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Best Apostrophe Poems

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Apostrophe in Time by Hunt, W.
Apostrophe to Dad by Ludden, Robert
Apostrophe to Martin by Ludden, Robert
l apostrophe air morte by delapruch, andrew

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The Best Apostrophe Poems

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

The Write of You

Inspired by the write of you
creamed through a paper sieve to cup
with both hands the leavings that you trail
 the write of you

like the chewed edge of hand pressed paper
like the apostrophe of lash on the cheeky page
I ogle the syncopated semen-antic drop of
 the write of you

how often does the wonder of you flash
across the film of my eyes unable reach
for I am so enchanted with the coffee-au-lait
 write of you

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

More great poems below...

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Apostrophe to Dad

I think of how it was ten years ago
just after you departed.
All your close friends spoke
of your "complexity"
and we knew what it meant.

I look far back to childhood when
those small-town midwest Methodists
would call you "Revrund."  Well they knew
of turned-on tears
so common in the meeting hall;
but did they know about
the "turned-on" ladies
when you came to call?

I know.  You needed time with them.
Two small churches took so much
with little left for us;  I still recall
the single three hour evening
when you took me out of town alone
--to still another church!

There came a time for change;
as a chaplain in the army,
far away from mother, there
you quickly found the antidote
for loneliness...and yet again,
and again, again...

And then so late in life,
about to lose your second wife
through age and frailty,
you saw another, caught her
waiting in the wings, you thought.

All through those years you toiled
(if not quite single-mindedly)
in dedicated sacrifice for God
(if not for family).

How you were loved! 
Clay footed, to be sure,
yet everything you did
was passion-filled;
you wept and prayed
and laughed and played,
presiding to the end.

Complex, you were, indeed, my father,
the record clear and true
and I for one, will judge you not.
for I am much like you!

Copyright © Robert Ludden

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Confessions of a Grammar Nazi

I know the fact that it's Facebook
it somehow gives you an excuse not to abide
by even the most basic of grammar rules.
And I admit seeing an apostrophe
where it's not needed kills me a bit inside.
But, alas, I will restrain myself
from starting any spelling duels.
The truth is you just wouldn't win,
not even the slightest chance.
And even if you did there would be
no satisfaction on your behalf.
It would always come back again
to the same redundant dance;
me - taking the time to voice my message clearly,
and you having a big hair-pulling laugh.
It's true, there is a great deal of time saved,
cutting the words short and omitting punctuation.
But by God it's like throwing away
years of hard-earned education!
I wouldn't mind writing like a five-year-old
(aside from the fact I'm almost twenty).
Some say it's nothing to fret about -
isn't the rest of the world's problems plenty?
The fact is writing is one of the few things
I can keep in order
(Lord knows my room doesn't fit the bill!).
So if by chance you find yourself,
staring zombie-eyed Into a computer screen,
with extra time to fill,
I hope that you will remember your I before E except C's,
that you will recall the three different there's of English.
Maybe someday you too will join
this small club of Grammar Nazis.
Perhaps you'll find there's more to words
than just ink on a page...
For you have the whole world within you,
first step is too climb out of your cage.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Apostrophe to Martin

Two lifetimes I have seen since yours began
and still I am not free, though haunted by
your words, blood-coated with your passion, 
seeped into a history of marching feet.
The cadence of the years still cannot stand
their purity, and you, baton still high,
drum major for a righteousness you saw
that lived in dreams-- 
still march...and I cannot.

It's best you died,  perhaps, for you 
would not abide another line of voters 
kept out in the rain, 
their voices slain by fraud and  perfidy, 
their backs still open to the lash of scorn, 
and scarce remembering the wounds 
that you received when all you asked for
was to love.

That loving didn't get much easier
around this shrinking ball, disfigured from
a restless floor beneath the sea,  and for
a while the human heart was stirred, 
but more had died from  restless greed  
and naked power when love was set aside.

