Tag Archives: poem about words



I’m not your typical hoarder. I don’t save balls of string.
Five foot stacks of newspapers really aren’t my thing.
Boxes of garage sale items do not line my halls.
Jumbles of castoff treasures do not obscure my walls.

My collection is more upbeat and easier to store.
I have thousands of them and room for plenty more.
And lest you think my hoarding is of objects more absurd,
I’ll tell you my obsession is simply for the “word.”

Those who have collected them all throughout the ages
are lexicographers and scribes, poets, writers, sages.
Sometimes they swirl around my head and leave it in a fog,
so when I run out of room, I store them in this blog.

Words like ships floating around, looking for a moorage—
I simply help them out by arranging for their storage.


Got a bit mixed up with my prompts today and used two from yesterday, so here is another poem with additional prompts from today: jumble and upbeat.

Love Poem in a Time of Worldwide Dispute

Love Poem in a Time of Worldwide Dispute

When other wondrous words continue to be broken,
let us still retain one word to be our token.
While all previous words just argue and discuss,
Let the only word that we require just be “us.”

Happy 9 year anniversary, Forgottenman!

Words for the day are wonder, continue, previous, broken.

Orgulous of Orgulous!

Orgulous* of Orgulous!!!

I’m suffering from reluctance and a bit of perturbation
that is interfering with my blog’s administration.
Embarrassed for this rhyme, I’ve no proclivity to flout it.
I’m sure my stats will plummet. There is no doubt about it.

We’ll ascribe the blame to Ragtag, for “orgulous” is the word
they’ve chosen for our prompt today—a choice that is absurd.
Who uses it in common speech, or formal speech, in fact?
Any poem I used it in, I’d afterwards redact.

I’m not a jolly blogger. I’m delaying activation.
I feel no need to add to my reader’s education
by using words requiring their use of dictionaries.
I prefer clear writing that requires no further queries.

It’s habit that demands that I find a way around this.
But now I feel no further need to otherwise expound this.
I’ve flailed around in writing this. I edit and I stumble.
Tomorrow may they choose a word that is a bit more humble!


*Orgulous: haughty, proud, ostentatious, disdainful!.

Prompt words for today are stats, jolly, activation and orgulous. (Good grief!)

Not a Clue


Not a Clue

“Jejune” is a word that I bet you don’t know.
It simply means tedious, dreary or slow.
Guileless or boring, simple or naive—
artless and unworldly with naught up your sleeve.

When it comes to semantics, jejune folks won’t quibble.
They do not distinguish between drip or dribble.
When they need a haircut, please tell them they’re hairy.
Calling them “hirsute” will just make them wary.

If  big words should reach the apex of your tongue,

consider taking it down just a rung.
Jejune folks like small words like “pretty” and “cute.”
Words like “alluring” will render them mute.

Words like “obstreperous” also won’t do.
If you use a big word, they won’t have a clue.
Don’t call it a “wen” when it’s merely a pimple.
Things are much clearer when words are left simple.



Chritsine issued me a further challenge after she read their poem, so I wrote another. You can fine a link to her challenge and also my poem–short and silly– HERE.


The Pontificator




The Pontificator

His ego is most copious, but alas, also fragile,
for his imagination is something less than agile.
He’s much given to adages that were coined by another:
prolific writers of the past, his preacher or his brother.
He’s not really a plagiarist. He just forgets the fact
that although he might perform it, he didn’t write the act!
His words, all gloss and polish, are lacking in much worth.
They seem to lack a kernel, though provided with much girth.
For all that they sound pretty—refined to a high gloss,
instead of rarest metal, alas, they’re merely dross.

In short, although they’re polished ’til they sparkle, glitter, gleam,
they ramble on without restraint, sadly lacking a theme.


The prompt words today are copious, fragile, gloss and theme. Here are the links:



Sour Grapes from a Pissed Rhyming Poet

Sour Grapes from a Pissed Rhyming Poet

I fear this world of prompts has gotten slightly out of hand
and so their choice of prompt words is likely to be panned.
Antediluvian? Come on!!! Who uses that strange word?
It best describes itself. In modern usage, it’s absurd.
Please give us words that help us, not vocabulary puzzles.
We need words that lead like leashes and not creative muzzles!!!!
Do not try to impress us with obscure nomenclature.
I don’t care about their backgrounds. I don’t care about their nature.
Give me conglomerations of letters that I know,
and not these fancy words that seem simply meant for show!!!!
In short, I’m pissed because I do not like “antediluvian”
which only seems to rhyme with hard to use words like Peruvian!!


This prompt sort of threw me for a loop, so instead of just giving up and going on to a different prompt, I decided to write a gentle protest, meant in fun.. The Ragtag prompt today is antediluvian. 

Driven: dVerse Poets Open Link Night




They’re always back there in my head––
the things I could have said instead.
Sometimes not voiced for a reply,
but just existing in my mind’s eye.
Words joined in ranks turn there about
wondering how they’ll get out.
Before they start to riot and rage,
I let them out of their bone cage.

The voices murmur and they chide.
Cause trouble if they’re locked inside.
What if the mad men of this world––
in asylums cruelly hurled––
are simply writers who don’t know it.
Wild voice inside. No place to stow it.
All those entities inside
taught that they must try to hide.

Perhaps if they could let them out
to prance and scamper, whine and shout
on paper––empty, white and thin––
it would be the simplest medicine.
To fill the paper the surest way
to bring tortured voices to light of day.
To join that strange fraternity
Of those who have to speak to see.

What drives us to this room, alone,
our lives austere as any bone?
Is it the voices there inside us,
barely able to abide us,
needing to be wider heard?
To keep them in would be absurd.
I let them out for exhibition.
Free them from their cramped perdition.

And as I drift off into sleep,
I am the company they keep.
I hear their whisperings faint but clear
as they march in ranks from ear to ear.
Words rolling out in countless reams
fill my empty chambers with dreams.
When I awaken, they break their order,
wild to escape this nightly hoarder.

They jostle, elbow, push and squeeze
to make their way onto these keys.
I can barely match their pace
as they stream out, caught in the race
to be the next to flee my head
in their mad stampede to be said.
I don’t control these words, you see.
I am their transport. They drive me.


To play along with dVerse Poets, go here: