ENGLISH IS FUN ~BY SOCHUKWU IVYE

I pledge resolved to sway no reader numb
I bear some news; the alert can get SOME
It is what breathes in every Briton’s HOME
and the mystery many minds aware roam

For how English succumbs oddly inclined
I lift a flag which sleepless eyes can FIND
My idea is shared by space and the WIND
I will tell easy, for all tongues have sinned

Countless English letters hold as a clique
As many spellings fit not what we SPEAK
No word devourer assumes that a STEAK
Instead, this does the fervent spirits ache

Indeed, English wears an uncommon trait
Well, it is but fun to me and tastes GREAT
such that each time I buy myself a TREAT
having boarded at an own grammar suite

Learners fear that English is weird stuff
I never see learning more English TOUGH
For it remains a field of gains to PLOUGH
What turns various heads raises my brow

Students miss what is being spelt or said
as they fail to trace the hitch to the HEAD
It does not count if one will spell or READ
but not to the norm and rightness accede

Many fret that each day births rules anew
As if else tongues are novel to that COUP
For my lips, English is some melon SOUP
That I grasp no quirk colours me no dupe

English pulls ill will but rests sought after
It puzzles you but causes me LAUGHTER
I watch, to tease not a son or DAUGHTER
but to spell the hushed notes in my jotter

Know English, and you kiss it to the bone
Of the Saxons and Angles, it has GROWN
Of the Celts, and battles, it is the CROWN
For this niche, I know not the fitting noun

Any breath pulls its cap an eagle’s plume
Fell seers see when it will meet its TOMB
No one of those do its days of old COMB
English, growing all-oneness, is our loam

English is just shifts that do our age stud
While it changes it exalts our BLOOD
The unlettered rove; about it they BROOD
Those who evoke its energy bear shrewd

It is well when the milked cow also calve
English does but twenty-six letters HAVE
All let forty-four phonemes to the BRAVE
Every request to pat our backs, we waive

So bares my soul for the tongue I sing of
The avid can tell my heart from my LOVE
Well, I may say if this does no-one MOVE
On any tough land, English cuts a groove

The Celts could descry a four-leaf clover
but the Vikings and Normans took OVER
The stars went obscure as a new LOVER
but one bright moon did in the sky hover
As the printer bewildered spellings more
it pulled to English the reforming CORPS
It was the English era that bore THORPS
for English is the tongue anything warps

This tongue not let to note many a dawn
was awakened for battle days felt GONE
Risen was one ilk that users must HONE
Thus, vital were words from afar on loan

I hold not what the untrained really want
English is fun; still, the blind do it TAUNT
Who fails to grasp lacks an agony AUNT
No other tongue does better relish grant

English adopts a distant writing thought
It is a big flaw with which it is FRAUGHT
Still and all, apostles rest in a DRAUGHT
I can taste this each time I make a draft

That is weird of English spellings at last
— how again they create many a CASTE
Each people spell to signify their TASTE
The view of fit spelling is for the braced

Bright alien spellings stand on their feet
Others are changed to delight the ELITE
English obtains everywhere — as a KITE
Fresh findings and faint lexis put it right

English uplifts and does no student foul
It dwells with no role of a checking OWL
It lets no student clasp a begging BOWL
for its dialects serve enough as a whole

Sages like English clearer — is the news
but scholars who live to fulfill that LOSE
Watch how the USA to the tongue ROSE
That bewilders what any student knows
Well, English is fun and earns my flower
Still, ill eyes will foretell tomorrow LOUR
This pot into which infinite words POUR
cooks to my desire, and offers me more

English is fluid; rigidness cries drowned
Similar spellings may not bear a SOUND
The yet rattled may ever wear a WOUND
Every champion has their custom-tuned

This tongue lies fun for a Beth or a Seth
It wishes to starve no interest to DEATH
English may not at all become a HEATH
I may often plough it armed to the teeth

Older poems hold rhymes felt to be true
In our era, they are what eye rhymes DO
If you trust the Great Vowel Shift did SO
my bliss, like a garment, I may now sew

To unite words do visual rhymes masse
Avid eyes may note if they, above, PASS
English proves fun in my treble or BASS
Exact spellings may only wear one face

It paves the means for a scholarly dawn
as I now bared my mind to mister SEAN
My voice, I imagine, has not been MEAN
Now, my intentions may marry my mien.

_______________________________________

Want to try your hand at poetry? Email me at poeticiapoems@gmail.com

Featured image credits to 165106 on Pixabay

0 0 votes
Article Rating
Subscribe
Notify of
guest
4 Comments
Newest
Oldest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
WealthyBelle
WealthyBelle
4 months ago

I am not surprised at how much I enjoyed this. Well done! It is captivating and rich.

Chukwuma Livinus Ndububa
Chukwuma Livinus Ndububa
4 months ago

In the symphony of linguistic exploration, the poet unfolds the vibrant tapestry of English, weaving through the labyrinth of its spellings. Each stanza resonates with the melody of a language that dances to its own rhythm, and the poet, akin to a bard, invites readers on a whimsical journey through the quirks and nuances of English.

The poet’s resolve to “sway no reader numb” echoes a commitment to make the exploration engaging and lively. With a playful spirit, they embark on a quest to uncover the mysteries that dwell in every Briton’s home, revealing the peculiarities that both bewilder and delight.

The metaphor of English as a living entity, subject to shifts and reforms, is artfully depicted. It becomes a companion to the poet, a realm of fun and endless possibilities. The poet acknowledges the challenges learners face, yet emphasizes the joy that comes with deciphering the language’s intricate codes.

English, described as an uncommon trait, a melon soup, and a field of gains to plough, takes on various personas. The poet’s affection for the language shines through, and they playfully tease its idiosyncrasies while celebrating its richness.

The historical journey of English, from the Celts to the Normans and the printing era, unfolds like a saga, contributing to the ever-evolving nature of the language. The poet embraces the diversity of spellings, presenting it as a reflection of different tastes and influences.

As the poem concludes, the poet’s intentions and voice marry seamlessly, leaving a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. It’s an ode to English, a language that may bewilder, puzzle, and shift, but ultimately, it remains a source of endless fascination and joy for those who embark on the linguistic adventure.

0
Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
()
x