"hyphens" poems
Is there someone out there that can make the insecure, secure?
The lost become found?
The weak become strong?
The introvert extrovert and all things in-between?
The ugly more beautiful?
The headedness and nightmares become more of a joke?
The sounds in the background become solid and free
Chuck out the garbage
The ties that bind thee
Those that put you in trouble of the deepest kind
The ugliest of mothers hellbent on revenge
Taking out pennies from someone else's den
Is there someone decent and cool
To help get along in the life of a fool?
I am the pest the irregular verb
Adjectives, hyphens the comma's full stop and nerds
All comprehensive found sometimes expensive
So you'll never know what kind of gift wraps inside
Quaky, Jackie, Stumble bunny and fall
Am running amok for the sake of it all
Sinderella what a fella
He went to the garden zoo
Played hokey cokey
Oh what a jokey
He even drank the soup
Happy Halloween you creeps!
© Bernard M Coldwell all rights reserved
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
City limit space expands,
it's threaded through with veins--
grey-black dendritic strands
span
across this moldy brain
of a city.
Our rotting nights spray hits around
the places players play.
The impulses will whitewash all complaints
'til the glaring day.
I wanna spit-shine every storm drain,
stain the cracked sidewalks in white,
take this town to Sunday morning Mass,
though she was born for Friday nights.
We're gonna trickle past addresses
now,
Electroshock through habit streets
these crosswalks sneer with snide expression.
Mildewed thoughts we'll hardly think.
A conversation you're repressing
I'm smoothing out my wrinkled brow
Another weekend's blurred out
blank confession
melts off the tips of tongues,
I can taste it now.
Circulation space expands,
we're threaded through with veins--
this bio-asphalt plan
spans
all through this molded frame
of a body.
But rotten thoughts, like ships aground,
teach sailors how to pray
when impulses have buried all complaints
'neath the foaming spray.
I wanna shade out every bruise now,
paint the dumpsters all in gold.
Missoula, listen: You're a lady.
I don't give a **** what you've been told.
A moldy brain dreams slattern makeup
for a prizefight town each night
so let's take up every artist's brush,
paint shadows on these barroom eyes.
We're gonna flow right through these boule-
vards.
Electroshock through habit streets.
These dim lit yards and spoiled thoughts
are hyphens placed between each week.
A conversation you're repressing,
I'm smoothing out my wrinkled brow.
Our city's made-up face is running
off the tips of winter and I taste it now.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
i.
the grass in the meadows
has grown high,
it melts like an emerald
sea under the sun.
ii.
summer stretches
robotic and angular
everything larger than life
sunshine and the childish rains
pouring stormy drops
on the window.
iii.
the sky is perfectly white
the cloud is an unbroken
line, no dots or dashs,
no hyphens or metaphors.
iv.
i dress in the morning and
undress at night let the
pools of the night tether me
to the sky.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
origination of Satanism,
tied Buddhism to hedonism –
to bastardize the -isms.
not fitting, not where i am
supposed to be.
if Napoleon were alive this
moment, think he’d be living
the life i’ve led? prememories
causing us to be learn’d
without having ever experienced.
recurring Josephine.
(epigenetics)
to be found implant’d upon all
those slivers. beyond physical.
and Hemingway tactics:
“each line is a waste if
every line is not its own story.”
reason to state, ease up. relax,
drink up and write. all is implicit.
come back less fuck’d up, with
no more quotes, drop hyphens and
speak.
– unintelligent men will
die for their cause.
intelligent men will
live forever for their cause.
reality of once homelessness.
oh, how stark. was waiting
to lose self for a better perspective.
– if you wanna know a man,
know the world when he was twenty.
was restless for wisdom, was
starved for communion,
and my eyes again will ache.
(this time it’s just a line)
and a dog ate the last papers –
how terribly frustrating.
break. and all conversations
are destined to progress.
