Best Hand Over Poems
It was now growing dark as the sun was going down
When a stranger rode into Soup Creek, a frontier town
No one could see his face, he was all dressed in black
An old boy was heard to say "I think he's come back".
He took his horse to the stable, then went to the boarding house
Before he went in looked across the street, to the town jailhouse
There was a familiar figure sat outside, in a rocking chair
Cradling a Winchester and the stranger, felt his cold stare.
He'd returned after all these years; he had something to prove
And just after a few days back in town, he would make his move
But Sheriff Koplin is no fool and he had planned up far ahead
And had formed a posse whilst the stranger slept in his bed.
Three fiesty girls from the saloon, Jan and Jenna, Tania too
And a Texas ranger called David who was just passing through
With gambler Milton who was deadly, with a colt forty five
And Tom the undertaker who looked more dead than alive.
It was the evening of the showdown; the stranger came out of the saloon
The sun was now setting but the tension had been building up since noon
From his holster he withdrew his pistol and then fired shots up into the air
The stranger was not one for living a peaceful life and he just didn't care.
Sheriff Koplin approached him and said "Hand over your gun"
And the stranger replied "Lighten up man, I'm just having fun"
The stranger was laughing now and looking down at his feet
The townsfolk were nervous and had disappeared off the street.
Then behind the stranger came a shout in a loud Texas drawl
It was Jenna disguised as an old woman, covered with a shawl
"You heard the sheriff " she shouted, "Put your gun on the ground"
The air was now thick with tension and you couldn't hear a sound.
Then from nowhere the rest of the posse appeared pistols in hand
They abhorred bullies and conflict and were prepared to make a stand
The stranger realised he couldn't win and threw his gun down
Walked to the livery stable to get his horse, and rode out of town.
The drama was now over but it could have gone either way
Sheriff Koplin and his posse restored peace, and had won the day
It was now days end in Soup Creek in that peaceful frontier town
All you could hear were chirping crickets as the sun was going down.
Written on 20th May 2022.
Categories:
hand over, america, humor, sun,
Form:
Rhyme
Ever wrote a sequel
To a poem about
The road of dead bodies
that you drove upon?
I dont Think So^^
O. Yeah im laughing
At such a radical idea
Thats not registerd yet
Into naiive-Like brain cells
Yeah! Am laughing^^
Wish I could just throw
My smile on that kid
That lay stone cold
Hand over ears even in death
Died of the noises...
Not laughing anymore?
Thought so
I just laid there staring
Right ontop of him
Dead silence...
I panicked
shoved my fist in his jaw
I felt his bone crunch
Now he doesnt have a screaming face
Wow....
You think thats deep?
The guy right next to the kid
Was his dad
They kept him alive to watch
As his son burned
then became death
and soon a fossil
And when they chunk this place again
He will be dust
...His father
He was right there
...To watch
Now read those last three lines
Again
In Slow Mo
Read it and weep
Maybe the tears could drown
A father who is still there to watch
And spare him of the "Madness"
"Well,if its what you want to call it.
I mean you can call it unfair
Inhumane
Insane
But its just Mad-ness"
Categories:
hand over, war
Form:
Blank verse
Let me not say hurtful things,
Or shameful actions do.
Let my words not sow deceit,
And thus bring shame to You.
Let my words bring only peace,
And my actions too;
That I may walk with head held high,
And only friends accrue;
For there are those who look for faults,
And point out others sin.
Let me build up my fellows Lord,
And not be one of them.
Cleanse my heart and cleanse my mind.
Let me not cause doubt.
Keep Your right hand on my shoulder Lord,
And Your left hand over my mouth.
Categories:
hand over, prayer,
Form:
Quatrain
A POEM MADE UP OF CLICHES
At Poetry Soup we're admonished
Never to use cliches
They provide us an extensive list
For the error of our ways
But one thing you can rely on
Is people just don't pay heed
Like a dog gnawing a ham bone
Poets write stuff unfitten to read
Over and over again
I traverse the road less traveled
No one understands me
I feel worn to a frazzle
When all is said and done
I'll just wish upon a star
Or perhaps I'll follow the sun
And hope I don't go too far
Since fools rush in
Where angels fear to trod
And people get under my skin
I'll go by the grace of God
When life takes an unexpected twist
And you're plagued by a multitude of sin
Not making money hand over fist
Misery loves company and broken hearts never mend
You have reached the end of your rope
Tired of waiting for your ship to come in
Don't sit around and mope
'Cause you have fences to mend
Curtis Moorman
30 November 2018
Categories:
hand over, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
~
Impatient, are the waters, that ripple in the stream
Taking no notice of one all alone
They continue to flow, to swirl, twist and turn
They pay no attention, think nothing of me
As I sit here to ponder, to write and compose
~
Deep in the stones, lie dark secret longings
Old stories of those, who sat on the bank
Like me, finding hallows to gather and think
I'm called by the breezes to capture the prose
Inspired by nature, words flow from creation
Written to cast, like leaves on the water
~
The cattails that rattle, the cinnamon fern
The willows that lean, each twig bends to listen
Before me, were others who sat in the sun
On the mossy green bank of the waters that know...
Watching each ripple from precipice high
With stories, of heartache, and reasons to cry
~
Cavorting blue ribbons, hiding the answers
Splashing and laughing, no time for my questions
I lean my hand over, to calm the swift partings
Cold water runs swiftly, and it stays in command
It runs through my fingers, like life on a journey
Secrets it carries, and onward it goes…
Taking no notice of one all alone
~
________________________________________________________________
Categories:
hand over, introspection, nature
Form:
Free verse
Now Bobby, don't try to look coy.
You mischievous naughty young boy!
You've guzzled my sweets
From 'tricking or treats'
I've seen through your devious ploy.
Oh Bobby, say have you no pride?
You've acted so sneaky and snide.
Your ankle-length socks,
You sneaky young fox
Are stuffed with marshmallows inside!
Don't flutter those big bambi eyes
Or fabricate more porky pies.
You're caught in a fix
Hand over my Twix
I'm bigger than you, so be wise!
20.10.19
If I Were Your Brother Poetry Contest : sponsored by Bobby May
Categories:
hand over, brother, candy,
Form:
Limerick
You don’t know this but
we’re all ISBN’s. At birth,
we’re tattooed across our asses
with barcodes, ID tags, social security numbers.
The only doctors allowed
to perform this surgical move
were trained in suits and sunglasses,
were handcuffed to computer suitcases,
held galas in mansions in the hills
of Virginia, roamed secretly through tunnels
beneath Abe Lincoln’s feet, they infiltrated
every hospital, mandated staff to hand over
the key cards. Don’t be alarmed.
Chocolate brownies can still
hold good dreams, peanuts, and marijuana.
This information should not stop you,
you wondered before about those
seven digits printed across the tops of your pay stubs,
didn’t you? And the 48906 signature on every document
from your university.
Yes, you see now. All along,
that tattoo on your soul numbers destiny:
one of the numbers stands for the birthday
of your child, one for the day your parents will find
cancer sinking its teeth in their osteoperostic bones,
and one lists the street address of the building
you will die in. The hospital’s phone number
is merely a set of numbers. Ask them
what they’ve done to you, and they’ll shrug
their white-collar shoulders.
To view this poem on my blog, visit http://wordsareaneed.blogspot.com/2014/12/lucky-numbers-2-10-24-65-93.html.
Categories:
hand over, conflict, nonsense, pain, scary,
Form:
Concrete
Let me walk the palm of your
hand, over the mount of Venus
down the line of life and along
the line of love.
Let our heart lines entwine and
mingle with the lines of fate.
Let our futures be each others
and the stars be radiant.
For in the heavens our love is
written, its glory for all to see,
it falls as stardust, in honour of
you and me.
So let us walk hand in hand and
let the lines entwine, live our
life in paradise, and taste of love
sublime.
And at break of day let love
change its cloak and come in
the form of rays, to provoke
desire and passion throughout
our given days.
Sorry probs with PC can't comment
or soupmail at moment will catch up
Categories:
hand over, lovelove,
Form:
I am seated under a tree that sings
With my guitar on hand over one knee
The tree is singing with me with glee
And I keep on strumming where my heart clings.
Categories:
hand over, song, tree,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
She looks so fragile. Her posture, usually so straight and confident, is hunched. Her eyes - those brilliant sapphire-blue eyes that captivated my dad thirty years ago - are a tear-softened turquoise behind black-rimmed glasses. She stares blankly out the window, seeing something I don't. Watching memories, perhaps.
My mum, the strongest woman I know, looks breakable.
the old cherry clock
ticks away broken heartbeats --
splash of crimson wine
I sit beside her and place my hand over her smaller, trembling one. It's the only comfort she will accept. She is my mother. She is supposed to be strong for me, not the other way around. That's what she would say. So I sit beside her helplessly, holding her tiny hand.
She has lost her mother tonight. And I can only hope that, someday, I will have a child to hold my hand when I lose this woman I love so dearly.
Categories:
hand over, family, love, mother,
Form:
Haibun
She closed her hand over it
Tightly, oh, so tightly
Wanting to keep it
THIS TIME
She wouldn't let it fly away
As the others had done before
She felt the beating of butterfly wings
Against the inside of her palm
She giggled
Taking a quick peek
Between her prison fingers
To see again
The beauty
Of the Monarch butterfly
How she longed to keep it…forever
To look at its beauty
Whenever she was sad
Which happened to be
Quite often...
