English, a restless sea of words,
Where whispering vowels and consonants swirl,
A tapestry stitched with borrowed threads,
From distant shores, from every tongue.
It dances in Shakespearean verse,
It hums in modern slang and tweets,
A puzzle of rules, exceptions, and rhymes,
Yet fluid as the wind through open streets.
Its grammar is both cage and key,
Its idioms, a secret handshake,
Metaphors blooming like wildflowers,
Similes shimmering in morning light.
English, a bridge and a labyrinth,
A home for the storyteller’s fire,
A language that carries the world within,
Ever-changing, yet never tired.
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Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: November 14th, 2025 08:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Doggerel Dave
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Comments4
A splendid write using the very concepts being talked about it emulates what it preaches. Well done
I translate my flemish melancholy into English poetry...
While multilingual people have all my admiration, for English is my only language, in it I feel I have more than enough to cope with, though all I need to convey my meaning.
Great account of it's foibles, dimensions and eccentricities.
Why be multilinugal when your language is literally seven different languades slammed together? Huzzah.
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