Best Apostrophes Poems
Don’t use special characters!
In writing I was told,
Next to the title of my poem.
(The letters black and bold.)
“Poems Don’t Have to Rhyme,” is what
I chose to name my piece,
But with this title, what I wrote
The site would not release.
For only letters, numbers, dashes,
Commas are allowed;
Apostrophes and colons, too,
Are welcomed in that crowd.
I looked back at my heading
And I didn’t understand
Exactly how it merited
That tyrant-like command.
I had to change my title –
It’s called “Poems” now on my list,
But someone messing with my words
Makes me feel awfully pissed.
Categories:
apostrophes, how i feel, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
Poetry is tangerine and other potent or poisonous colors.
It is the breath you feel at the nape of your neck and
the strong caress of flesh on flesh, defying death.
It is most certainly Spring with petal flutters and jays
flittering about. Melodies come alive…words almost too
ravishing to versify…like brilliant diamonds and crystal lines.
Poetry is rhyme and not…it is time well spent. The clock
doesn’t give a hoot. It’s cuckoo to stand on your head
to get just the right angle, the geometric high. Likewise,
the adjustment on a thin wire, with ink blots to examine.
But a poet does, again and again, pounding at raw meat,
to settle a matter…but we never settle…there is always
one thing more. Death, maturity, seasonals. Let’s dig
up that grave. First we jump in, holding onto leaves dyed
in various tinctures. Often we swing over, on our trapeze,
thinking we are invincible - we don’t see the six foot ravine.
Not feeling trapped at all, until the Ice Queen shows up.
We paint that buttercup white, as if it were virtuous.
She vividly holds up the scales to weigh our slights,
to slow us down…now,
we dribble upon the page…drivelling every nuance, as if
our kids (our words) were leaving home and we need to drill
just one more thing. Sadly our words will hang
and slowly scroll away…our scribbles fondly remembered
by a few for a while (and our smile)
Paint giraffes ouside the line, and gaffes - keep them in time.
Don’t be afraid to annunciate or not…to be literate or
alliterative…to be silly…oh do be silly…to be human…
to be common or uncommon…we all have our place.
We are the apostrophes, colons and periods. We stop
in mid-sentence a lot. We throw the hammer down
with an exclamation point or dot. We write run ons
or put out briefs. We admire awe. This is just a small
treatise of thought…a mud pie, but certainly not
a prize…but I say, the prize is in the beholder’s stall.
3/13/2023
Categories:
apostrophes, poetry, writing,
Form:
Prose
My dreary life shunned, a chance to escape;
atop glacial peak, glorious vision.
Oasis amongst the frigid landscape;
found sanctuary, almost Elysian.
Colorful fish dart, despite intrusion,
in clear blue water of idyllic lake.
Grand oaks' enclosure heightens seclusion,
if this be a dream, no wish to awake.
Surmount gnarly trunk, in bosom I nest,
relax for a spell, savour treetop view.
Ponder existence, I truly am blessed;
alas, paradise, soon time to eschew.
'fore starting descent, 'fore limbs are unfurled,
shut eyes and breathe deep, absorb nature's sounds.
This close to Heaven, at top of the world,
touch of Creator supremely resounds.
------------------------------------------------
(C) 12th May 2017
ABAB-CDCD-EFEF-GHGH rhyme scheme
10 syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com - but had to remove apostrophes in fourth stanza as it was mis-counting)
For Brenda Chiri's Mountaintop Lake contest.
(3rd Place)
Used the following word(s):
#1 treetop view
#2 colorful fish
#3 clear blue water
#4 nature's sounds / sounds of nature
Categories:
apostrophes, adventure, beautiful, creation, heaven,
Form:
Rhyme
This poem doesn’t want to get written.
It’s fighting with all that it’s got.
Apostrophes, commas,
Their daddies and mamas
Are joining to give it a shot.
I’m dragging each word that’s resisting
And plunking it down on the page.
So every letter
I’ve forced, with a fetter,
To take its place up on the stage.
This poem didn’t want to get written.
Its protests were lusty and loud
But the pencil I wield
Made hostilities yield
For the poet’s compulsion’s unbowed.
Categories:
apostrophes, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
The Headless Greenlandic Horseman
A Meditation in 6 parts.
Avalanche
I.
The sky is starry
The night is scary
I'm very afraid
of the living dead;
On a mission; or Fugitives in the city
II.
The headless Greenlandic horseman
speaks Kalaallisut very well indeed,
plus Dansk and English! What a man!
A polyglot he is! Yes, sir! Although he
Is evil and wants to behead Mr. Donn
Oh! How horrible! How horrible! The
reason being, Donn owes him plenty
of money. More than 500.000 bucks!
Camera Obscura
III.
Mikko Donn (whose dad is Finnish) is a fugitive in the city
& Hansen, the cowboy from Kalaallit Nunaat, is his hunter;
500.000 U$ is that debt's figure, folks;
Oh! This is horrid! Truly horrid for sure!
I contemplate upon this very jittery and jumpy
Oh, I am scared! Oh, yes! I am scared!
Donn's head is at stake--because he's a debtor;
Another headless man? And multilingual again?
Isn't that whimsical? A headless man wants to
decapitate another man and both speak many
superb languages! That's admirable! Yes, sir!
Spasmodic Apostrophes
IV.
Ave Hansen, Morituri te Salutant
anthropologizing, vexillologizing;
Well, Donn's head is still extant.
Though, I dare ask, for how long?
Equestrian Interregnum
V.
Fear is what Donn feels
even down to his heels;
He feels he's gonna puke
even though he is a duke!
The philanderer's philter will save him no longer
The Greenlander and his plug are after him;
There's no escape--the event is rather grim;
He is doomed. Period. Good-bye, fishmonger!
Hurkle! Hurkle! Hurkle!
VI.
Donn's head is safe now. Why?
Because of my idea; Donn is a fish vendor
and has a friend who is a surgeon;
Therefore, I suggested "What about implanting
a fish's head on Hansen? Wouldn't it be nice?"
Donn okayed what I said & called his friend,
Mr. Sherry, the surgeon. Hansen accepted.
They made a deal. Besides the fish's head,
Donn has to teach Hansen Suomi, a
perfect language. And that's how this tale
ends. Hansen and Donn became friends
and ate partridges together.
Categories:
apostrophes, best friend, city, courage,
Form:
Verse
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.
GOOD, GOOD
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
Categories:
apostrophes, sympathy, universe,
Form:
Free verse
1am: The clock strikes like bolts of lightning as my brain rapidly
fires neurons creating a torturous play field in my tired mind.
Pangs of loneliness hit me like a full speed train.
My bed feels emptier than the Sahara, colder than Antarctica.
Sleep evades me at this hour.
2am: I am nestling in my bed, tossing and turning, longing for
a restful sleep.
Calmness of impassioned night haunts me in my awakeness.
Wild fantasies flow through my mind provoking my sensuality
as i slide bare legs against the sheets.
I curl my arms under the pillow like apostrophes to imitate
an epic fail pillow talk with my thoughts.
Mulling over love; aching and craving for romance.
My fabric rustles, tugging onto the heat on my nude skin
as my body starves of slumber sweet.
3am: I am my own philosopher.
Taking twisted turns with life’s ironies and experiences.
A late night’s discontent filled with mind blowing debates,
trick questions, mumblings, pointless gibbers and quizzes.
Drifting in and out of the blank, endless room –displaying
sights and seeking answers.
Staring at the ceiling in the vertigo of the night.
Watching the steady accusations of the clock, and the
long gaze of the wall judging and mocking me.
I am plagued by the nagging thoughts, past recollections
roam the noisy streets of my mind.
Sleep still enervates me.
4am: My eyelids remain agape, my mind is agitated but my
soul accepts the enthralling path of uninterrupted
consciousness.
Time drips like a leaking bathtub faucet –flooding my
mind and reminding me of my sleep debt.
Bored, i rummage through my archives trying to dust
off yesterday’s verses and fading rhythms- editing
memories and reciting old poems as the world snores.
5am: The galling sound of my alarm summons my day’s routine
like a clarion call for duty.
My night’s sleep was a failed marathon and i must join the
awakening world with a stone face.
Damn Insomnia!
Categories:
apostrophes, sleep, spoken word,
Form:
Personification
You are the poem,
you dwell inside the letters.
Apostrophes like freckles,
smile lines like parentheses.
It may be me that scribes the poem,
that finds the words and braids
them together, it may be me
that pens the poem,
but you, you my love, are one
Categories:
apostrophes, love, may,
Form:
Free verse
Possessive pronouns get around these greedy words grab all
though thy words will be just thine, wherever they may fall.
But whether yours, or theirs, or ours, or mine, or hers, or his
be careful with apostrophes or those you may just miss.
For its, when written thus as - it’s takes on a different rule
it s two entirely different words or so they said at school.
But what about the plural game what was it that we learned
what pens belong to who or whom where boys’ pens are concerned
The boy’s pen surely is just his, boys’ pens are quite a few.
Boys’ pen, however, shared around would make them wait in queue!
This plural game can’t get must worse? I wish that this were true
For if the item ends in -s there’s more that we must do.
The boss’ book is his alone, where did the last -s go
But what if bosses own the book…. it’s time for me to go!
Ivor G Davies
Categories:
apostrophes, language, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
Somewhere between
vowels and consonants
you disappeared
Although I looked for you
beneath apostrophes
semicolons and quotation marks,
Really
"where are you love" I groaned
"I'm here, expecting you" I moaned
Commas and fullstops did I leave behind
dash-bridges I hopped over
and question marks I climbed,
and through the narrow pathways
of tankas and haikus
? tumbled down to footers
page numbers and footnotes.
Out of the frontispiece pier
untied my sailboat's ropes
and pierced your pages waves,
but moored into your colophon's bay.
I yelled
"Nothing, my love, a single sign"
my words were left unsaid.
Line after line I stepped
down every word you've written
and went up even more
in case I caught you up.
I yearned for your caressing touch
while you turned your pages
but you, writing about the self I am no more
no notice did you take of me.
when you took up another book,
The tears I cried the cover burned
wetting your poems' ink
and washed me down to your new reading
to new adventures
to new endeavours.
And you, my love,
thinking of rhymes
you took my hand
to take me out
to dine, to breakfast and to lunch.
And I, my love,
followed your lead
knowing that at my every heart beat
you'd only hear your verses chime.
Categories:
apostrophes, allegory, books, fantasy, love,
Form:
Free verse
letters, numbers, dashes, commas, apostrophes
How can somebody ask you for ID How can you Mark you are not an authority and even an authority as to graduate,
You Mark You create Facebook for better and worse,
Like wise
letters, numbers, dashes, commas, apostrophes
Trevor Martin is death people with Id's do so also
letters,
numbers,
dashes,
commas,
apostrophes
That's an all lot to respect journalism that you are also -with property-
Doing
I am crazy to see you on my premises asking me for numbers, dashes, commas, apostrophes
and a serial number for my Workshop in Fantasies
and charging me fees
like for all my ME's
included those
-Teaching Degrees
Categories:
apostrophes, computer, fantasy, satire, spoken
Form:
Sometimes I wonder if I use poetry as a crutch
To my emotions broken limbs
As if poetry is an outpatient outlet for my informative formalities
Passive aggressive tendencies
Rhyme disease
My apologies, I seem to forget the apostrophes
Like symbolic catastrophe
Heartache rhinoplasty
Augmentation of my weaknesses
I contain in my vial the audacity
Squirting literary illness on healthy bodies and souls
Because we're all dying,
And just trying to stay beautiful
-Jess
Categories:
apostrophes, health, introspectionpoetry,
Form:
Free verse
How will you measure the wide
gulf between words and hyphens ?
The apostrophes will give you
restrain and isolation.
The predators will sit and
wait for the fallouts. The night
was your domain to start
sinning; in erasing the numbers.
The midnight grief during the
assault of moon. Were you ready
to unmask the hidden inter-
polator ? The merciless thrush ?
Candidiasis ? It was eating
away your smell, your taste
and moments of glimpses
of the fire in the groins.
Satish Verma
Categories:
apostrophes, art,
Form:
ABC
Why
do I
write
this way
did I
hear you
say?
Why
don't you
pen
in lines
with
commas,
apostrophes;
and rhymes
iambs
metres
or
syllables
and stress
I suppose
to get
your close
attention
with my
sound
patterns
I guess
to
read me
aloud
as poems
should
and once
did
to
attract
a
crowd
Categories:
apostrophes, on writing and words
Form:
Bio
NOTE: Soup titles are supposed to allow for apostrophes and yet I cannot get my correct title to post, so I display the title here first above the poem:
Puppy's First Happy Christmas
At
Christmas,
our puppy
followed us to
the living room where
he played with ribbons which
littered the floor as we sat
opening our Christmas presents.
Then we brought out some gifts just for him!
Teasing him, we slowly unwrapped a
long squiggly racoon toy that squeaked
when he bit its tail just right!
Watching him, sat our cat
nonchalantly as
if to say, “Been
there, silly
dog. Done
that.”
Dec. 7, 2017 for Broken Wings' It's Christmas Time Again Contest
Form 3: Nonet and Theme 2: Happy
Categories:
apostrophes, christmas, pets,
Form:
Nonet