Da_Yog

This is my firs attempt at writing for the "spoken word" format and is the first time I have attempted to write a poem with a focus on the way it sounds. This may sound odd, but usually when I write a poem it is written mainly from a visual perspective. I will throw out this one warning. If you are easily offended, you probably don't want to read this. Barring that, I hope you enjoy. American History X I pledge allegiance to the flag Of the United States of Racism And to the republic for which it stands, One nation, under God … Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah, Buddha, Secular Humanism, Existentialism, Scientology, And many others! Indivisible: Except for the color of our skin, The religion we worship, Our sexual orientation, Socio-economic status, Height, weight, dress, appearance, And political affiliation. With liberty and justice for all … Unless your jury is twelve angry men Then be sure and be nice to: The giant, sweaty, hairy, toothless, Sociopathic, drug-dealing, mass-murderer, Named Bruno, who will be your cell-mate … For the next twenty-five years. Or if you are rich: Then you can kill your wife, Hire Johnny Cochran, And walk away free. Welcome … to the United States of Racism! Now, it all started in 1492 When Columbus sailed the ocean blue. He sailed, and sailed, and sailed, And finally found dry land. He knelt down, kissed the sand, And praised God for his divine hand! Then plunged his flag into the land And claimed it for the Queen of Spain No matter how much the natives may have complained! Welcome … to the United States of Racism! Then in 1620 The pilgrims sailed to the land of plenty Fleeing England’s religious persecution They brought to the new land old institutions And sought to civilize the savages … At the end of a musket! Thanks so much for the food! Happy Thanksgiving to all! Now get the hell off our land! Bang, bang, bang, and God bless! Remember Jesus loves you…in hell! Welcome … to the United States of Racism! In 1776 we declared: We hold these truths to be self-evident That all men are created equal … Except for blacks, Indians, women, and children … White men of European descent only need apply! But if you want to kill English Please sign here¬¬¬________________________. And so it was with the aid of the French The French? Oh yes, the French! That we set out to form a less imperfect union. Welcome to the United States of Racism! For four score and seven years more Race, in the states, was the strongest of “isms”. Darker than Paganism And more overt than Plagiarism! In a war, anything but civil, Where brother fought brother, And sons killed their fathers; In a land of such hate How could racism ever die? Such blasphemy—they said—the bible backed “Man shall have dominion over the animals.” And other such crap! As if coloration Was enough for such a justification. Such a proclamation Should warrant you a special station Where Jesus can love you … in hell! Welcome to the United States of Racism! For the next thirty years or so Our destiny was manifest And though the trail of tears had already flowed We had our sights on another conquest —From sea to shining sea— The Indians? Why, it wasn’t their land. They just lived on it. Besides, we had the guns to prove it was ours! Bang, bang, bang, and God bless! Remember Jesus will love you … in hell! A hundred peoples shattered! Their wills thoroughly scattered! Welcome … to the United States of Racism! Then came the Great Depression Leaving a new cultural impression As the rich and poor divide Leaving each other to deride Still the races collide. And such would remain the case Until Hitler showed his ugly face. Then we could briefly set aside Our hate of the other colored race To jointly despise the Arian race. Oh, but this was not to last For hate was all in our past! And while Hitler was burning Jews Japanese-Americans we locked in prison camps, While Germans walked free! Welcome to the United States of Racism! With the murder of a King Dreams, dreams, dreams, Dreams of children playing subside The races fervently collide And a nation in turmoil further divides. Accusations fly, Racism goes on the rise, And the dreams? They just die, die, die! Welcome to the United States of Racism! That’s why … I pledge allegiance to the flag Of the United States of Racism And to the republic for which it stands, One nation, under God… Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah, Buddha, Secular Humanism, Existentialism, Scientology, And many others! Indivisible: Except for the color of our skin, The religion we worship, Our sexual orientation, Socio-economic status, Height, weight, dress, appearance, And political affiliation. With liberty and justice for all … Unless your jury is twelve angry men Then be sure and be nice to: The giant, sweaty, hairy, toothless, Sociopathic, drug-dealing, mass-murderer, Named Bruno, who will be your cell-mate … For the next twenty-five years. Or if you are rich: Then you can kill your wife, Hire Johnny Cochran, And walk away free. Welcome … to the United States of Racism!

