Punctuating Poems | Examples

Block Party

Double-dutch ropes slap the sidewalk -
snap - snap - snap -
braids whip air,
girls jump in, counting
uno, dos, three,
feet flick like drumsticks.
The ice cream truck jingles off-key,
icy lady shakes paper cups,
piragua man shaves ice into snow -
his knife scraping the block awake.
Pastelillos pop in hot oil -
spit, sizzle -
plastic cups clink with rum and cola,
congas crack, maracas shake salt in the air,
horns blare like chisme in heat.
Heels click-clack over concrete -
punctuating each spin,
each swirl of hips.
Whistles split the air -
one from the lifeguard at Jefferson,
two from the men on the corner,
three from abuela
when the coals are hot.
Somebody throws meat on the grill -
ssszzzz -
smoke climbs windows,
neighbors bring foil trays -
yellow rice, ribs, roasted corn -
each dish a downbeat.
Kids yell cannonball,
water smacks back,
lifeguard’s whistle cuts through splash.
Old heads tap dominoes on tabletops -
crack, slap, smack -
hands older than the stoops they sit on.
The block fills itself
the way music fills a drum -
the street hums under bare feet.
Tonight,
the moon will smell like charcoal
and sweet ice.

Nothingness

God made everything out of nothing
but the nothingness shows through.
                                  Paul Valery

Only silence wells
in the dark throat of the evening
and anything you hear 
is of the world's making
or your own mind
filling up the empty spaces.

Music is made this way
and poetry, as they try
to give substance and form
to what is missing,
to fill that gnawing void
with a note or word.

Works fluoresce 
as exotic creatures do 
in the dark of deep seas, 
small, faint flickers
punctuating the unknowable
with momentary life.
And so it is,

we are drawn towards
a centre that seems everywhere,
a nothingness rolled
into a ball, the circumference 
of the infinite that resides
within us all.

space between silence

the s p a c e between us, 
   is lined with full stops
        and wistful questions~
tucked within "inverted commas"
             of w e e p i n g stars,
  but I'm lost  in 
       suffocating s i l e n c e...

t h i n k i n g 
                 l o n g i n g 
                             d r e a m i n g...
as Y o u,  my beloved
are enough...the poetic pause 
 breathing between 
        stellar heartbeats
                  of the mourning sky~
punctuating promises 
    mirroring the magnetic 
  equations of l o v e ~
               a cosmic pyramid 
  glazed with pearl-dust 
 as herbs of henna 
                  soothe this soul 
   swollen with g r a t i t u d e
sipping midnight mocktails
                    like a dressed devotee
worshipping the aura of roses 
      within serene scriptures ...

I Breathe the Beauty of Quietude

I breathe the beauty of quietude:
Solitary walks in parks or woods,
Foliage brushing against one’s feet,
Early morning sunshine through the trees,
With bird calls punctuating the hush.

I breathe the beauty of quietude,
Of cloudless skies and placid waters,
Of soft breeze blowing against one’s face
Or whipping perfumes among the flow’rs  
Gently enough to not let them fall.

I breathe the beauty of quietude,
Of twilight steering the close of day,
Of the stillness about to descend,
The tranquility that the night brings--
Much needed rest for the weary soul.

I breathe the beauty of quietude:
The privacy that can be enjoyed
While in the company of one’s thoughts, 
Unmoved by the world’s many demands
To commune with oneself just for once.

Among 3rd Place
I Breathe Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Ink Empress

The Epitome quest

He stepped forward
-Invisible
Slowly dissipated in rhythm with word
She looked around
Searching for a plausible cause

An overly pronounced Ahh
punctuating his appearance
A wry smile trundled across his lips

-there is power in words

and I am Float
and you are Epitome

Someone has stolen a word
and we need you to find it
The only problem no one knows what it is….

Why float, a look of question frowning on her face

I created it-he replied it’s actually my first one
He carried on
We have three days
By that time you need to choose

Choose.choose what, she asked

The words you need on your quest
Courage has volunteered
We can’t find fear
and Whimsy is chasing a butterfly in a field

Life and Death

    I hear the stories
      I read them too
    about calm, tranquil deaths
      as heavenward angels take their last breaths… 

   ‘She entered the next world
     surrounded by her nearest and dearest
   holding hands with her beloved husband of 57 years
     a smile of serenity overspreading her face…’

   Aaaaargh! Not for me! I shall not go willingly
     I vow to fight to stay alive until my last hurrah
   Punctuating the air with oaths and imprecations
     ~ Hanging on for my final grasp of this earthly station

Incarceration

and then the accused fell foul
of yet another condemnation
without trial
the sentence spoken in anger

shards of bloody mosaic
stick to his bare feet
from where she threw
the glass on the tiled floor
punctuating
compartmentalizing 
puncturing an unspoken truth

superficial wounds already closing	
he wraps a bandage around his heart
squeezes tightly to feel alive
accepts the verdict
though no crime was committed

a scar remains from
what should have been
a beautiful night
and the rope tears into his hands

07th June 2023

Glee Days

“Be happy in the moment that's enough. Each moment is all we need.”
                     Quote _ Mother Teresa


As time brings glee days,
As we sojourn on bloom ways,
Let’s treasure the clime,
For it's a fleeting sublime.