There's not much zeal for marching now 
along the streets of Washington, 
and bigotry is steeped inside.  
We need to hear your dream again,  
to have you sing with us once more,
to promise us that we shall overcome


Copyright © Robert Ludden

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

l apostrophe air morte

l’air morte

the last breath which speaks to no one
though others may be present
others may be in the room or on the street when/where it happens
it dissipates into the surrounding air
as if its point of origin had never actually 

a few too many drinks before a car ride on a night with a bit of 
black ice
a curiosity concerning a drug one has never tried, with no frame of reference besides the snide smile offering
a moment too long of cabin fever brand depression in a house alone with a stocked gun cabinet
a spouse cheating on their significant other who has just stirred up a fatal cocktail to offer them
a sickness eating from within which bears no signs on the face or the exterior until it is too late
a lover whose passion cannot stand another in the mix finding out how to correctly operate a pistol with a silencer

and blood fills the world 
as the breaths subtract themselves away
into finality.  

Copyright © andrew delapruch

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |


Choice knows the play,
Allow for zest;
Live well this day,
Make love your fest.
Align your heart,
Ply a sound feel;
Opt cheery start,
Sense sparks kind will;
Touch tells you now,
Rise with sure stride;
Observe endow,
Prime your own ride;
Heed that sure need,
Etch poise that feeds.

Leon Enriquez
31 October 2014

Copyright © Leon Enriquez

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Vignette Polaroid Kiss

                                                     Nostalgic in noon
                                                  Apostrophe in desire
                                                    Linger kiss on you

Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Sleeps with the Fishes

The flight of my whims-
In Ocean's swim!
Shallow depths of murkiness
Brimming at the rims
Bubbles of trouble,
Like rain in puddles
Gather to the Grim
Pop me none too subtle-
And pull apart my fins!

*Again, this is a bit experimental and not sure how you will interpret it. Also, I know technically "subtle" should be "subtly", but I chose to leave it grammatically incorrect. And this is embarrassing to admit, but does anyone know if "ocean's" needs an apostrophe or not? Should it be just "oceans"? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller...? ;)

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Where You Write

You can write from your heart ever so kind,
you can write using your imaginative mind.
You can write from your inner spiritual soul,
some write from a less favorable hole.

Start with a muse that is close to your heart,
from this point is a good place to start.
Here you will feel the beat of your tale,
follow your heart and you will not fail.

Kick in your mind and fix all the errors,
especially all those apostrophe terrors.
Clean up the meter and smooth the rhyme,
misspelled wording is a horrid old crime.

Read your work through and ask your soul,
will this written word exact a toll.
Open your spirit to share from within,
greatness and success will surely begin.

Now there’s some that work from below,
those risque writers we all do know.
Offering tales of off color text,
x rated poems leave some readers vexed.

I for one use all available to glean,
running off writing which ever way I lean.
Good or bad I write what I want,
my perceived skill to shamelessly flaunt.

Robert Gene Stoner Jr

Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

The Writer Working Hard

This morning I put the apostrophe in
and this afternoon I took it out.
Oscar Wilde's comic wit
about the writer working hard.

Revision has lately become the sign
of seriousness, as in I revise
some poems a hundred times, 
maybe more. A word of praise here, 

a critical word there.
Before that there was the debate
if poems not stitched with end-sounds
were playing tennis without a net.

Late summer, August, hot, but
chickadees forming platoons.
Three months until the snow flies, 
sure as the June my father died.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Apostrophe in Time

water weeps wildly
whilst washing away your
jesting foolery.
I saw the sun annihilated
	Against backdrops of liturgy
Lethargic activity that earns
	It’s title as the Earth’s endearing child
Against backdrops of monogamy,
Pedestrian thinking,
	Accelerated usage,
Lapping up mentalities from bowls of pulled poultry,
Doing nothing for the Universe, Yet stealing all unities,
Dissention and green lights and babies birthed and apostrophes in time,
Influencing the way we work on thinking of ourselves as HUMANS, As people, not things.
Growths, from children to adults, the contortion of time, the peeling of fate, the sweet sugar coating like a scab on your life,
Bleeding out of your heart and seeing out of your eyes and feeling through your brain and feeling through your synapses.
Here are the producers of the broad way show of assimilation
Here are the problems, Here are the irregularities with the hole in the boat, But don’t worry everything is now under…
Black as a burn on white , yellow as a can of
	Cream, not yellow at all.
Not nothing but irregularities we perceive as
	Potential ingredients in life.
But in greed, is what we are, in need
	Not so much, Thinking SO outside
	Of the box, that the box has grown
	Legs and walked away and has grown
	 A full beard and a full head of ideals.
And we are trapped outside of this fully
	Matured matron of mystic answers.
And we are pleading to God to be let 
	back in...
But you know something, GOD IS IN THAT BOX TOO.
And you know something else, inside all of us
	Is a little box opening when
	It's ready to breed a plague of
	Insatiable urges.
A quest for self.
A journey through self. 
Black and blue benches where a man sits,
	Breathing, he breathed.
Waiting for his anti-matter mother to annihilate him,
	But less than he believes because anti-matter
	Kills not what it touches, But what it needs to 
	Kill itself.
A piano, might be boxy and Brute-Like
	But might mean more than piano
	To you.
It might mean the 'end is nigh'
	For music is the sound we hear to 
	feel forsworn,
	to feel filthy inside of ourselves.
But remember, the Doctor is here
	And he is watching from inside
	The box, and he's sitting over a cup of tea,
With GOD,
	       In that BOX

Copyright © W. Hunt

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |



A derogate demons asperity
Calumniate my integrity
Malicious deceit
Holding no truth
Held on to nothing!

My inglorious ignominy
Your repulsion Satiate!
Nauseated glut unsensual sodomy
Surfeit and salt in nasty infected cut

Given dichotomy
Or burdened with great weight
Tarnished, libel. Stuck in a rut.
Nothing left
Appellation stained – Tainted mendaciously
Verbal hate – Eat the flesh
Minstrel blood mixed with sacred semen
There’s nothing left – except for fire and this acrid demon

Copyright © Joel Thornton

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Statue of Liberty

Republic State
A lance of apostrophe
Witness the greatest marvel since …
Never again
Guy Fawkes failed
The new generation Guy Fawkes will fail
Witness a marvel
Dead quiet
A man stands to take the place of Mrs Liberty
The president of the United States
George Washington never saw this coming
Abe Lincoln rolls in his grave
Hilary Clinton is evil
Obama is in the words an Obamanation
No one is just
Who do you work for?
In reality
You never worked for us
You never work for the people
You work for the secret
What is it?

Copyright © Moses Samandar

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Unspoken Words VIII - Credit Love

I don't want to start with those cliché things but please believe me when I say I don't know what love is, I'm just trying to get my own opinion through. Credit Love. Funny enough I think love is like a business, you sell your heart to your partner whilst he or she pays you back in instalments. It could take 3 months or 3 years. They say all businesses have a Debtors Collection Schedule so consider your partner as one. He or she pays you a bit of love back every month and when it's finally over there's a piece of you that's gone. Call it Bad Debts shall we?

So you gave him 100 and he only returned 98. So now what happens? I always say if it's not 100 percent then there's room for improvement but what's there to improve? The way you love, show affection or the way you had an effect on him cause clearly you were nothing. Yes you were nothing cause there's no thing that you need to make yourself whole. 98 percent I said right? Okay let's take a kid from 98. Her heart gets broken and it's filled with a Soul Tie so she dates a 92 to feel 100 again. The love she now has is artificial. Listen closely now it's artificial. Yes it ain't official because she stopped thinking with her mind. What ever happened to the Mind, Heart and Body? If you don't mind what your heart looks like it'll affect your body. If you don't mind what you're body looks like it'll affect your heart.