You can get a free transcript of Thoreau's "On the Duty of Civil Disobedience" here Project Gutenberg. Just do a search for Thoruea and it should pop up. Great site by the way. I think 1700 books that have their copyright expired can be found there. One thought that occured to me in the last couple of hours is that this reads a lot like a personal essay in poetic format. You might think about reworking it in that format. Just a thought.

This reminds me a lot of "On the Duty of Civil Disobedience" by Thoreau except applied not to government but to the taking of life. If one person should object then we have an imperfect system and it is the duty of all, not only to disagree, but to disrupt. It really seems like stanza three could be shorter and still carry the message forward. It's just my opinion, but I think you could start stanza three here: "in our group, I alone choose to let the car ride on as the thought- experiment intended. Who am I to take the life of one for the sake of many? I say. And my friends answer, Well, who are we not to save the lives of many over the life of just one?" Perhaps take a look at tightening up stanza two as well. That being said, I thought the last two stanzas were very thought provoking. The transition from a fat man on a subway to the atomic bombing of Hiroshima was nicely done. These two stanzas clearly shine for me. It was just a little difficult getting there.

Yeah, it wasn't until I was older and a bit wiser that I realized such things. It is strange how societal expectations and reality don't mesh. At any rate I'm significantly happier with both. I also tend to write a good deal about the conflict between the highly rational and the highly emotional—usually from the perspective of a lament for emotion. Thanks on the congrats.

