Best Hyphen Poems
There is a new English gang in town
In the town of Punctuation
They call themselves the “Punch U” gang
A solid gang with a strong foundation
The Punch-U gang members consists of:
Hyphen - the gang leader
They call him Dash
He is charismatic, clever, a born leader
Firm but fair…. excepting no gang trash
Exclamation point ! Dash’s right hand man
They call him Lanky
He is confident and likes to make his point
Dramatic and often a little cranky
Asterisk * Dash’s girlfriend
They call her Starr
She is smart, astute, keeps mental notes
A free spirit who sings and plays guitar
Question Mark ?
They call him Curly
He is so very inquisitive
Often indecisive
A deep thinker and quite surly
Comma ‘
They call him Jack
He is quite the lad and joker
Jack often steps out of line
And needs to be kept on track
Brackets ( )
Identical twins called Jill and Joy
Always together or never far apart
Fun and happy
Popular with the boys
Full stop .
They call her Dot
Outspoken and very definite
Always likes to have the last word
Often heard saying “ Now thats it….just Stop”
Quotation Mark “
And yes they call him Mark
He likes being the centre of attention
Being in the know
Does not like being left in the dark
Apostrophe ‘
They call her Sue
With Sue there is always something else to come
Taking short cuts
Is what Sue enjoys to do
Colon:
They call him Number-Two
Funny, entertaining and chatty
Though sometimes he takes it too far
Talking a lot of poo!
if tears of the sun were the metaphorical keys
to unlock twisted trinkets of the searing sky
would you feel the festering forest~
homing arctic orchids within these veins?
or am I to remain detached and numb;
caged in a cursed collision
like an evanescent epiphany
of a misled marionette ~
screaming for a cathartic elixir….
tonight my intuition is a passive-aggressive gaslighter
manipulating the inner voice ~ like a pathological liar
freezing the floral clairvoyance…
while curiosity keeps crawling
amidst crestfallen opium
I ponder: do frost and flame, as I breathe in bleakness~
transcribe how the echo
within the fog filters reality
curated in the midst of melted angst
fluctuating like stone-blind blackness~
a drop-dead delirium kissed by the darkness
of a silent sepulcher?
I’m a prisoner of splitting supernovae
caught in polarized pyretic disruptions
for everything feels like exaggerated deceit
when truth seems like a mere dot above~
a hyphen of irrational ratios
carved from calculated confusions,
betrayed by the violent strings
of my violin heart…
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!
Parable of the Talent
Date: Mon, Jan 18 2016 at 6:03 PM
Writing is The Gift
I use to Submit
My Innermost Wits
Bliss
Dark Twists
Through The Eyes of The Prince
Through the Strides In the Abyss
The Cries of the Winds
To Shine through Sin
The Mind When it Spins
To Write the Crimes Within
To Shine Revenge
In a Light as Defense
To Heighten and Hyphen
The Skin
Of the Chameleon
Cause the Fire Grins
Inside to Strike
Releasing whatever needs to Burn Insight
Foresight Painted Pictures
That needs to be Painted In Scripture
Using Languages through Literature
To see what you might not see
To show you to see if I open your eyes to Peek
My Gift from God to you from Me
From Me to You to Speak
Inside my Soul, Spirit, Mind, Heart, Released
Inside thats Deep
In My Mind & Heart that Creeps
Focusing on my Positive Energy
Through Negative Frequencies
In Synchronities in my Life that Breaths
So I Shine my Imagery
Through My Inner Divinity
Writing The Mysteries
Inside that Needs to Venture & Leap
The Adventure in Me
My Gift that Delivers me in Peace
My Magic Isn't Sorcery or Wizardry
But Magical Feats
Just by Scrabbling & Splashing Ink
Of The Chain to Link
So the Colors of the Rainbows to Sink
So the Picture can Blink
Moral of the Story
Not To Waste Your God Given Talent
- Dying Mother-
Perched on her stool but getting there
Angry at paper that just does not care
Onion unlayered in the last of her skin
Paper be angry, paper be thin
Blotched and embattled, unwashed and pajamaed, the bladder goes dry on the floor Not telling her why, two teeth left in a mushy jaw
I am still alive but who knows what for
Walking swollen ,chapped and scaled , stuck like Mother goose
Hearing goes harder than misunderstood
Drinks from the vine the everyday bottles ghost from the past
Wherever i am going I am getting there fast
Will they buy my a casket, or burn me with gas
There's comma 'tween now and forever and a hyphen just before hell
The nothing hereafter gets as good as it gets
FISH TO FISHES
They changed the "many fish," it is now called the "fishes"?
As in more than "one wish" for our dreams, as in "wishes."
In the apple half cut to halves, that we have to have,
Or one foot, to many feet, and calf to many calves.
No hyphen in Email and gone from Walmart?
This rule was to make the two words stand apart.
The words with hyphens we've learned and we know,
they may join or part, in this Word-Art-Nouveau.
Where to put a period or comma whilst in a quote?
Do we put them inside or outside, do take a note.
