, I’ll just take a hike
I will leave, like St. Joan, to find another war
The absurdity of this situation I can bear no more
What the daughter really wanted to tell her father in "The Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare
English is not a language
one can ever get ahead of--
there are just too many words!
Like 'ludic; for example: meaning
playful, in the sense of spontaneous,
without real purpose....Soooooo,
how come I never came across
Little Ludic in over sixty years
of reading hundreds of books
in my beloved mother tongue,
the language I love,
the language I married.
Even spellcheck never saw it,
or else why underline little Ludic
in red, like a criminal of some sort
who needs a good sorting out,
a spell in word prison perhaps?
If one but takes the time to look,
one can find sweet Ludic laying low,
hiding quietly in the BIG FAT ONE,
the Oxford Dictionary!
Lord and Regent of all word books.
Ludic lives there with his cousins:
Ludibrious and that stuffed shirt,
Ludibry, and the handsome,
macho Ludrico ( who is no doubt
from the Italian side of the family)
and of course, the far more famous
Ludicrous, a celebrity who seems to
want all the spotlight for himself.
Words can be so very selfish too....
They said they wanted servers
People to wait on others
For tips and a wage
No plans to move up the ladder
Just a day to make some pay
Makes you want to slit their throats
In there bloated three piece suits
Some middle management loser
Who bought his clothes at Macy’s
Is pulling rank and calling the shots
He is just a puppet and a puppy
For he is impotent
Nothing but a stuffed shirt
And dream of getting skirts
I am out of luck and down on time
So he becomes my boss
It is his gain and not my loss
For I want to excel to make the grade
But this is a merry-go-round
At the end of the day I am
Just that…
Day labor
Limerick : Once a Leftist Stuffed-Shirt taught class
Once a Leftist Stuffed-Shirt taught class
He stuffed students’ drains with high-class grass
The girls during recess
Gave him ample access
Now hangs out with big-funding Top-Brass.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
(This is a fictional poem)
Last week I became very annoyed.
I was devastated to see my wife in the new issue of Playboy.
My cousin showed me her pictures after he got the magazine in the mail.
It was horrible and it hurts like hell.
I was shocked to see my wife's bare breasts.
Now I'm angry and depressed.
As men all over the country look at her, they drool.
This is definitely not cool.
My brother said that I'm being a stuffed shirt.
But if it was his wife, I know he'd also be hurt.
This incident has caused me to come unglued.
I'm the only man who should see my wife nude.