– don’t you know you shouldn’t
do that? it could stain the carpet.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
There are many social networks
all around today.
Sometimes it is serious head work
Not to have to pay.
Facebook, Tagged and Cupid.com
Try to make a match
They must think we're stupid adnorms;
The people they dispatch.
Broken teeth and dreams and mindsets,
They all have their run.
I clicked on one who handled blind pets'
Said, she did it for fun!
They show up in secret forums
So you don't know they're here,
Some run counter to the norms
We trust will be there.
Bi's- and Trans- and other hyphens
Litter their profiles.
Like sifting sand you have to siphon
Way behind their smiles.
I'm so sick of private forums
On the Internet.
Despite all of their decorums,
It hasn't worked out yet.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 10:06 AM UTC
He remembers auburn hair
like the color
flickering before him
along Hwy 261.
Thoughts of yesterday
fill his mind
on this journey.
Roan Mountain fades
as he steadies the wheel
beside the constant stream
of white hyphens
on the blacktop.
Flashes of her
blend into the mountains.
He dwells on her
and their daughter
who now flaunts ringlets
bright as the autumn patches
among the forest display.
While he’s driving
the rear view mirror
reflects
his creased forehead
like his mother grew
from her many worries.
Travel grants him time
to think of them.
“Mistakes were made.”
A cop-out rests in that thought:
he made mistakes.
He broods
when he’s in the driver’s seat.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
imagine
you are walking in the cool night
and you turn round the corner
and Behold! before you is the open sky
full of glowing punctuation marks
the commas and semi-colons
and the full-stops and exclamation marks
O all so brilliant, so brilliant
O the question marks
and the dashes and the hyphens and the ellipsis
and the dots and the quotation marks double and single
and all marks floating and brilliant in the night sky
Imagine!
O Imagine!
And then what would you do -
O what would you do
when you see these brilliant marks?
these quirky marks...
Would you be astounded
and shout:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
or would you feel confounded and go:
????????????????????????????
or be silent and say:
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
or be philosophical and muse:
, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
O what would you do
when you are before the Punctuation Sky
Vincent van Gogh never thought to draw?
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
~
when eve’ning calls
the day to end,
and steals away
beloved friend;
naught for holding,
naught for love;
only yearning,
for what was.
once where pillows,
cradled heads;
swallows tears,
wept on their bed.
once the soil,
on paths two walked;
turned to dust,
beneath a rock.
within each tear,
the salty sting;
a silent sob,
the daylight brings.
lips that spoke,
in loving notes;
that kissed each dawn,
with healing hope;
mem’ries now,
a silent voice;
whispered prayer,
a stifled choice.
these the trail,
of loving well;
leavings of
a lover’s tell!
~
post script.
“brother-in-law”... when a beloved sister loses her battle, what becomes of that title... do the words drift apart as the hyphens are disbanded? and what of the light that once added brilliance... is it forever fractured?
thirty-nine years is a trail long walked; a tale colored by hues both light and dark. a loss such is his, is to me inconceivable; i believe i would choose death instead.
~
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC
theres something so final about a period
which is as it should be
commas always get in the way
coming and going like anxious insects
trying to make themselves important
as they scatter over a page
already overrun with too many words
question marks have a slightly
swooping profile curve just above
a period
theyre kind of elegant
they remind me of a swan
with a regal attitude
i saw once on a pretty pond
parentheses embrace words like **** curves
and brackets are like steel gray bookends
fencing words in
exclamation points are so abrupt
and rude and angry
like an outburst
in a classroom
like fireworks
in a funeral parlor
dont mess with them
they mean business
hyphens dashes colons semicolons
apostrophes
and quotation marks
that surround what we say
and dont forget the ellipses that
take the place of
words we omit
sometimes i like to write stories and poems
with no punctuation no capitalization
no grammatical rationale whatsoever
dare i ask
how did i do
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Are you ready for the main course?
