Apostrophe Poems - Poems about Apostrophe

It should have said St John’s - with that apostrophe! So many omit the little mark. How could they, when its presence or absence gives us one meaning or the other? A tenant within these apartments who is a mysterious lady, placed the absent apostrophe on that poster, kept this nighttime act a secret, and crept away. St John was a saint we...

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If her campaign goes like warm breeze, And Trump’s loses its MAGA fizz, Can an apostrophe Cause such catastrophe? In USA it does-- A few days of big buzz, Which for Soupers forever is. ___________________________ Happenings |27.08.2024| political, America Poet’s note: Is it Kamala Harris’ campaign, or it should be Kamala Harris’s. A great debate goes on in USA-- too much fuss for nothing,...

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Hope is on my ceiling suffusing through the air Hides beneath floorboards that rot beyond repair Hope is all pervasive can lead anywhere Very hard to pinpoint and totally unaware Hope is unapologetic doesn’t really care Probably won’t happen if it does, hope its fair Hope is a fantasy from my comfort chair Soothing, calming, keeps away despair Hope...

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Custodian of Apostrophe's Apostle Who done it, steed? Who said what's read between the lines marked with ad hoc diacritic dashes?...

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Miss Barker, let me say a word, though this to many seem absurd. Your attitude I find pragmatic, not judgmental, not dogmatic. So poetry is not your strength though some will go to any length to immortalize themselves in verse, writing dogerell, if not worse. Avoid concerns to you so alien. Be what you are, a Pomeranian....

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Grammar fools My ignorance just makes me stronger But when I try to write, it makes me wronger I decry anyone who knows more than me I call them names without an apostrophe Because I’m so clever, don’t need to learn Then I look at my account, how much did my book earn? Still, I call you a Nazi for pulling me...

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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...

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Apostrophe A derogate demons asperity Calumniate my integrity Malicious deceit Holding no truth Held on to nothing! My inglorious ignominy Your repulsion Satiate! Nauseated glut unsensual sodomy Surfeit and salt in nasty infected cut Given dichotomy Or burdened with great weight Tarnished, libel. Stuck in a rut. Nothing left Appellation stained – Tainted mendaciously Verbal hate – Eat the flesh Minstrel blood mixed with sacred semen There’s nothing left – except...

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Choice knows the play, Allow for zest; Live well this day, Make love your fest. Align your heart, Ply a sound feel; Opt cheery start, Sense sparks kind will; Touch tells you now, Rise with sure stride; Observe endow, Prime your own ride; Heed that sure need, Etch poise that feeds. Leon Enriquez 31 October 2014 Singapore...

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water weeps wildly whilst washing away your jesting foolery. I saw the sun annihilated Against backdrops of liturgy Lethargic activity that earns It’s title as the Earth’s endearing child Against backdrops of monogamy, Pedestrian thinking, Accelerated usage, Lapping up mentalities from bowls of pulled poultry, Doing nothing for the Universe, Yet stealing all unities, Dissention and green lights and babies birthed and apostrophes in time, Influencing the way...

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I think of how it was ten years ago just after you departed. All your close friends spoke of your "complexity" and we knew what it meant. I look far back to childhood when those small-town midwest Methodists would call you "Revrund." Well they knew of turned-on tears so common in the meeting hall; but did they know about the "turned-on" ladies when you came to...

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Two lifetimes I have seen since yours began and still I am not free, though haunted by your words, blood-coated with your passion, seeped into a history of marching feet. The cadence of the years still cannot stand their purity, and you, baton still high, drum major for a righteousness you saw that lived in dreams-- still march...and I cannot. It's best...

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l’air morte the last breath which speaks to no one though others may be present others may be in the room or on the street when/where it happens it dissipates into the surrounding air as if its point of origin had never actually been--- a few too many drinks before a car ride on a night with a bit of black...

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