Punctuate Poems | Examples

TEXAS PRAIRIE PARADISE

TEXAS PRAIRIE PARADISE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
here, where the horizon bends.
the morning sun spills its warmth. 
the Texas prairie stretches~
a vast unbroken beauty where
golden grasses sway.

the air, thick with the scent of sage,
wraps around me like a familiar embrace.
dust motes dance in the light,
tiny galaxies suspended
in the quiet splendor of morning.

cacti punctuate the landscape
these sentinels of resilience,
their spines reminding me 
that life thrives in the harshest of places,
and wildflowers burst forth, fragile yet fierce.

here, the earth breathes differently. 
my heart learns to listen
to the distant call of a hawk,
to the rustle of a rabbit, and
to the soft sighs of the prairie.

the hawk circles high above me,
its shadow gliding across the land,
a guardian of this sprawling solitude,
reminds me of the freedom,
of the vastness within and without.

I stand rooted in this stillness, finding clarity.  
in the expanse, I find belonging.
beneath the wide-open sky,
I am both lost 
and found.

New Beginnings

All alone in my silent confessions 
  long I have dwelt on secret battles fought,
and poison arrows of those obsessions 
  alas might pierce my last refuge methought.
But having crossed my Rubicon I wait
  in new beginnings, in love’s boons to be
where new battles will rage and punctuate
  the fullness of time in his century.
To that cause I am heart and soul aware
  and exceptional favour bears me more,
that in my time I’ll have a son and heir
  who fills in me what was missing before.
Soon I will hail on a day still to dawn
to me a millennia child is born.


          Written: January 2000

                    For Oscar

And The Point Is!

How do you do, Point of Exclamation?! 
We love your disposition of hooray, 
We bask in your uplifting sensation, 
Without you words would dry up in dismay. 

“Oh thank you, I’m fantastic! Awesome! Great! 
I thrive indeed on fulsome words of praise,
My final punch is not to punctuate - 
My one and only goal is to amaze!”

You sure run on a brighter sunny side, 
One mark and we jolt to your vivid vibe! 
What would ameliorate your cheerful pride, 
And turn your tone into a jesting jibe? 

“Oh Boy! I fear my joyful cover blown! 
Oh well! Though I appreciate the wit, 
I hate when used for monotonous tone 
With an assumption that I can fix it.”

You stand alone but carry so much weight, 
How do you strut your stature straight and proud? 

“By adding zeal and zest to what you state, 
I smile, chuckle, grin and laugh out loud!”

Your punctual purpose clearly beats the rest 
Where from you generate your spunky spark? 

“Oops! My attention span isn’t the best!
Too many queries, ask a question mark!”

Playing Pinball

Carpal tunnel twinges
punctuate a torpid afternoon,
as row on row we line the aisles
and stare at nothing
with the guarded anonymity
of urinating men.

My thumb is on the lever,
moving almost imperceptibly,
as marbles rocket into space
and filter down
through obstacles designed
to keep the management in business.

The captive of a chain reaction
freed from craving by acceptance
of the preordained,
I decompose, am compromised,
incorporated by the convolutions
of this artificial universe.

But something breaks
the moment I let go.
The single thread
that holds the world in place is cut,
and once again I fall away
with all my individual needs exposed.


Japan, 1968


Previous version published in Outposts, England

Stay Salty

Violently mimic the wind,
stay salty yet flow like water;
With an attitude stay thick skinned,
violently mimic the wind;
Keep poetry neat and well penned,
then punctuate it to slaughter;
Violently mimic the wind,
stay salty yet flow like water.

Dreams

Dreams and Reflections 

As dreamers, we awaken to find disappointments. Each of us dreams, but on different planes. Today, I still harbor the dream of owning a place—a safe haven, my wildest fantasy. While many aspire to be boss ladies, I revel in being the captain of my own soul. My situation remains deferred; I require no rescue. Surrounded by a few friends, I am a free-spirited poet lost in words. I copulate with illusions, my natural ritual—alone with my thoughts, fulfilling my soul. Thankfully, none of your spirits infiltrate my inner sanctum. 

Goodbyes punctuate my relationships; loneliness, my chosen weakness. Like Lady Moses, I ascend the mountain of self-reflection, glimpsing my tomorrows before aiding others.



 summary: 

In essence, the poem encourages us to embrace our dreams, face disappointments with resilience, and seek clarity within ourselves before extending help to others. Life, like poetry, is a journey of exploration and understanding.

How a Perfunctory Poet Punctuates a Piece

A period here. a question mark there?
A handful of commas,,,tossed in the air
To fall all willy-nilly but he doesn't care.
Then he closes his eyes so he never sees,
And does it again with apostrophe's.

Next colons: and semis; are put through their paces,
And are frequently found in the oddest of places.
Quotations are more than just dressing or stuffing,
Yet often appear when "nobody said nuffing".

It makes reading a chore just to try to adhere
To a writer's directions of what to do where,
But you barrel on through 'til you get to the end,
Give your eyes time to uncross,
And then try it again.

Some poets abjure punctuation, for sure,
And though not a big fan,
I'm a reasonable man.
e e cummings, for example,
Responds to the call
By using little or no punctuation at all.

Author's note: To quote the author Cormac McCarthy: "If you write properly you shouldn't have to punctuate." Poets such as e e cummings, et al, apparently took him up on that. Please understand, dear reader, that this piece is punctuated incorrectly to make a point. And I blush to admit that I, myself, am overly fond of "quotation marks" and…ellipses.

The Days Eye

The spring awakens
From beneath frost the earth warms
As sun rays alight on the rocky surface.
Dormant and waiting, so patient,
Just biding time until it's right,
Embryonic shoots break through
Blinking in the bright, clear air of revival, 
after winter's stark fingers laced the land with ice. 
Petals punctuate the burgeoning grasses.
Soil recovering from frozen depths,
As winter's kiss becomes a distant memory.
As our ancestors 'afore, 
the women who fought with
The purple the white the green
And at her centre, in the image of the weak sun.
Our star cimbing across the southern sky
Brings hope to the eye of the day, 
Widening, following and closing,
As the day ends so the daisy closes her eye
Once more to sleep, yet tomorrow comes soon, And her eye once again shows the soul of the earth,
Her window opening through the petals.

Wading Out

Tired of the mind stuff.
It's hard to be free 
of all those words
that drag behind like a long chain,
clinking in the silence. 
Each weighted step leaves evidence,
deep prints beyond the reach
of waves and tide. They stay,
fossilized in stone, stretched back
across time, hanging on
to the heel and added to 
by every taken step.

Think of wading out to the line
of breakers, feeling water
burrow into the eardrum,
offering oceans and fathomless 
depths where only the light 
from exotic creatures punctuate 
the dark with their luminescence 
pulsing along tentacles or dangled
in front of ferocious mouths.
These are the guardians 
of forgetfulness, custodians 
of dreamless sleep in which
even words dissolve
and wait in a nowhere 
to become something
or nothing at all.

Configurations

CONFIGURATIONS

 excitment
in gestural
 figurative
emotive
 motifs

highlighted
 moments
becoming
reasons
&
 influences
 of
existential
purposets

incorporating
 themes
 taking stock
events
in
 polar
 opposites
 to ruminate
over
&
acknowledge
imagination
 uncover
see
&remember

so
open
& free
a
collaborative
harmony
as a
 starting point

punctuate
&
entrench
 a
recurring
optical
effect
of
an
unknown

NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand

My Last Poem

I wonder will I know when I’ve written my last poem
Will I write that last line and punctuate it with a sigh
Or suddenly go without a line until I arrive at home?

Perhaps I’ll not write a last poem, at all, but simply fly
The body of my work standing unattended by sympathy
Will I write that last line and punctuate it with a sigh?

To leave without saying farewell seems lacking courtesy
Still I am convinced that my work tells my best stories
The body of my work standing unattended by sympathy.

Of all things, leaving this world is slightest of my worries
I shall merely say, I hope the same can be said for you
Still, I am convinced that my work tells my best stories.

After all, leaving this world is opportunity to begin anew
I wonder will I know when I’ve written my last poem?
I shall merely say, I hope the same can be said of you,
Or suddenly go without a line, until I arrive at home. 

written May 24, 2022

A Shout Into the Void

A Shout into the Void

A shout into the colorless void between Eden and exile,
Between exile and eternity,
By the eternal hero
Like faith leaping milestones from the lion’s head
In the conjugal joining of Heaven’s sighs
In Hosanna’s Glorias
In the midnight where my wandering spirit
Leaves no footprints in blank shadows
Now no room in this vacuum for nothing
But the triumphant yell of grace.

Mute words once swallowed 
A living exclamation point
To punctuate a tiny cry
From the jewel of the creator’s creation
Shattering emptiness
In a wink from the everlasting Genesis
Anticipation in waiting
Leaping into my fractal space
To catch my hurtling free fall
Into bottomless vast valleys of lost gravity.

Nativity spreads white wings
In expressions of prophetic prophecy
Between two distant edges
Devoid of destination and of definition,
Only silhouettes of fleeting emptiness,
Until 
Mercy’s advent 
Swaddles teardrops turned into crystal gems
Of everlasting joy
Echoing in the shattered void.

12-27-21
Contest:  Pick a Title
Theme chosen: A shout into the Void
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh

Fever Dreams

FEVER DREAMS
a synergy
    of senses
 pose
    simply
in
anticipation

    a fascination
fills the air & lures
a suggestive ambiguity
amplified
  &suspended in time
often
speculate &interact
participate
  punctuate then resonate

& celebrate
then
       delineate
   the lyrical
atmosphere

THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived

Inequity

Where balance once was leveled . . .
    New weight simply sought one side.
This gave a fresh burden to the barren,
    Leaving the scales of justice defied.

When society ignores this accounting,
    The failure finds only turmoil and unrest.
While foundations become fractured and shaken,
    As lofty values are recalled to test.

Though some may seek to postpone this
    Equilibrium, with no memory of a reality forgot.
The gravity will persist and punctuate,
    Until parity can maintain a fair shot.

Connected

The macrocosm weaved you into actuality,
spun you into instrumentality.
Made of cosmos, you are irrevocably fused,
embedded in the stream of being.

The microcosm energizes you into dynamism,
induces you in electromagnetism,
the photons of your incarnation dance
in every glance, prance in every instance
of your continuance.

Love’s subatomic particles collide in accelerators, 
misbehaving in violation of known laws,
hinting at energies and synergies illuding science,
feasibly disclosing deeper sentience at the tiller.

Emergent property somehow remembered, redolent,
vaguely fragrant in your cycle of life and death, 
your mortal path. Feeling your numbered days, 
you cherish every crescendo, treasure every tranquility,
reenacting, craving, trying to punctuate, prolong,
pausing to savor every ecstasy 
                                   to which you are connected.

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