Prepare the condiments
Thin oven mitts
Teas cozies
Lace doilies
It's just a decoy
Here lies the kid who was left home alone while is parents visited The North Pole
Try to consolidate the front door
And here's a laxative called LSD to aide your constipated mind
Now go on with the insurrection
And fight Parliament for the sake of the proletariat
Who's names are always written in lower case lettering
The limousine drivers
The skrimpers
The savers
The single mothers with bad habits who have to dance off skimpy clothing to buy formula for their babies because they're milk is tainted with junk
The weary recipients of justice obstructions
And catch 22's
Who have been singled out because they have monetary deficits
Console them
Until Eureka!
Grab some Q-tips and clean out your ears
Stop gritting and grinding your teeth
A new realization is in bloom
When did be aware turn into beware?
When did alertness become fear?
Forget and get over your
Remanding-accursed-sweet-tooth-fatigue-that you let in
Because it's all in your head along with the idea that hyphens make things look more important and scary
I contest all that ********
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
Amnesia.
I want to drink tonight,
purple hellebore.
Like to protest―
the display of private things.
The humming.
The alphabet of
betrayal. Who wants
the award?
Amnesia.
I dream of dying,
feeding the doves.
Was it too early
to start getting dressed up
without a show?
Amnesia.
The hyphens don't
connect now the broken strings.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
The Havens
Haven't
had enough
music
Since two shoes
changed to clogs
on the grassy tops
of sweden
Hiding
from handwork
and labour
in the woods
with the nymphs
empowered lymphs
and hyphens
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
Ten words.
Does that mean
Contracttions and hyphens
Are cheating?
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
*It seems only yesterday
As a fledgling rolling in the hay
Far as I can remember
Was it last December?
Did what I was told
Follow everyone blindly
No whys and No whats?
Busy in one’s inane thoughts
Good at heart and kindly.
Then came the youth
Didn’t give a ****
Couldn’t care a hoot
You could have my ‘Royal boot’
Buzzword was denial
As if the world
And not I - was on a trial.
Middle years are hard to recall
Plodding, trudging, footfall after footfall
Keeping pace with caprices of life
Protecting hearth and kin from strife.
Today sitting in a rocking chair
Bald with little or no hair
It makes me wonder this treasure of “Wisdom”
The correct grammar of commas and full stops
The hyphens and the exclamation marks!!
Whom do I bequeath it to?
Realization dawns, gone are days of fire & brimstone
It’s best to laze in the chair, lead a life nigh sublime
Light my pipe blow rings & have a great time.
The silent thoughts remain unspoken....
Or is it that wisdom is just a token?
I seek audience and Lo! Behold
All are young and I the only old*.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
If fusty galaxies twirl like Shakespearian poetry,
is astrology a tragedy or a comedy?
Are there clusters of tumbling uppercase in outer space,
the remnants of conceit metaphors that broke up like meteors?
My scattered universe is full of orphaned verse.
Why do terse alien names all have hyphens?
Quatrains swirl in fiery hues across the ecliptic plane,
and sonnets streak by, like sparkling comets.
Argh! Where’s a pencil - too late - the thought’s gone.
Ever lose something essential - cause you couldn’t find a pencil?
It’s ok though, it’s not just me and not just you.
Black holes are swallowing Haiku too.
.
.
Songs for this:
Hypnotized by Fleetwood Mac
Theme for a **** Beach by The B-52's
.
.
I saw a line with something like, “universe of orphaned verse,” in a poem a few days ago. The idea of celestial words rhyming with writing terms ‘mused’ me. I’ve been looking for the author to credit them (hello, computer searches). If you know the guilty party, please let me know.
.
*No, this is NOT a sonnet, it’s just the name
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 9:13 AM UTC
Let me ask--
what is worthy of being untitled?
What is the poem or story with so much meaning that it cannot be labeled?
Is my work worthy of being without a title?
Is this poem that meaningful?
Will a title spoil the emotion?
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When we see something untitled, there always seems to be a reoccurring sense of intrigue surrounding it.
I wonder if you'll be intrigued when you read this.
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If I filled this page up with hyphens and forward slashes, would it still be intriguing?
You could say yes, since there could be a secret meaning or code within the longer and shorter lines.
But what if I told you there was no meaning to any of this?
What if everything you're reading in this poem is nonsense?
Would there be any way to know?
You might argue that you could ask me.
But what if there is no answer?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now I wonder why you're still interpreting these words.
I hold nothing against you...
I just don't see the point.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
Our straw boss, now, she hyphenates her name
And there is something frightening about
Those faux dashes stapled between the nouns
Her proper nouns, as if they might slip loose
And fall onto the pages of Debrett’s
As isolated bits of DNA
Dropping their aitches and their gees, oh, please!
So tack that Burberry hyphen back again
Let no proletarian taint be seen -
Made in China becomes Fabrique en Chine*
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 3:53 PM UTC
I walked along the shore,
orchestra of shushes
as water slopped
across my bare toes,
jangle of pebbles
as I placed one foot
in front of the other.
In the distance
the orangeade tang of neon lights
punctuated the view,
electric hyphens
from the arcades
crammed with Irn-Bru-skinned tourists
there for a week
on this comma of coast.
In the winter it is different.
A silver fug that sweeps the streets
like the cocoons of a thousand ghosts,
machine jingles muzzled,
cafes only drip
fed with regulars
from around the corner
coming in to pick the horses
for the 2.10 at Uttoxeter.
The phone quaked in my pocket -
my mother, calling me home.
I passed the sandcastle rubble,
slobber of seaweed
like the drool of a kelpie,
my socks speckled with sand
as I texted back
on my way
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 11:57 AM UTC
I'm writing a poem
This is it
This is me writing a poem
About writing this poem
I'm very aware right now that I am writing this poem
I just tap the buttons
B-U-T-T-O-N-S
I did it again
But this time with capitals and hyphens
When I write my poem I think
This is really silly
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid conversations that never ends
Like the ones where you say "I know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Infinitely repeating
Image
Faded image
More faded image
Even more faded image
Even more fadeder image
This is really silly
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid conversations that never ends
Like the ones where you say "I know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Infinitely repeating
Image
Faded image
More faded image
Even more faded image
Even more fadeder image
This is really silly
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid conversations that never ends
Like the ones where you say "I know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Can you trap a witch between two mirrors?
Ive just remembered I'm writing a poem
What am I writing?
I'll read it
(Returns to start)
Oh, that was interesting
I've written a poem
Next time
I'll make it rhyme
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
Hitting from the
arch of eyebrows,
my pain were you.
One brief death
in illusion, settles on
all the descents.
Not taking any
road to reach the moon
on hill, when you were gone.
For all the half-
spoken words, this was
the moment of liberation.
Solemn signs without a
phrase don't turn the
key and door remains shut.
Between coming and
going, time remains still
like a frozen lake.
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
Why I Use Punctuation
I use punctuation
To help people read my verse onto
A resonating air;
Verses you can hear, i.e.
Aloud.
I’m proud to say that it has
Meter, rhyme,
Capitals that start the line
So the intention is fulfilled
And joined up with tradition.
A dot has meaning, comma too.
The semi-colon’s there to help you
Understand my thought processes.
When I want emphasis
Or that you accent,
Or I make a special statement,
I take care with punctuation,
For communication is the key
That underlies all poetry.
I might use exclamation points,
But never when it’s not important!
I use hyphens quite a lot
Because my lot lies in creating words,
The standard dictionary not enough.
And I do so want you to ‘get it’. Get it?
Ah, dear punctuation!
We could go through all the signs for pauses.
Unimportant technically,
They’re there to help you verbally.
A poem is to be said - not read.
It’s all for you!
Why I Use Punctuation 6.27.2016
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC