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I’ll lead you to the pool Undress you for your somber dive Bid you prayers and warnings Love on my breath, our lips And you dip beneath the stillness
He can curse up a stormmake a sailor blushFoul blue languagespewed out in a gushCould strip paint cleanoff a battleshipExponentially worse ifyou give him any lipRambling in sincerity's guise
A PLACE We lived in a society where false is welcomed. And Where people flee from the real.
Bitter nothing passed these lips as words poured towards you in silent riffs. A melody of sour times the money good s, the smell of muscidimes Serene breezes flow through us
This is the common sap of humanity's tree. It flows within us all. A shared communion enabler and advancer lifting us above our animal origins. Language- the magical gift of mankind,
Unity in Diversity Separation. Rampantly ruling the modern world. Black. White. Muslim. Christian. Countless wars waged on misconceptions and prejudices.
Raibh saol macánta Bhí cónaí orainn, throid muid. Grá againn. Ní raibh sé éasca, ach ba linne é Linne Now, it's theirs We speak their language We had to, they said, or we'll be punished
I love poetry for its blank spaces, for its constant wondering and the shape of the words on a page. For different reasons than why I love math.
The pilot says We're landing in thirty minutes thirty minutes to prepare for a new land a new language new people. Should I be excited or scared? I left my friends, family,
Möchten Sie mit uns ins Kino kommen? Oh shit. I had hurdled in a piece of metal 35,000 miles above the warm caress of the Earth's surface, landed on unknown terrain,
In your heart's native tongue tell me you love me So that I am forced to learn the language of your heart
I want to speak one more Language That everybody can easily speak Same as our food and the beverage If not, it means, we are weak
My words, Made to be heard, Cannot be overlooked. Poetry puts them in a style. My words!
All day my mother lives inside a language she does not Belong in, gets lost in its hard ribs and Cold vowels, its dusty noise, its angles full of
My eyes were opened by the lessons she revealed My tongue was moved by her instructions We were in a dance at every class It never stopped Until one day she spun me one last time
beautiful notes drifting through the halls drifting through the walls drifting through my mind drifting so that I can find as I drift towards the end of my road
Surrounded by voices; I was a <murmur>. Fear had stolen my lips away, Locked them in a vault under the sea- Why? My mind was confused.
I see you, old f(r)iend It was about time I came back again I am crawling on my knees Begging and pleading for you to love me Please, I need you My sweetest amor
Poetry to me is not some Centipede -Not just a little Inconsequential- But rather a place Where I can face
Life in silence is indeed no lifeLife in silence is constant strifeLife in silence, suffering is rife
Dear Ani, Ani ohev at. Hebrew for "I like you". I struggle at learning languages, Illiterate until the end of second grade, taught myself to read, taught myself to write.
Dear Language, You help me: To describe with words The colors of sea birds. To inspire others through verse,
Petite fish in the sea, little mermaid so lonely, wallows in watery ennui. Enough's enough and life is tough. little mermaid suck it up. devil says, here's my choice.
Dear first language, I have written to you today to announce a list of grievances you have committed against me My Constitution, My Bill of Rights, my haughty Declaration. 1) Devaluing me
It saddens me that we are living in a culture that has drifted far away from morality. Instead they have adopted a fake Hollywood mentality. That claims I am what I do. We have turned are backs on the very notion of truth & embraced lust.
I’m laughing, smiling, Dancing like I own the world at age seven. Stars handpicked like strawberries for only my eyes to eat Nothing could tear me down.
The end seemed close by Paralyzing and choking My voice imprisoned But the beauty of novels Freed my voice and expression
Traveling and language learning are my passions;So I do it as much as possible.From skimping out on homework to study KoreanTo studying abroad in Japan and Seoul in the summer of '16The excitement never ends
Ink Quickly the ink spreads, running across the pages. Making sense within their lines, keeping records through the ages.
You know We’ve been faced with assignments in middle school Dealing with subjects like Reading, Math, history And writing too
One day you will wake up and find that you can’t say a word that you are far too frustrated, too grieved, too passive, too afraid You want to punch your mother but you also want to hold her close
When I was 4, I spoke with a stutter. My parents were concerned- I, I, I, didn't know I spoke the way I did. When I, I, I, was 8, my stutter went away. No, it did not vanish, it made a home in my brain.
Coconut I refuse to look you in the eyes when you speak to me in spanish. Instead I watch your lips.
Hello, hola, Bonjour, ciao, All are words of salutation. Goodbye, adios, Au revoir, ciao, All are words of valediction. Ciao and ciao, goodbye and hello?
It swims within variety, As if it were an ocean, From sorrow to prosperity, The image and emotion, When the words make me cry,
Je pense donc je suis Vous-voulez que je traduis? Les voix que sont dans ma tete, Pourquoi, ne jamais arrete Parle pour tout le lang Et jamais, a tout le temps Yo pienso, luego soy
Words are an art concealed by sound and expression.
The same twenty-six scribbles compose every story I’ve ever fallen in love with. The same chords write every song That’s ever touched my soul. The ability to create something beautiful
A poem's secret language in itself is that. A secret language we all long to understand, to see the beautiful similies as they unravel like a present on christmas morning.
I claim you all mine, arrogant as Manifest Destiny. —Sandra Cisneros, “You Bring Out the Mexican in Me” Apostrophe,
Voice A powerful tool Made to encourage Not tear down Language Used to communicate Messages of love Not for evil humor When words are exchanged
Some say words are useless they are inaccurate idealizations that never capture the true nuance of meaning Some say words are useless
A is for adultery and B is for bitches— the Cunts that Don’t know how to keep their legs shut. Egged on by eager men,
A is for a dirty girl, Banished from the Church, a Devil’s child, Excluded because of an unlawful Fuck.
she came she saw she took what she needed with soft hands by her touch she then approached him he came again she called him in she wanted
it all began in parallel lines at the centre then a little calculations in the virtual median proved the proofs during deviations and would be on constant calculations
parentheses parenthetical thoughts never expressed repressed like sexual urges in children too young to know what sex is what an urge is
When you're little you won't notice. Perhaps, they won't even do anything for you to notice. You'll live your toddler days in sweet unknowing bliss. But that's only if you're lucky.
I am intoxicated by words Addicted to the subtleties of language
They tell me to write what is awesome, and my fingers tap the keys like a blind spider’s mandibles, drawing a blank. No flies tonight. They tell me to write what is awesome, and Pluto looms on my screen,
Latin is dead by language is everlasting Passing From one form to the next. Changing Rearanging In times contingent upon the feelings of the people that are speaking
i find english to be a painfully unspecific language for example, i can't say i love you because that doesn't say everything i need a way to say that i adore your smile and your grimace
We use verbs And nouns And crazy adjectives To express our minds’ sounds But what if language didn’t exist And no one could speak But only act? Would life be vivid or bleak?
Type. Just type. My fingers dangle above the keyboard, Splashing each word, verb, sentence- That comes to mind. The words are like snow to me: Soft, Delicate, And pure.
Yesterday I thought I was dead My pen was gone My brush had disappeared My brain was lost The clouds were gray And the sky was black The rivers were full of blood
Learning a Language is hard Late in life you realize its too late Languages do not come easily anymore Languages fall in line like they are
Everyone uses them Some wield them like swords Others like shields Some to harm And others to heal Made gods like them Or made mortal by them Some use to trick and deceive
I hear you, I am listening Every word exiting your mouth, your soul, your very being I hear you But hearing is much different than understanding.
It started in the blazing heat of a Florida December, a Puerto Rican madre and a bowl of arroz con grandules. The beginning. Rolling r's like hills in Arkansas,
It started in the blazing heat of a Florida December, a Puerto Rican madre and a bowl of arroz con grandules. The beginning. Rolling r's like hills in Arkansas,
The rhythm that moves you, The words that persuade, The feelings and emotions That make you afraid. Let them all go, They have nowhere to hide, They might as well flow,
I. I am saturated in vivid hues Painted by my culture, A life I didn’t choose, Mere stone formed into a sculpture. These decisions are not mine, A stranger’s language spoken,
L-a-n-g-u-a-g-e Loss Alyza Garcia A loss in language has cost me my last goodbye Lost is my native tongue in the process of assimilation
Immersed. Lost, confused, and unable to communicate. To express myself, To express my sense of self. Two languages, two cultures, two ways of life, One soul. Stranded.
"I speak Kannada." I tell people sometimes. "Do you mean Canada?" they ask. I shake my head, and they laugh.
It's hard to believe in something, That seems impossible in your eyes. But when you stop believing,
Lady Language- a beauty I absolutely adore.
Creamy smoothness under your fingers Curled up; cat-like Minutes ticking by the world surrounding you has vanished It's only you; eyes devouring piece by delicious piece word by beautiful word
I walked with my shadow, side by side.
Sitting in the classroom my peers all stare "Where are you going?" "How will you get there?" The questions spin and swirl in my head I want to go to the places in the books I've read
In this limited mother tongueby which I communicate to you,all I can call it is love.Cannot express through the utteranceof a single word, if a father holdsa daughter in his arms for the first
The change If I had the chance to change one thing,
Louder whispers whistle by
A word, a number divided in thirds a consonant a constant
I won’t say the English language is beautifulyet it’s enormity turns me numbit’s a curse it seems (blessing too)
To be born into a world, -Who are you? where your words define you, -What do you say? you have no choice over the language you speak. -How will you write?
Oh, how I envy the ways of courtship In old Victoriana. Its mannerisms. Its motions. Its subtlety. The messages, hidden in plain sight With simple gestures and sleight of hand, so much could be said,
Stuck in my throat, They wouldn't come out before, It was hard for me to say, "Je t'adore" I've thought it forever, But it's still extremely new To say it out loud,
I'm a tiny little fish In a great big pond And before you fucking know it, I'm up and gone. So many memories, Not many of them good. This place was such a joke, Now I'm off
Language. Spoken, Written, Sung, Read. Words that someone from somewhere once said. Language is changing all the time. Learning, evolving, we barely scrape by but language
It provokes her tongue; it wants to lick her lips, to slither about inside her mouth, nuzzling her cheeks in circles and lightly stroking the backs of her teeth. A sweet breath tingles her taste buds, like a piece of minty, fresh spearmint gum.
ring sings the phone screaming for attention silence then a greeting I assume is being expressed what is she saying? I heard my name, thanks for the mention her switch from perfect english has me impressed
She talks to me Talks to us Like we're brats She walks in with an air of snobiness and speak with thinly veiled vanity The first time we met The first time she met us
I try so hard, Yet you don't even see. You call me a failure Because I can't get above a C.
What is all this swearing That I hear here at school? No one cares when someone swears But I think it's not cool. People disagree with me, And swear again to say
A raise in pitch, A gasp of air, air rushing through teeth, its all a language of fighting No complete translation Only the exchange of pain in our eyes The feeling of uselessness
There's a lot of shit that I wish I could say When I'm sitting in school all day. Why can't it be like talking to a friend? Instead of lecturing for days on end. I wish I could tell them how I feel,
Language is beautiful But not very useful No matter what way you say it They won’t understand To the core how you really feel It will sound all fancy and good in French And mighty and strong in German
Just as the music pours out of an instrument The messages through all beautiful languages spill The beauty of the roll of the tongue onto paper or as an accent in the wrong language connects us all
lately my grandmother has been practicing her english with the phrase: no one should have to die with pain and suffering the pencil marks bow through the pages so earnestly
POWER. HIS VOICE CARRIED THROUGH THE CROWD. HATE. DISTINGUISHABLE IN EVERY SOUND. AS HE PREACHED THE LISTENERS BECAME ENCHANTED, HYPNOTIZED. PULLED DOWN INTO THE WHIRLPOOL OF HIS WORDS
Thrown away, Fed to dogs, Flushed down toilets, Infected, cancerous, Tainted, Tarnished, Broken, Rusted Wasted.
Poetry is a language spoken by many, Though only some choose to be eloquent writters. I write to illuminate my world. I write to open my eyes, to uncover everything in diguise.
I listened to two women in an airport Speaking the language I plead to know My mother wrote love letters While learning a romantic language
My Sunshine, my breath My Flutters, my walkings My Idols, my rage My Rippled water My Static dreams My Alive world My Language
Where have our words gone? We lack the pen to write Stop standing for what’s right No language left to fight Afraid that we just might Lose our poet’s sight We’ve yet to feel contrite
Most say I’m quiet. Shy even. Perhaps, the thoughts and feelings thriving in my head just can’t be put into words. Nor any other distinct form of speech.
In essence Innocence In a sense
Each person has his own language his way of communicating with others A new way of expression Describing one's thoughts
One place One mind One me At one time. No try Just do At this I call My one school. I've found a place that makes the break. It cuts the cake. Only one place.
Words Unscrupulous floating isomers Voluminous connotations Sewn to fields of intrepid product Affixed by rindles of ink and lead Daisy chains of phonemes, morphemes are Carry the world on their back
Yo mantengo mis palabras cerca de mi corazon y mi primera idioma es mi amor pero me gustan todos los idiomas porque hacen mi vida lleno de color cuando aprendo idiomas sé comó otra gente vive
Because it has a 26-letter alphabet making up words that made no sense to me Because it has so many pronunciations that confused me even more than I already was Because it was not my first language
Languages are tight, light, and nice; They walk among us in day and night. They are no no no yours, They are no no no mine; But they’re wings for everyone to fly, From ancient place to modern life we fly.
There are ninety-six Sanskrit words for "love", But I have only one.
What are words anyway? If you won’t listen, can’t listen, can’t hear above the consumerist cacophony ringing out your ears bringing out only the very worst in you, a phony.
Peering into Orion’s Belt, here I am, little old me, staring into the eternity of darkness. Constellations and the unknown wait to be solved, by the knowledge of our world and the skies above us.
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