Maybe because she wanted to fly away
And could not
That she wanted the company
Of that beautiful flitting thing
The frantic movement was getting less
She sat down on a rock
And took another peek
He was still there
Trying to get out
He almost squeezed through
But she closed him in again
Another butterfly
Danced about her face
Almost alighting on her knee
With her sudden motion of glee
It then flew to a waiting flower
Pausing in the sunlight
To show off its brilliant colors
Then it took flight
Pretty and light
Like her dreams at night
For the first time
A little pain came to her chest
As a truth began to dawn
Her little captive was meant to fly
To be free
She mustn't keep it long
As a childish tear or two
Gathered in the corners
Of her pretty brown eyes
Lingering on her dark lashes
She slowly opened her hands
Only to see
Butterfly colored fingers
Moist and wet
Where a butterfly lay dead
In the cradle of her palm
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
hand over, beauty, butterfly,
Form:
Free verse
Alone he sat on the cold soft sand
Gazing at the ocean
Reflecting on his life
Overcome with emotion
His dad left when he was young
Never to return
His mother checked out slowly
It was the bottle she did yearn
There were no meals on the table
No heating or warm clothes in a drawer
Mums asleep on the couch again
Empty bottles on the floor
His mother gradually wasted away
Her eyes became yellow and blank
She no longer knew her son
From all the poison she drank
She died a horrible death
At fourteen he was all alone
No-one to turn to
Nowhere to call home
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Years passed by ….now a man
Sitting on the beach
Tears rolled down his face
As for his bottle he did reach
His life had been a struggle
As long as he could recall
Never having being nurtured
Or ever knowing love at all
He tried to do it right
Be a good and decent man
The demons inside his head
Silenced only by the bottle or can
He led a solitude life
Had nothing to call his own
Felt helpless and lost
Ostracised and alone
As he sat on the beach
Looking up at the stars
He was angry and sobbed heavily
Triggered by demons and scars
The hurt he suffered was intolerable
He placed his hand over his heart
Fell backwards in the sand
Only then did hand and bottle part!
~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He looks at her sweet young face
He’s filled with loving pride
As she listens to the story
Snuggling closer into his side
He watches his wife potter in the kitchen
Glowing as again with child
She glances over at him
Giving a loving smile
He feels complete fulfilment
He now knows what it’s like to be loved
To have family and be whole
Present …..No longer drugged!
It’s been nearly eight years since he touched the bottle
Turned his life around
Finally breaking that cycle
So future generations
Can walk on sober ground!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Categories:
hand over, addiction, change, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
ALIEN
Someone came to my room last night
An alien, I am sure, in frisson of delight
He crumbled on my dilly springbok breasts
And kissed my **** between love and rests
He was good at love, so how could I fight?
He was from a planetoid, a quicksilver lake
He stopped by my humble hut and saw me awake
He never thought of amber swan up for a take
He smiled like an early bird and put out the light
He was good at love, so how could I fight?
He had a wispy whisper to tell his tale
Which began in a Blanagram and ended in a whale
“My little Mary sunshine my hands go downhill
You are an earthling a cure for alien spill
You are a maritime dream of red sea squill”
I burst at the seams, a jiggery-pokery prank, a twist
Our love went on hand in hand and hand over fist
I sang a willow’s song “How a maid can milk a bull!”
I had no hammer, a chisel, a drake or a drool
But he was good at love, How could I resist?
Next day I bled and I was fresh as tart
I slept with an alien and took other's part
After all he was right, he lost his star chart.
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
27th October, 2014
Categories:
hand over, allegory, symbolism,
Form:
Rhyme
Where are you lingering?
you hide your fiery trail;
inspiration gleaming bright
grows dim and deathly pale.
Secret whispered phrases,
hand over mouth are held
captive in a stagnant soul,
pure drops in fountains failed.
Beyond release tormented,
behind restraining bars
waiting for the night to swell
and birth abundant stars.
Copyright, September 27, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
hand over, muse, poetry,
Form:
Quatrain
Tell me your reasons and I shall tell you mine; never ceasing stories, but!?
Sheltered as a child and kept from the world, to soothe anothers scars....
Crippled through time these lives; life, psychologically mauled in maimed
Precipitations blades, leading the way while as carving stones of gray's
Jetison retro metros hand over fist in, contemporaries fit; this ice age rain?!
Tears pouring from blood red clouds these pools of pain to walk their plank....
Pirates of the Caribbean playing cowboys and indians again; falling stars
Upon terrestrials planes, with their prehistoric stones shaped like guns and bows
Taking aim amid the night of celestial sorrows from whence, they came!?
Ancients heavenly spirit now gathering the winds atop times turbulent waters
Of crimsons crashing unto the carnelian reef of what was; hearts that bled
In yesteryears fears like icicles piercing their eyes, to shatter loves dreams....
Tell me your reasons divination and I shall tell you mine; this soothing sea
Menhir's painted carmine whispers from beyound the mystic, torn veil?!
Angels dusting bejeweled crowns as passage beckons; this beacon
Calling unto the once lost children of light, tis time to come home....
Put away the guns and arrows and swords and bows; tears, upon fading shores ~
********************************************************************
....“Kings & Queens II” *
Categories:
hand over, hope, life, love, me,
Form: