Best Apostrophe Poems

Below are the all-time best Apostrophe poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Apostrophe poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Apostrophe poems, articles about Apostrophe poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Apostrophe poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

New Apostrophe Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Apostrophe poems are below this new poems list.

You left me in The Apostrophe by Warlov, Robert
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

View all new Apostrophe Poems

The Best Apostrophe Poems

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2012

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Punctuated in Time

Cant lift my eyes beyond half past seven anymore
Nay! I do not wish to see...
Past hyphens and inverted commas
Lies and more catastrophe

Ambidextrous clock with appalling brevity
The second hand throws away society
Caught on the hook of an apostrophe
Hit and run humanity

With what shall I beseech thee?
Amix with soot and grime am I today
I painted me....!  I mascara'd me!
Not this... warpaint for smudges
A discard of society

Sunk in dank mediocrity
Left to dream on the periphery
Sacked and sold with all their niceties
And pensioned off into obscurity

Cascading through the fingers of our hands
Groans the running Namib sands
Camel plods along ignoring facts
Dali's clock is molten wax - a mystery

For as Terrabytes and Megabitten memory
Omits to call- forgets to visit me

Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2016

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Oh, Joyce

Oh, Joyce
(A salute to Joyce Kilmer)

How could you know of molten skies
burning my skin to fiery glow
as trails of sweat ran ever down,
except to walk the same hard row?

You must have lifted flaming face
to catch the waft of cooling flow
as leaves stirred air upon your neck
bent down to guide the whack of hoe.

You must have stood beneath its arms
and held your frame secure inside
a shade cast out by wide-swept limbs
to draw sweet breath upon a sigh.

Your pictured trees bespoke my heart
your words remained a lifelong song.
Each time I viewed a splendid tree
came once again warm thoughts of thee.

Though faith is rare in Darwin’s sphere
your message still rings loud and clear.
Poems are made by fools like me
but only God can make a tree.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Why am I writing this sonnet for class?
On a beautiful day, like today is,
But I must, so I’ll make it very crass
This is, sadly enough, like a pop quiz.

Usually I’d be watching some Netflix,
So why, Mrs Steinberg, why make me write?
You make me swear it upon River Styx
Each word written takes up a gigabyte

I’ve used allusion and apostrophe
To enhance my beautiful sonnet here
I’ll even try using hyperbole
This pain I can only barely endear

But wait! This line here means we are almost done
Goodbye, I leave the lime light now, have fun.

Copyright © Hufferfish Blob | Year Posted 2016

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Aware of Goodbye

Defeated, hopeless, helpless. 
A slow sinking of the heart.
Overwhelmed. Drowning. 
The brain has reflexes. 
Plugging. Toning. 
Must find a balance. 
Right, wrong, whatever.
Masquerade, parade,
celebrate illusions. 
Conspiracy, hypocrites 
sewn into innate intelligence. 
Regrets, cigarettes, beer
save a life by giving a dollar. 
Useless, nonsense, crazy. 
Inspiration meets shadow. 
Smile, cry, frown
get on medication. 
Numb, hollow, void
welcome to normalcy. 
Smell, touch, see
perceive unconditional love.
Rejection, imperfection
nail it to your mind. 
Not your fault. 
Not your fault. 
Not your fault.
Crooked face, sweet smile
blank mind, dishonorable.  
Apostrophe not needed. 
Mission accomplished.

Copyright © Mindy Clay | Year Posted 2016

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Vignette Polaroid Kiss

                                                     Nostalgic in noon
                                                  Apostrophe in desire
                                                    Linger kiss on you

Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2012

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2012

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2011

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2011

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2008

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.


I crashed into a language barrier

So they put me in an induced comma

As they re-calibrated my damaged grammar

Transforming my full stop into a full start

As I wake from my abbreviation
               I feel tense in the present
Realising that an apostrophe is now all 
              and nothing more I will ever be
I have a kindled yearning to compound 
              my spoken words with good intention
But I’ve become a symbol 
              that marks a past behaviour into memory

I stand in place of the person 
              whose ending is, with my start, synonymous
A person with their own tale
              which I can read but can’t understand
It’s my story, but a rougher drafted version
              Reading it I feel anonymous 
Is this where I’m killed off but my character returns?
              I find asylum asking questions, with an ampersand


…The blurb on the back of life gives me the shorthand:
This is the punctuation that brings order 
In the arc of your lived life
And if you see problems with recalled quotations
Then choose to learn, or live with strife


I’m not ready to die
So here I am
Prepared with notation
The things I’ve seen and learned combined
Swapping the chip on my shoulder 
For an indentation


Don’t ever put down the pen while you’re still writing your history


Copyright © Sam Nicholas Harrison | Year Posted 2016

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Oh! African child, the temple
A redient beauty of nature
Thou are the cradle capital
 Of humanity and creatures
The founder of patriarchal

Oh! African child,
The coy the toy of the wife
Beauty of nature and life
The belike of Bowie knife 
To war at still life rife strife

The child of joy the best of hymns
We beseech thee in betimes
Thy streamlet in our dreams
Screaming in daydreams
Like a storm in the Midstreams

African child, maker of BC 
From AD back the AC
The brain of agony and glossy
The married the plea and mercy 

Oh child of my fathers, prostrate
Crowns at thy feet for thy odelet
To sublime prime respect 
When thy pen upon d sky soar-th

1925 your maiden calleth
Upon a round table thought
The earth ornates thou as great
Oh! rejoice thou art great 
For the kingdom belongeth

(By Opurum Precious poet, writer and critic Nigeria)
copyright © odiboyp 27/07/2016

   The poem "ODE TO AFRICAN CHILD" by Precious odiboy is a poem that praises African children. The poet praises African children to a certain height
   In stanza one, he presents the beauty and uniqueness of African children. He sees the African children as the returning of nature and the beginning of human race as well as creatures. Thus:
   "A redient beauty of nature
    Thou are the cradle capital
    Of humanity and creatures"
Here , the poet maintains that African children are distinct from other children in the world.
  In stanza two, the poet presents the African child asthe beauty of nature and the joy of motherhood as well as the Sharp sword to fight against conflicts.
  In stanza three, he compares to beautiful songs as he praises them to come at the right time. He also compares the loneliness childlessness can cause to a woman and the emotional discomfort. Thus:
   'The child of joy the best of hymns
   We beseech thee in betimes
   Thy streamlet in our dreams
   Screaming in daydreams
   Like a storm in the Midstreams'
In stanza four, the poet sees the child as the maker of history from the past to the present. That is, before and after the time of Christ.
  In stanza five, the poet declares that kings and great men bow for children in praise and respect due to their value in heaven and earth.
  In the last stanza, the poet references the first World Conference held about children issues in 1925 which results to Children's Day today. He maintains that everything on earth honours children.
  Finally, he concludes that children should rejoice because the kingdom of God belongs to them as the bible says.
Diction: the language of the poem is very simple and straight forward to understand. The poet used some archaic words like 'beseech, betimes, belike, calleth, belongeth soar-th etc to foreground the figurative meaning of the poem.
Metaphor: the whole of stanza one is built of metaphor. Examples: Oh African child, the temple. The cradle of capital etc
Apostrophe: this is seen in stanza three, thus: We beseech thee in betimes.
Simile: Like a storm in the Midstreams
Allusion: Examples: maker of BC from AD back the AC: your maiden calleth (historical allusion). For the kingdom belongeth (biblical allusion)
Metonym: Examples Crowns at thy feet for thy odelet: When thy pen upon d sky soar-th (stanza five). Upon a round table thought (stanza six)
Imagery: brain of agony (stanza four), the crown (stanza five), round table (last stanza) etc
Alliteration: still-life-rife-strife ( stanza two)
Rhyme scheme  ababa,  cdddd,  eeeee,  ffff, gggg, ggggg 
Mood:  happiness, hope
Tone:  praise

Copyright © Precious Opurum | Year Posted 2016

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Response to Pieces of Me

A Response to Becca Teagan's Pieces of Me (Title heading does not allow the apostrophe in Becca's last name to appear) Those pieces of you, torn out and laid bare, reflecting who you are or how you feel about the lucky ones with whom you share your simple gifts are seen as very real, at least by me and those who love your heart! Those pieces we will treasure. They will not be seen as nothing, Becca. It is art which you create! What better can be sought by poets here than art which has a soul? How precious is each piece that you bestow on us! Together, they comprise the whole, so all the poems you write you need to show! Dear Poet, never take your poems away, for “Bye Bye Becca” I don’t want to say! Written Oct. 16, 2016 for the contest Bye Bye Becca and a really sweet and talented poet NOTE: See the poem I am responding to in the "About Poem" Box

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2011

Details | Apostrophe Poem | Create an image from this poem.

You left me in The Apostrophe

  (  Where lions are born - [ Not Africa ] - The Topography   )

You left me in the apostrophe,
Between the show-case'd artist's offerings, and the self-help aisles,
the pictures of Thoreau and Hemingway, and the broken helpless wanderers.

Already, I knew you were gone- didn't recognise you.
You were someone else, suddenly, mysteriously unfamiliar to me; no longer, "Family".
I could barley look. I could barley look away.

Vanquished, you were vanquished, like the lost, self-help coterie.

'How do I approach this stranger to ask; 'what is wrong'?'

'Or this is a mistake. Maybe my love of science fiction has finally "gotten the better of me".

'Take a pill, man'... the thought formed. A real life: "Invasion of The Body Snatchers".

It wasn't possible that I didn't know her- not possile she had been hiding all those years.
But, if so, why, what would be the point? Was I Dracula? The Wolf man?

You left me in mid sentence, in mid-stride- my love I mean, in mid-stride.

Twenty years is long enough to become familiar; family.

You wandered away with the children then, and I let you go.

I went to the Philosophy section where they included Metaphysics, Cultural Anthology, New Age Spirituality and more.

Many of these were familiar to me, but nothing about healing a broken heart stood-out; a broken psycii. Maybe I should return to the broken people sidling along in the broken book's aisle.

And what course of action lay before me? Do I broach the subject, or allow her to speak first?

You left me in the dark, between a relentless firey hope and a horrendous knell's acceptance, rendered blind without even the sense of danger I was in, what truly lay ahead.

'Would it really be possible to create a new life... out of what... what's left? What IS left?'

You came to me like a prisoner, and left me in the cell.

Even if your love failed, mine did not and insisted that I fight for you, even if it meant fighting You, because I believed, I had to believe, "Love never fails"- Love Must Not Ever Fail!

Building a new psycii from scratch! That's a labor cut-out for the "certified" professionals.

I walked on roads, both real and metaphorical, saying into a miniature tape-recorder the words, repeating the language that must somehow give birth to me again.

Cast into the horrid echoing void- frightful burrow of mind- stumbling over Satanic Joy's lie.

And only prayer left. Agony's strains to move the dumb heavens, confound the wise angles, and turn the ear of god.

But a seed must fall to the ground and die.

and the music rose-up and the words,

"A seed must fall to the ground and die".

But that's His Story.

I am the one born of that conflagration, that fall.

I rise in the world born of this truth- This truth I have- This truth I carry. It's all that's left me, and It's all I need.

I rage against every sun-wrecked and ridiculous heart, mock every miserable tear, and present the topography of that one true place called eternity.

It is there that love exists. I too, because love never fails. I exist!

Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2016