Short Apostrophes Poems

Apostrophes make
Contractions and possessions,
Not homemade "plural’s"...

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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...

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Only letters, numbers, 
dashes, commas, 
apostrophes 
and colons 
are allowed 
in the title. 

though this sentence
ends in a period
periods aren't
allowed at
all
period!!!

what's more bothersome
written in red as if from
the blood of my pen
Don't Use 
Special 
Characters

but
thinking
i always thought
that colons were special
i have one in my body
colonoscopy...

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Sometimes I do
Sometimes I don't
Sometimes I will to
And want but won't

Sometimes I want
And can and will
'F'ya wanna know which one
Just ask, “What's the deal?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Semi-random thoughts on clarifying in collaboration vs. wild-wicked assuming solo.....

oh, wait!  I misspelled 'F'ya.. is only 'fya.. so much for indulgence.. hope I've not wasted y'all's time.. whew, that feels better!...

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Sitting at a funeral;
in ashes,you search-
the faces of dead. To 
shut down the apostrophes.

How far was your home,
you don’t want to
go back ? A black moon
invites the tallest flare-

of the sun. Bright 
death will ask no compensation.
You can travel over half-
memories of frozen pain.

Hourglass to Kundo clocks,
you were collecting all the
souvenirs to stall the
translations from coast to coast.


Satish Verma...

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Before I Sally Off

	Lost in Chicago

State and Madison. 
Saturday, high noon. 
Everyone and me.

Surrounded, I give up. 
Against the curb, 
the sea foams up

and in the distance
white birds soar, 
black apostrophes

cleaver split 
but still tangential,
rising, falling.

The light goes green.
Before I sally off 
I look down and there

against the curb,
great white waters bowl
and people drown.

Donal Mahoney...

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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....

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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...

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