Language is like a superpower that helps us connect with others and share our thoughts and ideas. In these poems about language, we will discover how words make us smile and be happy.
There are many different languages in the world, like English, Spanish, Chinese, and many more. Each language has its own style. It’s like a special code that we use to talk to each other.
We use language poetry to talk, tell stories, and share our feelings. We are sharing some famous language poems by the greatest and most well-known classical poets.
By Jack Spicer
This ocean, humiliating in its disguises
Tougher than anything.
No one listens to poetry. The ocean
Does not mean to be listened to. A drop
Or crash of water. It means
Is bread and butter
Pepper and salt. The death
That young men hope for. Aimlessly
It pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. No
One listens to poetry.
A perfect picture in the frame of life
And much more, that what you are
A perfect glimpse in the ocean of sound
A musical note in an effortless bound,
You are designed to create, always in motion
A blooming flower in this epic evolution
Money Speaks All Languages
That money speaks all languages happens to be true
Just call into a posh Richmond cafe any night and you
Will see ageing sugar daddy and his mistress one third the age of he
Wine and dine and sipping brand coffee.
Her feigned interest in him she barely can disguise
But he can’t see that as he is not so wise
His gaze of love on her fixed steadfastly
How very silly some ageing men can be.
Were he on welfare or of the working poor
And one whose future did not seem secure
Such silly games with him she would not play
She would not even bid the man good day.
Wisdom comes with years you hear some people say
But such assumptions don’t ring true today
And though age can bring wisdom that’s hardly a defence
For ageing male who lack in common sense.
With money speaks all languages few would disagree
In a posh Richmond cafe any night you’ll see
The ageing sugar daddy gaze into his young mistress’s eyes
And her feigned interest she barely can disguise.
There are no handles upon a language
Whereby men take hold of it
And mark it with signs for its remembrance.
It is a river; this language,
Once in a thousand years
Breaking a new course
Changing its way to the ocean
It is mountain effluvia
Moving to valleys
And from nation to nation
Crossing borders and mixing.
Languages die like rivers.
Words wrapped round your tongue today
And broken to shape of thought
Between your teeth and lips speaking
Now and today
Shall be faded hieroglyphics
Ten thousand years from now.
Your song dies and changes
And is not here to-morrow
Any more than the wind
Blowing ten thousand years ago.