So you should watch what you do. Think before you do but don't do your past thoughts because everything transforms if left for too long. You just have to Notice. Notice how life is better with No Ties and yes Ice Tea is Not Ice. Notice, No Ties, Not Ice. Matter of fact I don't understand why you enjoy these network dating sites. You think you speaking to someone of age. Nice fresh 24 year old. Thick, curves for weeks. But then when you finally meet her she forgot to tell you that her numbers got swopped around and she has a kid your age. It's harder for the girls. They ask for pictures and believe what they see. But they don't know that there's this new thing called Identity Theft. Yes it's called Identity Theft. I don't think you're listening closely because this is broken English, I Dent It, He Theft. It's a big tournament and the winner gets to be called Mr. Populator. Kids at 14 just want to Pop You Later? What is our world becoming?

So this Identify Theft has stolen the meaning of the word love. Girl loses her virginity and the guy picks up the scraps. Guys call it Credit Love but how can you begin to repay something that is not even refundable? This game has become a drug guys so let me be your conscience. Girls are becoming immune to your games because they absorb things that happen over and over and over again. So next time you take that girl's virginity you should tell yourself that you could get killed. Why? Ask the same guy who took that girl's virginity but still has Aids. Maybe you want to look at it as an investment. R500 bucks a month on compound interest. The same works girls. Heart gets broken every month to 2 years so when it finally matures those 24 hearts have now become 30 and you can't handle it. You thought it was impossible. Personally I think impossible should be removed from the dictionary. See English is a funny language, they forgot to put the apostrophe in impossible to tell you that it actually means that I. Am. Possible. 

People today are not able to pass the bible. Instead they get tattoos and like to call it Tribal. Spending thousands and thousands of rands decorating something that won't leave you so Credit Love, who are you going to sell your heart to? If that person across the street tells you that he or she likes you tell them that all the money in the world, regardless of the currency, can be taken and given to you but it won't even be a deposit. Why? Because you are priceless. See God made you out of materialistic things. Why? To show you that He's already given you enough so why should you be searching for more? I ask you once more, Credit Love, who are you going to sell your heart to? 

Wonderful people of PoetrySoup!!! Find more of my poems on my Facebook page Poetically Abstract. Thanks for your support!!

Copyright © Langeni Mate

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

America's Lament

Slipping gently towards entropy,
Ownership with an apostrophe.
Braid the loose frays of sanity
Till something true finally answers me.

Troops are marching over many lands,
Tagged cornflower blue--a worldwide brand.
Don't speak out or you will be banned,
Towers implode just as they've planned.

Constantine merged Rome's faiths to one
Keeping time and step with Pagans.
Moloch laughs at our dull compassion
While Illuminati goals corrupt conception.

With a punitive eye beneath the skin
Mankind’s been declared the pathogen.
So an age of ignorance was ushered in
With aims to squelch the soul within.

Rotating parties deflect shared shame
Allowing complacency to be blamed.
Splintered populations can be tamed,
And bombs tend to leave bodies maimed.

Thieves steel gold and filch the free press,
Bobble heads working to keep up stress,
Businessmen sponsoring all this mess.
"We've got some pills if you feel depressed..."

We inherently trust their authority
As they outlaw nutrients due to toxicity.
In an effort to organize bioactivity
They count on our enduring apathy.

We protest lies, so they've built some pens.
Peace simply means they'll take our weapons.
"So go buy a widescreen for your den
To watch us start your wars again."

Even the name Bilderberg is a joke.
As they like it they’ve managed to fleece us broke,
Locking humanity into the yoke.
They sold the world lies before they ever spoke.

Crypto-eugenics is a fatal threat,
Academia functioning as a stooge pet.
Look into those eyes; they've got no regret
To kill us all off like they're clearing a debt.

Global control would only serve them well,
Micro chipped souls have no secrets to sell.
Salivate each time you hear their bell
Or they'll call themselves gods chasing you through hell.

Our oppressive puppet liars, they will not quit,
So don't waste breath saying, 'I'll submit.'
Words of our liberty are just and legit,
And truthful self-rule is a righteous fit.

When bureaucrats state dissent is treachery
In truth they've already sold their loyalty,
They still threaten our sovereignty.
Reclaim our human right to be free!

Copyright © John Weber

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |


“It’s” with an apostrophe
Means "it is" – all the time!
Using it another way
Is quite a grammar crime.

