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Bad Writing

the sentence & the paragraph had agreed upon meeting at dawn
out in the middle of the page
as the reflection off the fine silver pen being lifted by the human hand in the sky
shone off the bright white recycled paper
there stood one strong paragraph,
which
was armed with clever words, quirky verbs & quiet frankly,
a whole slew of other sentences
who may or may not be brought into the fray
with this
vigilante,
who stood a good distance away from the paragraph
with its shadow blotting out part of the page-
the sentence was tight
knit
&
written in a language that the paragraph had never heard of
before-
the paragraph tilted it’s font a bit, to stave off the human shifting the paper,
causing a bit of a breeze across the soft plane,

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poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Arrival of a child

Arrival of a child marks the
Arrival of a new pleasant path
Arrival of a most colourful horizon
Arrival of a new set of dreams
Arrival of a new ray of hope
Arrival of a new melody in musical notes
Arrival of a refreshing new fragrance
Arrival of a new butterfly in our garden

Arrival of a child marks the
Assertion of nature’s supremacy
Assertion of God’s faith in men
Assertion of sustenance of existence
Assertion of human love
Assertion of a new strengthened bond

Arrival of a child marks the
Beginning of a new philosophy
Beginning of a new set of experiences
Beginning of a renewed valour

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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Red Pencil

Red Pencil
R ed pencil with magic flair
E nrichment while in school
D ancing red marks are everywhere
Red pencil; teachers’ tool
Red pencil marks, to make it right
I studied hard with all my might
Red pencil marks
Red pencil marks
I passed the test to my delight

P encil red is the teachers’ tool
E dified magic wand
N ebulous to the Golden Rule
C lassroom and teacher bond
I want to teach, want to be free
L ife as a teacher, that’s for me
I want to teach
I want to teach
Some day I’ll teach, Form Poetry

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poem by Amera Andersen
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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Travel changes you. As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life — and travel — leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks — on your body or on your heart — are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt.

quote by Anthony Bourdain
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Coming Home

unannounced you come home
bringing all the scruples inside your head

you stay somewhere else
in an island undisclosed

you phone me finally
not to tell them about us

you want another chapter of the
love story that we did not finish years ago

now i have to choose the words well
and for the punctuation marks: shall there be a period?

exclaim, i say, exclaim, interject!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Genica's Dream

her dream car: a pick-up
black, and the latest edition of dmax

she is into the world of poetry
and she has more time in her
literature, and every day
she dreams of

words, punctuation marks of her life,
the period is rolling in her eyes,
and the future seems to be bleak
in the haze of her fogs,

there are mountains along the way
those that do not move by her command,
those that have old trees
and rocks and
pavements without directions

she will be lost, and then i will

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words and worlds....! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Twenty six letters,
Permutation and combination
Marks of punctuation;
Like traffic signals,
To stop, pause, march
Halt, walk.

Thoughts and gamut
Of emotions decoded
In colours
As varied as
The spectrum.
Taking the reader
On a voyage,

Ride could be bumpy
Sunny or funny
Depending on the
Internal weather formations;
Creating rhythm, melody, rhyme

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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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0047 Ode to the Goddess of Punctuation

I sing of punctuation....'What? ', you say,
'I've never heard a sonnet on that theme! ';
and thus this modest goddess, clothed in grace,
performs her holy task; unheard, unseen,

except in trivial printed marks (- like this -)
punctilious editors put in - or erase;
yet, she's the Sherpa to the mind's high bliss
who leads our thoughts to peaks of silent praise;

immortal consort of the god of speech,
handmaid of mind, bestowing measured pause
between each thought; their silent truth to reach
by resting mind in mind's divine true cause.

O worship her, her power so great and blest,
whose shortest silence, wildest mind may rest!

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Habit

the habit is an epoxy
attaching a part of my thoughts
to your thoughts
yet somehow there is no spark
of understanding
like a star bursting

and so everyday as the sun rises
killing the shadows of leaves
in my mind
i keep taking track of what happens
a word stands as a boundary
a punctuation marks
a departure
and there are questions like guards
and sentries of
the parapet

there are birds unable to fly from the
hammocks of the mind

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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