Cursive Poems - Poems about Cursive

What Is Happening? Yes, the little Genie asked What is happening? Children aren’t being taught To tell time, They can’t look at the clock and Know whether it’s one o’clock Or it’s 10 o’clock Who is teaching the children? Yes, the little Genie asked What is happening? Children aren’t being taught Cursive writing They can’t write their names What a sad thing to know The art of handwriting Is being let...

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I want to say something about cursive writing (this might seem random). I’ve seen articles saying that cursive writing is a “dead art,” that computers have destined it for oblivion and questioning whether cursive writing should be taught in schools now-a-days. But if you plan to go to college - relearn it and practice it, because you’ll...

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Cursive Consolations David J Walker Heartlessly pressing words into wine Our feet are blood red from the crushing Our heads flowing in faint rhymes Into dry riverbeds genially growing An ocean of poetry waiting Waves bathe the salted bathers On white beaches lying Side by side naked in the sand Sunning themselves in the afternoon Toweling themselves of pungent prose After the...

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Cursive curtsies greet your yearning heart, unfurling again after winter's burden, like a garden's first crocus, a jolt to the senses. Lilac leaps from monochromatic monotony, pickwick stripes rising from dormant burrows, no longer afraid of uncertain skies. Invited pigment revives, ignited with a tiger's pulse, like your page decorated in heartbeat artistry. My lungs lift anew, blooming with freshness' debut. Impromptu whispers kiss another line, finding their icy wait reciprocated at the garden gate. . 4-9-2021 Anacreontic Verse Poetry Contest Sponsor: Silent One...

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Mail Call Now and Then David J Walker Let me hear from you Now and then Love, Mother The same phrase I read at the end Of every letter While gone so long ago Serving in uniform It was the time before email And iPhones And social media posts When the most we could hope for While so far away Was our names shouted out...

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Malformed loops and curls followed my unsteady pen, as I wrote homework and answers in examination booklets. With difficulty, one might navigate where occasional legible words formed stepping-stones across my rivers of confusion. Creating whirls with flare remained a dream in my spastic world of uncertainty. Jabs and lurches, scratches and corrections desecrated traditional tools of writing. I lived with this cursive curse until meeting QWERTY, my closest companion of sixty years....

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the runners cursive upon new fallen winter rake leans against rails 11/5/2019 A late Fall or Early Winter Haiku Poetry Contest Sponsor - Tania Kitchin runners - either of the longitudinal pieces on which a sled or sleigh slides...

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Ample lines Align flow Writes feel fine Cursive rows Affluent finds Craft of scripts Cursive mind A fond grip A thought moves Draft of flair Feel each groove Surge new air Cursive strokes Curl embrace Pensive poke Crisp words trace Ink stokes sign Thoughts that blaze A clear find In fond craze Words hold stuff In a glance Sure enough As thoughts dance Craft verse free As feel flings Watch the spree As words string Pen inks well Surge of feel Strange strokes tell Poise of...

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In youth dynamic streaks course through your brain, Reflecting pools of inspiration's flow. Yet deeds, which block your ego's needs, remain For fallow fields must first be sewn, then sowed. The sapling grows to join a canopy. A cautious gait of patience, now we need. More slowly reaching shelves a life has sought Of crumbling books with truth and wisdom taught. Cateletic -...

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I write each letter by hand in careful cursive. I want every sentence to be pretty, to look feminine and delicate - to soften the ugliness you face everyday. After each line, I let the ink dry. You don't deserve smudges. You don't deserve any of this. My words are foolish, full of meaningless descriptions of meaningless events. But I can't sit...

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Little knots of string tied to your fingers, tied to my heart. They dance, I dance.. They run, I run. Am I your puppet? You're laughing wildly your fingertip goes up, my foot goes up, pulled with the string of Proposition An eerie dance I dance with a frown remains right side down All night long the heartstrings strut. Feet smothered with cinder dust, smears and swipes on...

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