Whenever I encounter writing
With a misused “it’s,”
My pressure passes by its boiling point
Before it quits.

“Should of,” “would of,” could of”
Are annoying, to be sure;
And for “there,” “their,” “they’re” confusion
No one seems to have a cure.

But the most frustrating writing error
Is, I do believe,
Using “it’s” instead of “its” – 
It’s my number one pet peeve!

Copyright © ilene bauer

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |



The difference  between a cat and a comma, as you know,
         Is that one has claws at the end of its paws, 
         While the other has a pause at the end of a clause,
         But let the comma not be confused with a coma,
         Sometimes induced in my wife from my socks’ aroma, 
         And  never confuse a comma with an apostrophe,
         For in this competition it would be a catastrophe, 
         And, as we all know, a comma sits on the line,
         But an apostrophe floats up in the air just fine.
When you reach twelve commas, it’s time to go.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . 

Written  by  Sydney  Peck
Entered in Russell  Sivey’s  Contest    Tons of comma fun!

Copyright © Sidney Beck

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Heinz 57

Henry Heinz made ketchup
(First called catsup) long ago,
Plus a host of other products - 
Some you'd be surprised to know.

On a train in New York City,
Henry saw an ad for shoes;
There were 21 styles mentioned,
Quite a catchy lure to use.

Since he sold a lot of products,
(Over 60, so they say)
He picked 57, which is what
Their label says today.

He just liked the way it sounded -
In the brain that number sticks -
So it's been that way forever,
(Or since 1896.)

That's the second fact I learned
At the museum* about Heinz,
But the first one really threw me
As a writer of some lines.

On the early cans and bottles,
When he started in the biz,
Heinz included an apostrophe - 
The catsup was Heinz's.

Doesn't Heinz sound so much better?
Sometimes advertising moves
Borrow some poetic license
So their product name improves!

*Heinz History Center in Pittsburgh

Copyright © ilene bauer

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Declaration of Ignorance

Democracy a mockery,
Hypocrites own the name with an apostrophe,
One person is created equal,
Yet look down cause of poverty,
Statistics limit an individual,
Education is it hard to grab a visual,
when opportunities are critical,
Let the real crooks get away with what's criminal,
Confusing the youth is just a minimal,
Can you put your pride
Wonder why the rich are careless and hide,
Unity can be possible,
Does hunger have to be an obstacle,
Avoiding the problem cause it doesn't seem profitable,
Or is it
Doesn't take a wizard to get through a blizzard,
Declaration of Independence
or Deprivation of Independence

Copyright © Christopher Coke

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |


No question mark should precede my time.
No exclamation should startle your thoughts.
No apostrophe should suspend our feelings.A full stop must end the confusion.

Waves crush against the rocks,abetting,retreating from my grip!
How would you possibly grasp water?
The mystery gets worse,when at the horizon the ship's smoke is seen.

Time is,pause,play,slow and the 3D view of the-ship of love-in daylight is like a fading silhouette.

Your not here yet.

Sinking my feet under the wet sand,tuned from the heat of a steady sun.
I reckon,that sunset too is suspending itself.

So! This is how love,pends,when you wait for it at the wrong place?

Where water,earth and mankind converge.
How much longer shall we wait for Love to 'dock.'...

