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Yeah, well, the F-bomb - it's become as ubiquitous as the word 'like.' People just throw the word 'like' around as punctuation. And I think in a lot of everyday speech, the F-bomb has become a kind of dash or a comma.

quote by Geoffrey Rush
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Tears are sometimes an inappropriate response to death. When a life has been lived completely honestly, completely successfully, or just completely, the correct response to death's perfect punctuation mark is a smile.

quote by Julie Burchill
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I really don't know much about Maths

Dressed in even moving hours
In numbers odd numerous accounts
In an axis freezing minus cold
In an axis heating pluses hot
Hystrion minus pulsates a plus
Odds and ends of angles sharp
Centered around a single dot
The final punctuation mark of universe
I feel it is even though
I really don't know much about maths

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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When all is said and done, mes amis!

how much time do we spend
writing the best stuff we can
when the odds are against us

I could abandon punctuation
the use of simile and metaphor
a certain restraint as to mood

and just commit to logorrhea
like so many of us do
but I can't just surrender

poetry means something more
than just letting my feelings run
away with irony and good sense

poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Out Running Time Poets

work published
altered significantly
to fit conventional
poetic rules of time

or published in purity
true feel of poet
an altered reality
verse meter beat?

unique for an era
short cryptic lines
slant rhythm rhyme

unconventional
capitalization
punctuation

themes of death
liberty immortality

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Terrain

It was always painful to remember the suicide
of a painter,
who was drawing the landscape
of hunger.
Polishing his art of pretention.
The time whistled past his window
without punctuation.

The terrain was tough, deepened by
requiem, the tears dried up
on the cheeks of chastity.

Script without drum and hue
of glowing eyes,
cracked lips
of us and our instruments of tragedy.

poem by Satish Verma
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Piano Key Color Stream

The white and black spruce
That edge so well
In sharp melodies of contrast.

The piano key color stream
Mesh like light in a simile
And jive so unexpectedly,
And sway
with a rhythm
that contrives intravenously
Over interlocutor’s musical frequency’s
.
Black and white.
Hard.
Keys.
Ledgers.
Who build and perform
With nouns and adjectives
And odd punctuation.
But are so different?

poem by Michael Timothy Rose
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Empty Room

The clock disserts on punctuation, syntax.
The clock's voice, thin and dry, asserts, repeats.
The clock insists: a lecturer demonstrating,
Loudly, with finger raised, when the class has gone.

But time flows through the room, light flows through the room
Like someone picking flowers, like someone whistling
Without a tune, like talk in front of a fire,
Like a woman knitting or a child snipping at paper.

Submitted by Stephen Fryer

poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
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Killing A Poem

They caught a Poem today
A newborn by its writer,
Dissected it all the way
From punctuation to each letter.

They drained it dry of meaning,
Analyzing every word.
The Poem lay wondering
For being, why it suffered.

Some called it cruel names,
Banishing the very essence.
It lay on the paged frame
Crushed in its Innocence.

Its only crime was content -
Perhaps to them, displeasing,
A mere victim of argument
Had to face some editing.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Toeless Fear

The name calls the name
spraying the moon with red colour.
It touches a nerve, when there is
standoff on the lake.

A blueish eye invades an iron space
between near solids of docks.
The gap was widening and
the thoughts had a dead punctuation.

The fake and madeup story sit
on my breast. I go for the nakedness
of real thing. A mediocre cool burns
the skill of swans. Waves collapse.

That body was not mine. I lived
in many souls. Invisible floats
my grief in embryo of the
unborn child.

poem by Satish Verma
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