This poem was selected by the honors society at my school as a feature in their next newsletter. I was asked to provide an introduction as well as some other details concerning the poem. I thought I'd throw this extra info in should anyone wish to read it. I still need to verify the Titan A.E. quote. (I remember it being very close to this.) Looks like not all the superscripts are worknig properly. *shrug* I began writing back in high-school, some twenty-one years ago. (I’m sure many of you weren’t born yet. Don’t rub it in.) My junior and senior years I had a few works printed in McEachern High’s “The Laureate”—an annual literary magazine and then promptly forgot about writing completely. I suppose it was partly the idea of going to The Georgia Institute of Technology that banished writing from my mind. The intense study in highly technical areas didn’t seem compatible with subjective musings of a writer’s interests. Or perhaps I didn’t want to admit to being good at the subjective as well as the objective. At any rate, this time in my life had a profound influence on this poem. Later in life while watching the movie Titan A.E., I was haunted by the narrator’s voice as he said, “Once in a great while mankind makes a discovery that will forever change history: fire, splitting the atom…” I thought of this as I pondered our own experience in splitting the atom. What makes these discoveries stand out as great? How do they shape our lives and our thoughts? Do we define the discovery? Does the discovery define us? Are all “great” discoveries surrounded by war, death, and cataclysm? Finally, a wistful nostalgia for mysticism led me to ponder a poem—a poem both ancient and new. A poem seen in terms of gods: gods of war, gods of wisdom, gods of might and magic, gods doomed to die. But we are never without our gods! We forever hold up new ideals, new knowledge, new philosophies and worship at bronzed altars of modernity. And so the new gods take shape and wander among the thoughts of men even today. The New Gods I bear witness to the new gods! Fat Man and Little Boy encased in steel The might of Huitzilopoctli gleaming, smiling— Reflecting menacingly from their surface Anticipating the sacrifice of blood to come! I cringe at the rumble of the great western dragon As she roars in preparation for flight, A young god snuggled lovingly in her womb Ready to spring forth in full battle regalia! A weapon that makes Ares’ rage pale in significance. Not even the aegis of Athena offers protection! I crumble under a torrent of flame— Pouring from the mighty crucible That Hephaestus could not hope to contain! It is the flame the gods feared! The sin for which Prometheus will be eternally bound!6 I collapse under the rending, burning, disintegrating… The young god’s nubile wrath! Osiris—giver of life—shatters in its wake7 Could Horus ever be reborn from this?8 Were that Isis’ magic were so strong!9 Were that the gods of man’s mysticism— Were stronger than those of man's rationalism! Two days—two cataclysmic flashes— The might of Magni and Thor reduced to myth!10 The bones of Jormungandr no more than aging fossils!11 Less threatening than a child’s fairy tale. All that is left is ancient Ragnarok12 Laid low by the new gods! 1Fat Man and Little Boy—the two atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki respectively. Nuff said. 2Huitzilopoctli—the Aztec god of war and the sun. He is a rather violent deity who was born into the world wearing his full armor and weapons. Upon being born he immediately began killing his brothers and sisters. A real friendly sort of chap. At any rate a sizeable portion of the sacrifices made at Aztec alters were made in his honor. 3Ares—a Greek God of war. Not much of a thinker. More a "kill first and ask questions later" kind of war god. 4Athena—goddess of war and wisdom. Probably most appropriately she should be referred to as the daughter of wisdom as her mother was the Goddess of Wisdom. Seeing as Zeus swallowed her mother to prevent Athena's birth, I guess she's the only wisdom left in Olympus. Strangely enough Athena was born anyway, bursting forth from Zeus' head wearing full battle regalia. She did not go about trying to kill her brothers and sisters. 5Hephaestus—the misshapen smith of the gods. If was from Hephaestus' forge that Prometheus stole the fire he gave to man. 6Prometheus—not a god at all but a Titan. He took pity on man and brought them the gift of fire. The fire is often interpreted as a gift of knowledge, setting man on a path of discovery. What was his punishment for giving man this gift? He was chained to a mountain where three harpies would tear out his liver every morning. Throughout the day he would heal, only to have the assault repeated on the next day. But the gods were not done. They gave man a gift also. They gave him a woman, Pandora. Pandora would release all the evils upon the world except hope. Hope stayed in the box. 7Osiris—Egyptian god of life, death, and fertility. He made the Nile flood bringing prosperity to Egypt. Unfortunately Set didn't like him much and betrayed him scattering his body into seven pieces. 8Isis—Egyptian god of the throne-mother. Wife and sister to Osiris. She was protector of the canopic jar of the liver. She recovered Osiris' seven pieces and brought him back to life as her son Horus. 9Horus—the god of the sky. Originally the son of Hathor. (He changes quite a bit throughout Egyptian history.) Eventually he is seen as Osiris reborn and takes on an aspect of being the pharaoh reborn with Isis being the mother or wife of the pharaoh (depending on what dynasty you are looking at). 10Magni—the son of Thor and the Norse god of Strength. He will survive Ragnarok. Thor—it's Thor for gods sake! The Norse god of thunder. Nuff said. 11Jormungandr—the world serpent, the second son of Loki. Odin cast him into the sea and he eventually grew so large that he wrapped around the world and was able to bite his own tail. At Ragnarok Thor fights Jormungandr and slays him, then take nine steps and dies from Jormungandr's venom. 12Ragnarok—the Norse Apocalypse. Just about everything dies except for Magni and one or two other gods.

I gave this some thought over the weekend. The more I thought about it the more I realized that it didn't matter whether the friend is seen as male or female. I just don't think it really affects the reading of the poem that much. It might even help the reader connect if they are allowed to interject the sex of the friend. I think, for that reason, I'm going to leave that aspect of the poem alone.

It says things change. Perhaps the dark can no longer be covered up and needs to be revealed. Perhaps another flavor suits you better today? Perhaps this poem reminded you of something else you need to write about? Perhaps you just waxed nostalgic for a moment. Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps...

