Poetry time
Every line chimes
Stop on a dime
A buck for a rhyme
What’s a meta for
Similes are, like, a bore
A terzanelle’s attractive
Tho a villanelle’s more proactive
Witches vex trochaic pentameter
Curse iambic HEXameter
Traditionalists eschew free verse
Blank verse is that much worse…
Romance, a hackneyed chore
While humor is adored
Satire rates high too
Tear-jerkers ~ boo-hoo
Poetry time
Elbow grease and grime
Lines sparkle and shine
Craftsmanship sublime
Written by Gail Debole
November 26, 2024
Adding "ing" to nouns has taken over the town.
English Traditionalists - turn your frowns upside down.
"Being an adult" is now one word.
We are all "adulting" or haven't you heard?
So I guess the next noun to be "verbed"
Is that a child is "childing" or is that absurd?
All languages evolve through the years.
Face the facts. Get over your fears.
Nothing you can do to stop the "ings."
"Verb-ing" the nouns is more than a fling.
Younger generations speak their own type of speak.
Older generations try to keep up so they do not look weak.
No one person controls the words we say.
New ones arise and old ones lose sway.
Now all the nouns can be "verb-ed" or "e-d-ed."
Language creativity cannot/should not (shouldnot?) be impeded.
And, in the future, how many words will survive?
Will acronyms and emojis be the language that thrives?
Plastic Alice
through the looking glass
Her daughters have Pans merriment
Hungry for the here and now
Culpability over reality
They are non traditionalists
Parking on yellow lines
Forever disobedient
The Sun can't shine
forever lacklustre
is their main amusement
When conformists' adherence to
irksome, empty, shallow, hollow
obsolete rules
overrides unadulterated substance...
imported intuitive works
of essence, potence...spirit
When lettered law
obscures, obliterates
disintegrates
vital verve
When egotistical opinion
ascends higher, reigns over...
tramples on authentic art
This is when I dispose and disclose
I hold scant esteem for form...
mundane reins
colorless, humdrum
lackluster genre
or those whose swollen ego
is entirely, absolutely
engrossed and entombed
in them
Genuine unfeigned expression
shatters traditionalists'
trivial thrashing trash
Veritable voices resound
thunder, reverberate
resonate
in spite of outdated
highly esteemed
decadent modalities
education... influence
bound, chained
shackled, inhumed
by absurd vanities
veritably pluming pride
ignorance and arrogance
boorishly dispatching
meaningless, lifeless
senseless, worthless
drivel
A beef stew is neither a mildew or an orange orbital hue. It is a flavoursome culinary creation. And when particles skip. Dust off the spoon and dance crab like to tunes emerging from the bubbling pot. It is ripe a seed and radiantly flowing. Oh yes. The liquid. Swirling swimmingly seemingly seeping. Great. Good. Now wash your hands and hair follicles. And change the washing cycle to nine spin. Oh how heavenly. Wow. Potent potential pot potatoes. Piglets. Hahahaha and the singing spoon. Xxxx reciprocal recipes. Traditionalists z
Talismanic turbans trade togas. How great. Short grin large grin. Big beam. And now an elephant in baggy trousers dancing. Peachtree waving. Chutney calling. Tantric trade. Tanks. Till not a tailor. Traditionalists trumpeting. One six zero. And a purple patterned silk cloth. Rice dance then. Kilowatt jewels. Oooh sparkly. Good. Hahahaha green relish. Hahahaha many many many many turrets. Xxxx Adriatic sea. *** corrosional. Z
A hen meets a duck and joins a hunt. Wow. Wisdom flavours of ancient waters. Lingering laughing llamas lounging. Traditionalists glow and grow from packs of geese, swarms of sausages and packs of noodles. All bundled then. Good. Get on the correct train and pronounce bee with the correct annotation dressed in a yellow suit. Buzzing busy business booming. And flour flourishing. And a tempest of a trailer is not a temper or a template. Ok. Wailing a wall walking a water. Milking a flower bud. Making a straw cake. And adjusting the heat of a calendar. Calibrating with 1000 fried rice bowls, 90 giggling saucepans and a piteous fish fork glowering triumphantly on a mahogany table. Oh look the patterned tea cups are journeying on that space shuttle. Ambiguous amphibian arguing with architecture is archived. And a stirring of a pan of cheese sauce is very very imaginative and animated. Hahahaha a broom sailing hahahaha popinjay popping. *** circumstantially z
But one day I will, a witness
Muslims and Christians,
even, the traditionalists
When tears will grace this face
Within which my joy will cry
In it my pains of insecurity
The anguish in misinterpretations
The one of which siblings and kids
friends and families in lost
But my tears will wash away
The sorrows of the past
When Muslims, and Christians
even, the traditionalists
Will kiss and exchange breads
In it my tears will grace this face
Within which my joy will cry
That pains and insecurity has gone
When Arabs will sought the Jews
And Ibos will hold Fulanis in kiss
That day, I will, a witness
{Culled from Colours In My Rhythms by Abimbola Davis}
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