Life is a stage of variant entities,
They come in subtleties,
It’s a walk across meadows,
Nightfall brings the shadows.

Happiness is a choice,
A punctuating voice,
A light that can be reflected, 
As gloom can be deflected.

Like a child on a swing,
Away from life's other wing,
We can walk oblivious of gloom,
Permuting our desired room.



May 24, 2023.
Writing Challenge - B Quotes - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.

Great Poetry

How does one define
great poetry? The best
rhyme in time? A musical
phrase that stays, reverberates
within the catacombs of a Devotee's
celestial sign, lubricating his every thought
as a priest's wine, sipping while he prays, 
saturating his blood with the effervescence
of an all loving, redeeming deity; who knows 
well His creation's need for affirmation, the urge 
to write; so invented He, neat words in sympathy 
to both inspire and delight – 
                                      Or is great poetry 
more antithetical?~ no conscious effort 
to unseal, for never prescriptively hermetical – 
a sacrilege if sanitized like something 
contrived for medically medical; enters the lull 
like a masked virus in the night, awakening soundly
sleeping hands to their inherent flight~ a light
clicked on to feverishly, tappingly, divinely compose; 
such all powerful driving might, pouring
out of every orifice I suppose: from one's mind,
eyes, lips, punctuating backside and
imperfect often grossly ventilating nose....

Road Trip

Miles racing underneath lively conversation
Whistling road noises and occasional bumps,
Time passing slowly to our expected destination
As concrete expansion joints create thumps.

Whistling road noises and occasional bumps
Punctuating rhythmic sounds from the stereo,
As concrete expansion joints create thumps
Sense of contentment and pleasantry is apropos.

Punctuating rhythmic sounds from the stereo,
Cool breezes flow from open dashboard vents
Sense of contentment and pleasantry is apropos,
We are enjoying filtered outdoor autumn scents.

Cool breezes flow from open dashboard vents
Moderating the humidity of September heat
We are enjoying filtered outdoor autumn scents
A highly-anticipated road trip is totally upbeat.

Moderating the humidity of September heat
Time passing slowly to our expected destination
A highly-anticipated road trip is totally upbeat
Miles racing underneath lively conversation.

Written September 19, 2022

Clover Flowers

Tiny bulbous clover flowers punctuating my lawn
Springing up within hours of a fresh mowing
Bees by the hundreds finding them at dawn,
Tiny bulbous clover flowers punctuating my lawn
A new batch every summer, how they respawn
Almost as though Mother Nature is sowing
Tiny bulbous clover flowers punctuating my lawn,
Springing up within hours of a fresh mowing. 

Written June 12, 2022

Memories Iii: Tapestries Ii of Iii

A strike of a match would briefly carve
His weatherworn features
From the darkness full of his words 
Echoes from history of an exorbitant life
A face full of history and mystery 
That still lingers 
In my minds eye

I remember the darkest richest of nights 
As the crimson end of that cigarette with its 
Glowing tip dances orange bright
Tracing images in to my imagination

Like a lantern illuminating 
The darkest of mysteries he weaved a tapestry 
Of light bleeding into obscurity of his history 
Lived out fast like the flare 
Of that amber fire match
Its spark curving sharp shadows 
on hands worn & rugged
Moving in a steady flow & flutter
Punctuating the highlights
The exaggerations and ebbs of rhythm 
that illustrated his story

A little spark of orange light illuminated each important event

Etching his life lived in my memory 
Now fading imagery 
I remember tracing firelight arcs 
Trails like scarlet comets 
& the perfect dark glowing
brighter as he inhaled his aromatic smoke.

The little orange sun carving dark shadows 
On that weatherworn face still

Bleak In Winter's Cold

Except for the snow, it’s a monochromatic scene
The pond is frozen to a reflecting mirror finish,
In the fields there is not a speck of green to behold
Overall, the countryside is bleak in winter’s cold,
With clumps of sage punctuating the near pasture
The trees have given up their leaves in past autumn,
While a trickle of smoke is creeping up to a hazy sky
Onto the briery bushes an inch of snow has settled.
I can imagine the family gathered around a fireplace
The only vestige of warmth in the entire painting.
Livestock are locked securely inside a barn on the hill
All is serene in this landscape, though it elicits a chill.

written January 17, 2022

The Orchestra

The Orchestra

Best heard alone in the silence
of blackness pre-dawn.

The hall, redolent of memories,
lighted by a single bulb-
log walls fashioned from old larch;
a metal roof above.

The orchestra of rain, wind.
Initially a hesitant patter;
Almost individual drops, far away, distant, 
then the building crescendo of speed and intensity.

Becoming a persistent cadence
accompanied by the gurgle
of the gutter as the rain courses through it
to splash and echo on the rocks below.

Then decrescendo of sound as the rain 
retreats to the darkness from whence it came.
Finally, the coda:
Intermittent, hesitant sprinkle of drops
punctuating the silence.

David Holmes
December 30, 2021

The Price of Love

I doubt that one can put
a price on love...though 
many have tried – even
lied;

I doubt that one can be
happy without a fair slice
of love, the spice of love,
received a letter of love
and wished, at the least,
to have replied – 

unless missing the punctuating
part of love, lacking the spirit's
feeling heart of love – staying
safely beneath or above, avoiding
the core nature of love, fleeing
the prime director of love...the soul's
reason for being....

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