I forgot to mention I was thinking of changing the title. I feel it is too distracting from the true purpose. I was thinking perhaps, "Society of Dead Crickets". I can't really tell if that would be too cliche or not...

Your use of repetiton, rhyme, and word choice definitely give this the feel of a song. I also found the strong breaks here, "there is no peace in your eye." and here, "there are no tears in your eye." to be well placed and well emphasized. I'll take a closer look on monday. I have to jet now. My work break is over.

You're really developing a knack for controlling the flow of a poem using line breaks. Very interesting. If it weren't done quite as frequently as you do it and with as much care it would definitely seem awkward. You are definitely staying on the tight-rope. "It is a bittersweet realization summer days loose their sacred meaning and something is lost that can never be regained." I think that something would be innocence. Would it not? *Nods to himself and walks away* ...And you can never quite figure out when it went or where it went to. The land of Nod maybe...

The last line was intended to have the most weight. It functions as the climax of the poem. (Or at least, I hoped it would.) I intended for the last line to be that one extra piece of information that ties the poem together. So, at that last moment, dead crickets=ants marching=biting wind blowing=purely rational man=death. That is to say: without intuition, emotion, and a little craziness we are left with nothing but pure rationalism, logic, and the death of a life of rote behavior. We become, as the purely rational man, the blowing wind, the marching ants, and the dead crickets. What set us apart is no more. At any rate I'm glad you liked it. Ha silver! I've read "The Grapes of Wrath"! No forcing me to make a literary reference this time. I've also read, "Cannery Row" and "Of Mice and Men". I honestly think I liked "Cannery Row" the most. I can see where the dead and desolate imagery would compel you to think of "The Grapes of Wrath". (Although I refused to leave you with the image of a dying man suckling from the breast of a woman who has recently lost her child. *shudder*) Message and image-wise it might be a little closer to "The Hollow Men" by TS Eliot. (Thought definitely not in total sink with "The Hollow Men". More reminiscent of it to me.) At any rate, Thanks both for your comments. Now what I really need is someone to tear the punctuation apart. Oh Rev. Oh Rev. I know you've been itching to do this. Here's your chance. Should I throw a few dashes in here to get your goat? I will if I have to.

Comment away. Dead Crickets Motionless on slowly freezing concrete Brown chitin cracked and ruptured Marching…a slow parade of ants Corpse devoured day by day Pieces torn, shredded, consumed But dead crickets… ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ They don’t bleed. Wind whipping by in chilling gusts Biting dust swarming and stinging Tumbling…debris rolls on and on Land sculpted grain by grain Earth dissected, moved, deposited And still… ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Dead crickets don’t bleed. Man standing and coldly staring Watching all that comes and goes Calculating…thoughts move unceasing Information processed bit by bit Decisions evaluated, summed, concluded Conclusion reached… ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Dead men don’t bleed.

When I read this I was immediately reminded of a poem by Hungry Coyote. For reference it reads: "All the earth is a grave and nothing escapes it, nothing is so perfect that it does not descend to its tomb. Rivers, rivulets, fountains and waters flow, but never return to their joyful beginnings; anxiously they hasten on the vast realms of the rain god. As they widen their banks, they also fashion the sad urn of their burial. Filled are the bowels of the earth with pestilential dust once flesh and bone, once animate bodies of man who sat upon thrones, decided cases, presided in council, commanded armies, conquered provinces, posessed treasure, destroyed temples, exulted in their pride, majesty, fortune, praise and power. Vanished are these glories, just as the fearful smoke vanishes that belches forth from the infernal fires of Popocatepetl. Nothing recalls them but the written page."—Popocatepetl is a still active and smouldering volcano in Mexico. While yours maintains the same cyclical nature—from the earth all things rise and to the earth all things return—you seem to make the statement with far less negativity. This was a very nice effort indeed.

