Lingua Franca

My language

lies limp on the page;

it neither scampers nor frisks;

it executes no back-flips,

no handstands, no moonwalks;

it does not somersault; it does not pirouette;

it neither pounces like the cobra

nor springs like the yearling lamb.


I want that lithe and limber idiom,

that sassy brassy palaver,

that red-stiletto dialect,
that margarita-mother-tongue

with the salted rim,

spectacular vernacular,

slang with a bang;

I want blab, blurt, yawp, yelp,

hoot, howl, holler,

the lingua franca

of bump and tussle and nudge.

Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 115 times
Written on 2019-08-26 at 00:01

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
I'm smiling, too. This is a fun one, and magical. All the attributes you long for are set forth.

Well done, it's very enjoyable.

josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Wonderful work Thomas. I found myself smiling all through the second stanza.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
You've found it. It's right there in the second stanza.