this is a comma ,
this is an apostrophe '
this is an ampersand &
and this is an asterisk *
thy worldith isith thy canvasith.
thy painterith thy paintith.
thy poetith, makeith thy poetith.
thy worldith thy endith.
chickenith jockeyith.
Comma, the crabby crow, was a curious bird
He collected aluminum, kind of absurd
Necklaces were swooped up in his beak
His cawing was louder than most bird speak
He was always moving, stomping around
When he was not flying, if he was on the ground
Frenzied and furious today, for he had lost a gem
A gorgeous moonstone necklace, given to him.
Some tried to help, but he shooed them away
He was not in the mood to be nice or play
But we want to help the other crows said.
A murder of crows singing over his head.
the green truck,
was waiting
in the drive way
the right words,
came too late
to the tip of my tongue
Comma no coma, we just pause
Silence enables bliss
Fears and desires, suffering cause
We contract, serpents hiss
Slow dow hermit, slow down
Wipe of ego borne frown
In blissful rapture drown
Feel love’s aroma
Comma no coma
10-March-2023
Quietus
Those who others wives eye
Aren't ready to say 'why'?:
When they do,package 'lie'
They give colourful dress
And remember to press:
"Has got nose of Grandma,
Who loved to read prima!"
They soonest away fly,
Who would others'wives eye:
No other option try,
If it'd end up in a mess,
Down drag him more or less;
Herman out for long stress...
A full stop not comma
To acts flawed by karma.
The empty canes of raspberries hang low
Red maple leaves are mashed up in the mud
Nature seems to hover by death’s door
Animals and humans drained as whores
No feeling ,no green sap,no flowing blood
The crackling canes of raspberries hang low as
What can we say un-cliched, metaphored?
At dawn the sun will burn despite the Flood
Nature did not force us through death’s door
Can the death of God mean this and more,
Though love and hate are fractured, life is good?
The chuckling canes the berries sang below
Can a life with heart not be restored?
End retaliation, understand
Nature did not wave us through the door
At the edge of Europe are no hordes
Jesus is more small than any bud
The crackling canes stored laughter in their cores
The remnants of the foxgloves in the wood
Wave politely . even seem to nod
The raspberry canes, the honesty know more
Nature ,light and darkness, affect stored
S
i always imagine myself
sitting on a cloud
feet dangling from
behind heavens fence
with my headphones on
huity take the man out of it
A sweet blackbird sings in the evening night
they tell her blackbird don't sing so high
A sweet blackbird flies in the evening night
they tell her blackbird don't fly so high
A sweet blackbird chirps, enjoying the morning light
they tell her blackbird to turn out your light
A sweet blackbird flies alone at night
she says to them "I am alright"
~Dot Dot, Dot, Comma.~
The dot, dot, dot, a playfull rhythmic flow of audasity, overthrowing thee emotions into a Fantasy of endless Foreshadowing. A Pen licks the page, for itself has no comma, to stay your hand with, so dot dot dot, is like a comma to me. But when tiss over sometimes after a dot dot dot, leaving entranced the reader, The Pen sees no more words to be fitting. & What do I dispise most about the pen's loss of appitite, nothing, because I know that, that only shows more to discover in poetic form, un-like the comma.
When I was younger, I would constantly proofread my suicide letter.
God forbid the last thing I be remembered by be an incorrectly used comma.
These days, I write poetry that merely dance around the subject.
It's worrisome to others, but I personally prefer this art to perfecting a last goodbye.
Peaceful and relax
At rest but traverse freely
Altered consciousness
Will to access all
Suddenly achieve by thoughts
Radiating oneness
Empathy ignites
As parameters extend
Embrace love without.
THAT’S A COMMA, PERIOD
See
That’s the thing
I get to talk to you
And I can talk to you
I can yell about my yearning for yesterday
And learning about tomorrow
Where weeds too often grow
I get to sing a song to garner sympathy
As your sighs signify a symphony
You allow me to view sorrow in retrospect
And to always count on gaining what I least expect
You are sometimes my student
And other times a teacher tucked tidily into the corners of my life
And we converse
While we each rehearse our requisite responses
Measured not in tone
but rather what becomes known from the fogginess that fades fast and forever
And finally
At last
I can talk to someone who puts a comma at the end of my sentences
And a period so that I may rest after a thought wrought of a man’s better senses
See
That’s the thing
I can talk to you
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
~The Comma Butterfly~
I am a comma-not a full stop
I’m tawny brown and black and love on stinging nettles to hop
I love the elm and hop plant for flitting on too
I do all the other things butterflies do
I am not a great beauty like some of the rest
My fritillary wings do work just like the best
I don’t gain the oohs and arhs as I give butterfly kisses on my way
Some here call me a moth-well what can you say.
I flit and I kiss from elm to nettle
I always do my best and show them my mettle
A British butterfly I have beauty in my own way
Look under my wings and I bet you will say
Oh look there’s a comma marked under its wing
I suppose it a butterfly really poor thing
I flash them my markings before flitting on my way
I have so many more kisses to give out today.
By: Mandy Tams~GG~
COMMA COMA
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!
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