The Price of Memory I remember when we stormed the beaches In search of beautiful waves. They’d wash by our sandcastles And giggle at our cuteness, As we admired every swell and crest. I will forever remember the colors: Bronze and white with splashes— And dashes of pink, blue, green, and red. All rolling along the shore In sweaty, sunny perfection. I remember the skin too red: Hot to the touch, Soaking in cool baths at night, Covered in aloe, Slathered in sun-screen, I remember the next day at the beach… I remember our camping trips: Pitching the old worn tent, Pressing bread to a hook and line, Pulling craw-dads from a stream. Running amok in the playground— Breaking my arm jumping from a swing. I remember the horde of chiggers— Our skin itching till we scratched it raw, Then—itching even more. I remember mom applying buckets— And buckets of Calamine lotion… And it still itching. Then came nail polish Applied to private places Followed by the screaming of raw flesh. But at least the itch went away, And so did we, Back to play. I remember the fishing trips: The one where I screamed Because my arm was still broken, And I hadn’t been to the doctor yet. And the day we spent all our time: Walking to the lake, Walking around the lake, Skipping rocks across the lake, Laughing with the lake, Never fishing in the lake, Walking back from the lake, Tipping trees in the forest, Watching my uncle—your step-father, Stalk us back to the house, And claim we never saw him. I remember when you caught Your own wave. At your wedding: Watched you smile, saw you beam Never saw her smile, never saw her beam I remember when she washed back to sea— Taking your most precious—your daughter—with her. I remember how you cared for her: Always when she needed you, Always making payments, Always loving like only you could. I remember when I got that last call: A stranger’s voice…My uncle’s An uncertain voice…My uncle’s A distraught voice…My uncle’s A lost voice…My uncle’s What? No! How can this be? Monday morning? Dead… No! Just a year younger… A daughter of thirteen! I remember when the pieces fell together: Gambling… Missing guns… Stolen money… Shame! “It rules my life!” Shame! Eleven days missing— Then in the hospital parking lot The crashing of the shot. Shame! The world left behind, “It was only money!” Maybe not… Shame! I remember the closed casket: A mother’s tears, A brother’s disbelief, A father’s love, A minister who couldn't get your name right …Four times! The songs of remembrance, A daughter lost. I remember the casket ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Lowering ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Into ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ The ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Ground.

Heehee Clearly I need to do some edits. http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif First off, my companion was a male. From Stanza four: "I remember when you caught Your own wave. At your wedding: Watched you smile, saw you beam Never saw her smile, never saw her beam I remember when she washed back to sea— Taking your most precious—your daughter—with her." I suppose although I never mentioned sex. I was implying the traditional marriage of man and woman. He got married, divorced, and lost his daughter in the divorce. The wave here was a play upon the wave in stanza one. "I remember when we stormed the beaches In search of beautiful waves. They’d wash by our sandcastles And giggle at their cuteness, As we admired every swell and crest." Wave serves as a metaphor for woman. We went down to the beach to look at girls. I used this metaphor because this is what we used to tell our moms. "Mom, we're going down to the beach to watch the waves," meant "Mom, we're going down to the beach to watch the ladies." Then we'd get distracted and build sandcastles. Then the ladies would show up. We never seemed to make the connection that boys being boys was enough to attract the women. Perhaps line four would be best served as, "And giggle at our cuteness." The their seems to be misleading. It was actually referencing the sandcastles. Perhaps it was our cuteness they were laughing at after all... The last four stanzas were perhaps too recent in my mind to get the kind of details you are looking for. All I know is that those close to him can barely read the those last four stanzas without crying. Mom had to stop several times to finish it. I think they do convey the chaos and turmoil surrounding the funeral. Everything was scattered, dismembered, and traveling in seven different directions near continuously. The quotes were things actually said by people at the funeral. I just collected them in no particular order and set them down as chaotically as they came in. As for the capitals...It's just a poetry tradition as old as dirt as far as I know. I can hardly ever remember seeing a poem—except for here—that didn't start every line with a capital letter. Perhaps some of the more modern writing that I'm not as familiar with? It's not something I've ever given any thought to unless I use lines that are an addendum to the first in which case I don't capitalize. Do you have any published poetical references that vary from this tradition? I'd certainly be interested in taking a look. Thanks for your comments and suggestions. Keep 'em comin'.

LoL, nah, you were fine. I was just clarifying to the rest of the pen that I'm really not a total idiot. Heehee

Woot, it worked. This is more how it is supposed to be presented. :-) Thanks for your comments as always Silver.

Poetry is a ten pound sledge! Shattering the wall of deceit, ᅟ the mind that restrains, ᅟ the corpus of stagnation. It powders the mortar that binds us To the terminus of rigid forms, And pounds out the foundations of future thought. Poetry is a supernova! Consuming ancient thought in fiery catechism, Fomenting revolution in the depths of the void, Forging new elements, ᅟ new ideas, ᅟ new directions, Where before only zombies dared dwell.

Ummm...err...I really meant first person plural to first person singular. *sheepish grin*

It has a very, "ghost observing the world" kind of feel. I can read it as either the literal ghost interpretation or as a person who is seeing the world through a ghost-like haze. Not sure which I like better at the moment. The one point that is a bit confusing to me, and perhaps you could help me out here, is the transition from second person plural to first person singular near the end. "to release our fears/so we must give into tears" becomes "I am the lost one/I am the fallen one". Is this an intentional shift or an oops?

To Rev: LoL!

LoL! I remember Joat! Crazy guy. Played with him on A1 for a reset or two. He was pretty fun. I also knew Dream. The Trolls managed to slag his team in the last tournament he ran. It was myself as Yog, A friend of mine who went by Ogg for the tourney, Uncle Mav was on Red as Rog I think, another IFP member by the name of Thog was playing green, and Hitachi was playing white. Ogg and I were on the phone one night and caught Dream mana charging and piled on the spells. According to Dream he had recently given over control of his mage to someone else for the rest of the tourney and so wouldn't accept that he got whaked. *shrug* He always was about the most arrogant AM player I ever saw. Interestingly, he changed the rules for the tourney after his team lost. We made excessive use of diplomacy in taking down the Dream Team. Apparently he didn't like that and was going to forbid team interaction for the next tourney. Don't think he ran another one though. I bounced around from server to server for quite a while. Was with the Iron Fist Protectorate for quite some time on blitz. I also played with The Covenant on blitz for a reset or two. Played on blitz one a ton. Was on S1 for about half a reset. Finished up on A1 with the Angels of Apocalypse. I went by Celevagor, Yog, and Mad Bomber depending on when and where. Don't think I had any other monikers. Met Regel in AM. I think we ended up being allies on A1 every reset I played there... Ahh the AM days. *grins* Nostalgia. I now return this thread to its regularly scheduled program. http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif

Nice to see you take your poetry so seriously. Let me see if I can put this a different way. What I'm really suggesting is that Prepise break grammatical cannon at the precise point in his poem where he compares canon to sucking on the barrel of a cannon. Too glib? I don't know. Inappropriate? Maybe. Do I like it? yep. I'm also suggesting he do it to grab the readers attention at a critical point in the poem. Do I like dashes for emphatic pauses in poems? Yep. Have I read an excessive amount of Emily Dickenson. Nope, I don't think so.

Hammer of a Dying Star Poetry is a ten pound sledge! Shattering the wall of deceit, the mind that restrains, the corpus of stagnation. It powders the mortar that binds us To the terminus of rigid forms, And pounds out the foundations of future thought. Poetry is a supernova! Consuming ancient thought in fiery catechism, Fomenting revolution in the depths of the void, Forging new elements, new ideas, new directions, Where before only zombies dared dwell.

I have the same basic problem with this poem that I have with all your poems: you don't use any punctuation. Why not? Fear, aversion, unfamiliarity? It's like writing a poem with one hand tied behind your back. You spend so much time focusing on word choice, imagery, line breaks but totally ignore punctuation. Good use of punctuation is one of the best ways to direct the readers attention to a particular word or line. I.e. "nuzzle the mouth of the warm canon". This line I quite liked a lot. The intentional juxtaposition of canon for cannon provides a nice twist; however, I think most readers will ignore this as an intentional switch because you, as the poet, do not bring their attention to it. Changing the line to, "nuzzle the mouth of the warm—canon" would force your reader to stop just before and after canon. The reader has to pause before because of the dash and then after because of the line break. In essence you would force your reader to examine that word in detail. On the second pass through the poem most experienced readers would make a mental note to try and figure out what you were doing with the punctuation signal. In the four poems you have posted, I've seen one comma, one exclamation point, one period, and one question mark. The punctuation is so spartan as to make it's mere appearance a cause for the reader to question. I had to look at the comma in, "Feed from the threat, suckle its nipple" two or three times before I figured out it was just a bit of correct grammar usage. In general, I find that when a poet shows an aversion to grammar, it's a sign of youth. Most young poets don't use much grammar. We tend to get wrapped up in the romantic moment of writing a poem and completely disregard punctuation as a necessary part of the poem. This is not to say that every poem needs a lot of punctuation. The poems that function best without punctuation are poems that move really quickly and are relatively uncomplicated. If the reader is just meant to enjoy the moment and move on, then punctuation should definitely take a back seat. If the poem is calculated, precise, thought provoking, complicated, or otherwise difficult then it needs some punctuation. Without knowing your exact mind in this poem I can't advise you very strongly about punctuation use in general but a few suggestions would be: Your clout and the unbearable weight of heavy wind sucking—worn (worn appears to be a transition word usable in both this line and the next. The dash separates it somewhat from the existing line and puts it on a separate island while still keeping it in the same line.) old trails and inroads, (comma adds a slightly longer pause. Highly discretionary in usage here.) or imagined selflessness clutching the noose of a soft illusion. (complete thoughts typicaly end with a period.) Feed from the threat, suckle its nipple. (The line seems to be a complete thought.) nuzzle the mouth of the warm—canon (Already mentioned the reason for the dash here.) When new roots lift an atrophied gate, (You are listing traits here, normal gramar separates them with a comma.) seep through the torn wreckage; (Not sure why the change in tense here. Using seep instead of seeping maintains the tense of the stanza. The semicolon separates the first and last half of the stanza.) the freight train remembers— (Your key line is coming up, force a pause before it for dramatic emphasis. Otherwise it might get lost in the mist of imagery.) a haunting ration of fear! (Climax! Bam, you're there! Now stop and think about what I've told you before you wrap up.) Derailed at the fleeting moment of truth, (trait list.) freed from the threat that cleanses the breech, (trait list.) It releases the shores of deep dreams. (Most poems end in a period. It's a tradition older than dirt. Doesn't mean they all have to but most should unless you, as the poet, have a compelling reason for it not to. Using a ... can symbolize that things are unfinished or that the readers needs to figure out the rest for themselves. Walt Whitman, in "Songs of Myself" left the period off the end of the poem his entire life. This was to symbolize that the poem wasn't over, the journey wasn't complete. On his final (I think 13th edition of the poem, his death-bed addition) he finally put the period in. Some say it was because he became obsessed with the traditonal mechanics of poetry. I rather think it was because he knew he was dying and the journey was over. At any rate, have a reason for doing something non-standard at the end of the poem. It is a great chance to send a final message to your reader.) My suggestions are by no means difinitive. I'm sure every poet has his own ideas about punctuation, and most are valid. This is poetry after all. I mostly want to get you thinking about using this powerful tool in your poetry. Why not, you use so many others.