The British go outside and the Americans go in,
The rules seem arbitrary and get under your skin.
Then there are Homophones that we have to spell?
They can sound the same but our ear cannot tell.
Two too to, and flew, flu, flue, what shall we do?
Memorize, look it up, it's madly askew.
Ain't hour English easy to speak and two right?
The essay chore will keep won up half the knight.
Adding Latin and Greek, and French so to speak,
Every language applied, they finally tweak.
By Edlynn Nau
© February 11, 2016
winter gravestone
hyphen between dates
my father's life
Did you ever realise that one day you could be gone,
You’d close your eyes
Never to open them again.
That the world for you would stop,
But would continue for the rest,
Did you ever realise that one day,
Your time will be up,
The period for use of the software you call your spirit,
The hardware you call your body would run put,
This time there would be no renew button,
No extended version,
No premium subscription.
Did you ever realise that one day,
You would take your place among tombstones,
Unaware of the world above you,
Unaware of what they say about you now,
Unaware of how your wealth was divided a few hours after your funeral,
Unaware of those who remember you.
You see,
On your tombstone,
There are two dates and inbetween them is a hyphen,
That hyphen is you,
All you did,
All you were,
All you ever achieved,
It’s all there,
Therefore do not store your wealth on earth,
Instead store it in heaven,
Do not do things tomorrow,
Instead do they today,
Cherish each breath as if it were your last,
And one day it will be your last,
For soon you will go back to the soil you were made from.
Make your hyphen memorable.
Poets are a funny lot
they come for what is sizzling hot
Compassionate? Most times they're not!
they give your rhymes a decent shot
curious to see what you have got
compare and contrast on the spot
criticize the missing dot
or hyphen, but they miss the plot!
Poets are a greedy group
they want to know the latest scoop
what's hidden in the PS soup
their crypitc words an endless loop
they are the lyric writing troop
to help the fallen, most won't stoop
won't stick around till you recoup
Poets are a selfish kind
they only want what feeds the mind
your friendship's based on what they find
within your words that heal or bind
to check on you, they're not inclined
to care for you, they're not designed
"Read me, read me," they remind
"Who cares you've fallen far behind
in life, just write...or please resign
we're here for that which is refined!"
Poets just like you and me
like to feel that we are free
we lack the basic empathy
to reach into reality
and ask, "What else but poetry
is in your life? Please let me see
your heart to intimate degree."
There's more to life, don't you agree?
So show true love's sincerity,
and check on every absentee
Let's strive to keep community
Eieen Manssian
PS This poem is a little tongue in cheek. I've been away from here for quite some time, ocassionally posting to try to fit in again. Very few have asked about me. I've been going through very difficult times and have been struggling on many fronts. Very few will understand the meaning of one's silence. However, I know I can't expect care when I haven't extended it to others. I've been absent and haven't visited, so this poem is for all of us....me included as I'm a poet as well. Let's remember: there are people behind the lines. There are stories behind the names as pseudonyms.
The million-to-one longshot -
I know this unlikely victory
isn’t so sweet when the race is fixed
and everyone got paid on the side
for being in on the trick
while I just ran and ran and ran.
Ran until every muscle ached
and could barely breathe,
and you threw me a cup of water
that turned out to be poisoned.
“I didn’t know,” you said,
but you didn’t sip it, either.
Gathering my roses at the finish line,
I searched the crowd of strangers
for someone to share my victory –
little did I know you were at the payout booth
collecting your winnings
from the cruel but well-executed scam.
I’m the hyphen in your used-to-be,
and she’s the substance in your dialogue -
reading between the lines,
I still find her there, laughing,
as I struggle to comprehend
the subtext of your smile.
Your half-truths and vague love songs
dominate my existence -
I’ll sing along with a painted look
of adoration in my eyes,
because I finally figured out
how to play your game, too.
“I’ll go with it,” she said
winking away the time I spent
trying to forget that I knew it all
and closed my eyes, preferring the dream.
I’m awake now, thief,
and I want it all back.
“Million-to-one shot, babe -
million-to-one.”
I’ll take those odds…
but the next time,
believe me, I’ll know better
than to run so fast.
if the sinking-of-boat …ice-cream by name
be deducted from the swept-off-in-flood … by name roll no 31
then would the wings of the comics
cease to exist
what says the uninterrupted sound of water-falling
from the stomach of the moon
what writes the pus and blood
what writes the fuming-hot rice
the creepers and the herbs grow continuously
in the insomniac bath-tub
the sounds of the horse-hoof floated by the river
used to change the velocity of its clothes
both in the morning and evening
the birds from the cornice go to school
by dip-swimming
it may come one day when the fishes
become very angry and in the tale of the sweet-meat
the potter will destroy the jointly-built bee-hive
then all hurricane would be habituated to dinner
sans saliva
then there would be no such morning-walk
in the body of the trees
from which such a bore could be found out
through which an elderly saral may fly
into the blue translation of a squirrel
the magnetic field of the orange-pulp
and the productivity of the open window
reside in the same locality
if their frequency be touched
then the the antenna of the mermaids
speared with sleeping-oil
may be injured
by burnings their eyes
the crow-birds knocks at
in the soap-foams
produced by the afternoon
the pond with a jumping deer
wants to make bite
it is not known by this way
when a white hyphen
sticks to the palate of the shirt
now put off all the whispers
and let it be talked on the will-paper of the bees
why the pages from the honourable ash-trays
be excluded
those bunch of waters
that come out from the churning of the anises
and the jumps born of their semen
also make friends with the group-photos
now let this other night sends its best wishes
to the future candles
through a cell-phone
Chase Johnson-Mullins
was originally thought of as one of the dull’uns
then the hyphen was added
after most of his stats were conveniently padded.