By Carswell E aka the punctuated patient

Copyright © moses onyango

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

Selection from my new novel

	Apostrophe in time. Mixes twenty foot differences between mice and men. They all fail. But the failure is only a thought a big lie. The fun now is the brow of the valley under Universal, 
stars is the quiver of virgin blossoms. Untold tales of taxidermy of humans. Oh Morton, what happened?
	I see you swimming, sorrow sucking you through to the stacks of a library in Dante’s Inferno. 
No place to be for a man of you great disposition, interpretations of a fourth dimension. 
Four inceptions of Christ. Fourth inception of the days of anguish. 
Languish in language and learn to learn before learning obsolete standards learn to kill you. 
Linguistic suicide imbedded in leapfrogs. 
Obnoxious butterflies LEARN. Morton where? Are you? Who is? I want, no, 
I yearn for justice days of pleasure, of bountiful journeys to distant mind sets.
 Eating jollity, consuming foreign fingers to be intoxicated with race and jest. 
Just cause is NOT enough. Powdered power, outage of time. A pill of sensitivity.
 Now SHE blooms, like England, like death, time, ANYTHING. 
She leaves earth including me and I fall into this pit, this chamber of blame, insolence and filth. 
Perturbed, perturbed, perturbed to the enth degree.
 her, her, this love, this life, this Christmas eve is playful. 
Playful of POWER. “it is NOT YOUR FAULT.” 
Is what I tell her. I tell her listen, listen, listen, listen, listen to, not me. 
But any authority that is NOT. Write down books and books of blasphemy, blasphemy. 
Any authority that is NOT. Yes. Not.

Copyright © W. Hunt

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |


Wire taps
Wired traps
Magazines for guns
Sharp Blades
Original Guns
Get ready for battle
The team blows up
Silent but deadly
Throw your muscle!
Belt of equipment
Guns of apostrophe. 
Stealth for life.

Copyright © Moses Samandar

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |



It might be because I broke so many rules
It might be because I followed too many fools
It might be due to the life I have led
And that’s why I am halfway dead

Perhaps it was the voice of thunder
Or the spell I swiftly fell under
I followed the wrong cohorts into catastrophe
On days when I lived between an apostrophe

I had a need for a needle and syringe
And soon my devastation would make my lovers cringe
Brightness became darkness that invaded
When all my hopes too quickly faded

There were days of blood and scars revealed
And everyone wondered if I’d ever be healed
There was no magic to make of me a man
And God knows I was following Satan’s plan

Righteousness closed its eyes to me
And foolishness seemed so wise to me
But taking the wrong staircase led to a fall of grace
So thus I promptly became a hopeless case

I summarily fell through a crack
And became the flaw that broke this mammel's back
No one could pull me from the wreckage of a mind
Because there was no comfort for a man like me to find

A rock became my pillow du jour
And my cardboard box had no front door
A subway grating became my nighttime bed
And that’s why I am halfway dead
     © 2012…copyright PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~

Copyright © jeffry cohan

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |


You are my life's apostrophe
The part that has always been missing in me
You're right where the hyphen used to be-
You are my life's apostrophe

Once a question mark was all I had? 
And commas dominated my soul, 
Semicolons; separated my dreams
And the ellipse was firmly in control...

Then you placed your brackets around my [heart]
Your braces around my {soul}
Your parentheses surround my (dreams) 
You're the exclamation mark in my life so droll!

Copyright © Richard Autry

Details | Apostrophe Poem | |

of thee i WING by phree

some people claim that i am free
now ain't that a god-damned gas
i assure you being as restricted as me
is a predominant pain in the ass

this isn't right
restricting my flight
And I'll tell you upon whom I place the blame for having grounded my wings
I hold accountable people like you who pluck my strongest and proudest feathers
one by one 
so I may never again near the sun
every feather gone with another shackle and chain
but why, for what have you to gain?
i blame you for hindering my plight,
because this just ain't right
you not only block my path
but you blind me to the brightness with your wrath
and so I fear
that orb is one this bird is never again to near
and the pertinent particulars are predicated on a predictable preponderane of the evidence
and the fact that I bother no one once I take flight
no, this just ain't right
alas, to me the time between the sun and moon is diminishing
as if, should I fly once more, it will cause some kind of astronmical catastrophe
without an apostrophe
while I  await my fate
so guard well my path of quarried slate
and make certain to lock the gate
yeah yeah I know you think i'm errent in some capacity or other
and that hoard includes my mother
yet I still doubt your veracity
and am aware that you all think I'm wrong spelled out in neon lights at night
But remember, you can clip my wings
but you can't deafen your ears when this flightless bluebird of sorrow sings
            (c) 2011.....Phreepoetry

shoot, you can talk ad infinitum
yet I will always suspect your veracity

Copyright © jeffry cohan