A Reflective Ploy...
it is a reflective ploy;
on the part of me,
when proofreading
all this work of mine;
and do I really care?
that a full stop.
don’t!
or that commas;
are often too many
or misplaced.
now semi-colons
are useful dudes
to slam!
two slightly related clauses
- together. –
and as for the colon
is quite a pain to introduce!
“quotation marks”
are to be used at your peril;
and only if you know
what you are doing.
and as for an ellipsis;
really,
confuses me head
in where to place the dots.
exclamation mark!
is a serious contender
of becoming nothing more;
than a glorified emoticon!
and a question mark
asks the question?
“are you amazingly clever?”
and as for (brackets),
you can either be;
amazingly clever with their use,
or just plain dumb!
(Parentheses) makes you smart!
[ square brackets]
designed to confuse you!!!
the hyphen, en dash or em dash –
confuses those illiterate of us,
with their proper place
in ‘Da Queen’s Inglish.’
the apostrophe is one of those cats
in this punctuation test;
where we don’t just understand,
where it goes and when.
braces are not your dental thing;
and before you know it,
are always used in pairs,
if you understand the theory
of having a
in a sentence of your choosing.
a slash
is not going out the back for a wait-n-see;
but a most useful punctuation tool
to distinguish two terms,
such as she/he.
“punctuation marks!’
in this day and age
of texting…
on a mobile thing,
has become a lost art.
so, in rhetoric!
what does the future hold?
for a ‘little black duck,’
in writing
musings, thoughts and words,
in a reflective ploy
this is a never-ending riddle.
Francis Cooper - Mac
He made me feel in my violin,
and, after all, he was much older.
Being in his house was like being at school.
I sat there waiting while he lit the candles,
and was too nervous to help him do that.
My meals were had nervously
waiting for sign-language he had finished his,
and then I thought of the bedroom with its wallpaper showing sheep,
and picture of his X-rated wife or somebody.
He grew tired of me being pregnant,
and not being sure how to be a pupil.
I was shown the door on a Sunday afternoon,
and told my violin was out of tune.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Original Version
He made me feel in leading-strings,
and, after all, he was much older.
Being in his house was a state of pupillage.
I sat there waiting while he lit the candles,
and was too nervous to join in.
My meals were had in nervous tension,
my waiting for a sign that he was ready...
and then the bedroom with its flock wallpaper
and picture of his ex ex-wife or somebody.
He grew tired of me and my expectancy,
and not being sure in my state of pupillage...
I was shown the door on a Sunday afternoon,
and told my leading strings were out of tune.
-------------------------------------------------------
A Note to the Original Version of 5/27/2015
"In leading-strings" means in a state of pupillage,
but the last line obviously puts it metaphorically,
so I have left out the out the hyphen.
7/1/2015
Contest - The I'Lyezette - Interpret my mind
Sponsor - FJ Thomas
Not judged despite all the hard work put into it.
Each entry received Honorable Mention,
including mine.
Talking heads
will give you their attached credentials
with solemn aplomb
And it’s plenty hyphen proof long
They’ll make unlearned eyes gasp
at their hyped expertise
Get simpler minds to hyperventilate,
as their lower rack thoughts
common sense overheat
Everyday, mundane pondering
takes a kid table backseat
The babble bobble heads,
with the apron string tongues,
love speaking
upper shelf kitchen cabinet highbrow kitsch
Momma says, the couch potato heads
are always angle offering a self-serving dish
Cooking up pretentious phrases,
their broasted chest stuffings
puffs a lot of jive-turkey bleats
It all sounds ear tasty good ...
got a delicious soul flavor in theory
A tone semi-sweet savor
worth artichoke heart half hearing
Daddy says, the air bubble heads
always got a shrink-wrap blurb tidbit wish
But you gotta stay tuned-in
to the next programmed “must-see” video lip-clip
Don’t let the hyphen-attachments
first guest hook you
Let not your legitimate doubts
be second guess fooled
Talking heads will always
try to tinted glass blow smooth,
make you go-getter move
Get your temper ta-ta’s
to shimmy-shuffle to the hum-drum groove
of the bad hair forecast blues
Calmly gather your lung precious thoughts,
allow the hyperventilating to cease
Supremely, thinking serenely for yourself
is a television ratings cable disease