Best Hang About Poems
As last surviving acorn,
I hang about all day.
My skin is smooth and swarthy
Beneath a chic beret.
Horse chestnuts call me puny
But I don’t really care
For Mother shared a secret
Of which they’re unaware.
She said ‘Son just be patient
And hold your head up high
For one day you’ll have branches
That reach up to the sky.
The birds will serenade you
Throughout your lifelong days
And you’ll provide a shelter
For squirrels in their dreys.
Though wintry winds may batter,
We oaks will stand our ground
And one day, little acorn
Your splendour will astound.’
So now if others mock me
And label me a joke,
I chuckle, knowing some day
I’ll be that mighty oak.
18.04.20
The Last Acorn Poetry Contest -sponsored by John Lawless
Once upon an ancient time,
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
in lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute,
‘twas then the mighty Big Mac got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods,
and stars made white the sky,
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
sat on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
a certain...
Il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it was this green thing from a jar.
But Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he gave a little tickle,
the burger gave a little laugh and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of midnight burger buggery.
Her heart has just said that
It has found the one
That it wants to settle with.
So in anticipation of the day
She will have to hang about
In a life that she would
To a certain extent do without.
For the existence that she previously knew
And dipped her toes into
Would only make the birth
Of courtship she now desires
End up in a swell of sand.
She knows that it would take years
For her soul companion
To comprehend that her
Life in now fixed Just for him
And in the closing stages he may not
Agree with the amount of
Selflessness for such an individual,
Thus may even end up walking away
From such a surprising scene.
In her heart she also knows
That the life that she
Lives on this life altering hours
Will never make him even
Imagine of staying, for he has such morals
That just makes her seem to be a stray.
So to that new life that she is going
To set on herself today
She shall at slightest have
The smallest amount of chances
to be in his hands until the end of instant.
This now gives her everlasting hope
To live until that last day.
Lullaby IV
I wish, one time, to ride
across the years to you
upon the back of the coal black mare
whose hooves are indigo hue
once there I’ll hang about your neck
hold you fast to me;
make you swear on our true love
you’ll ne’er return to the sea.
The Debate
as i sit upon my porch
the red orange sun dying like a torch
the strangest conversation i overheard
a spider and a mantis speaking words
says spider to mantis
“how do you sit about all day,
without a place to stay?
is that really how you prey?”
says mantis to spider
“why do you hang about that way,
just to be busy all day?
is that really how you play?”
arachnid responds
“i am resourceful i'll use any corner for my lair,
when it’s complete i hide and wait there.
infinity in my web i balance
i feel it vibrate and then i pounce!
Miss Mantis your life is dull and dreary,
you need a web like me my deary!”
cousin of the roach replies
“i am patient and intuitively calm,
i sit like a leaf without a qualm,
i meditate about the simplest things,
then i strike with sharpened springs!
Miss Spider you're the boring one,
i travel with the wind just for fun!”
the mantis sitting the spider doing
the spider spinning the mantis knowing
winds of eternity flow and ebb
the mantis praying in the spider's web
The Death of my Town
(for Bradford, West Yorkshire, England)
At first I was self-righteous and held the moral high ground
On approaching the imminent death of my town
Some days I would observe and shake my head
And say loudly “You know, I think my town might be dead!”
Looks on faces say should I no longer care?
What can we do for the people out there?
But the Town Hall had a plan
There was some government money in the pan
Which they spent on a big pond in the ground
To fill with water, applaud themselves and stand around
And that was supposed to revive our town
Bring it back to life so we could once again be proud
Visitors would flock from miles around
To bask in the renewing of my town
Which would filter round and round
Dragging us all up off the ground
Despite their plans, I did not know
Just how quickly the death would take
As I watched as the town’s thinning corpse
Wither away....and start to decay
I could not know how I would feel
When its lifeless body was at last laid out
That I no longer had the strength to shout
Or believe in those who had told us to be proud
But its people still hang about
Without the means or strength to leave
So they try to drown out the death of their town
By drinking and drinking and drinking until they fall down
And to those who were paid to save it and did not
But stand by and let it fall down
Wasting all that money
On a pond in the ground
I must believe the day will come
When they must pay for what they have done
At best competent
At worst nowt’
Because I refuse to understand
That all they could offer was a hole in the ground
To prevent the death of my once loved town
Trapping all those around
Whilst their confidence rang out so loud
Telling us all we had so much for to be proud
But knowing they were simply
Cursing us all to life in a dead town
Although I believe they can still get out.....
This is a true story- no names have been changed to protect the idiot........
Nb- * - a car bonnet is a hood in the United states.
** - censored.
On my way back from the pub
(since real ale is my passion)
slowly wending my way home
in a wibbly-wobbly fashion
in the road sat something small-
I almost passed it by,
camouflaged in darkness
by a cloudy moonless sky.
I could tell it was a Hedgehog
simply by it's silhouette,
and if it didn't move real soon
would get squashed flat, I'll bet.
Just then a hundred yards away
a pair of lights appeared
heading our way at a pace
exactly as I'd feared.
Instinct kicked in, and out I leapt
to the middle of the road
waving my arms frantically as
I switched to 'Hero' mode.
He hit the brakes just feet away
and wound his window down
"get out the way, you Prat!" he yelled
but I just pointed down, and said
"Hedgehog!!" (which he couldn't see,
his bonnet* was in the way),
"Just hang on while I shift it, mate"
was all that I could say.
So, bending down to rescue it
still sat between my feet
my heart sank as I focussed in
then finally missed a beat.
The Hedgehog I had risked my life
to save it by removing
was, in fact, from off a washing machine
a piece of rubber tubing.
Not wishing too look foolish
I just hid it with my sleeves
and slowly walked off to the kerb,
the car began to leave.
Angrily into the air I kicked the pipe before me,
a big mistake- in his rear view mirror
the car driver he saw me,
and hit the brakes, then jumped out yelling
( I remember, although quite plastered)
"That's cruelty to an animal! Come here, you heartless person** !
In hot pursuit back up the road
he came- the chase was on,
I wasn't going to hang about, in seconds I was gone,
vaulting over garden walls and dodging through the gates
then out of breath I hid myself, till he had gone, I'd wait.
Mud splattered with my trousers torn I reached home, panic over,
the ordeal I'd just been through was a great way to get sober.
So next time wildlife is in peril, maybe I won't hurry,
I'll carry on and stagger home-
let Mother Nature worry.
Quizmasters often test mentalities,
by asking folks to name pluralities,
of things of many different sorts.
Like, soldiers might be called 'cohorts'.
There are 'flights' of geese and jets and stairs,
my socks are sometimes found in 'pairs'.
A young girl's curls could hang in 'bangs',
and crooks might hang about in 'gangs'.
Such gangs could join to form a 'mafia',
alas that only rhymes with 'raffia'.
Apes, as you'd know, can make a 'shrewdness',
could rednecks joined become a 'rudeness'?
And though Collingwood fans are two a penny,
more than one is just 'Too Bloody Many'.
Unless you have been in the same pub or football ground with Collingwood fans, or on the same train or tram or continent, you will never understand.
Strands of dried leaves that
hang about your neck,
they dance with each motion,
their bodies rustle in wonder.
Did you notice the stripes
on the bathroom walls?
Orange, cream,
rotten green,
shivering in the electric air.
My hands find the ground,
hard and cold,
they count each tile.
Three-hundred-thirty-five.
The interwoven lines that the tiles create
form the grid of life.
I am sitting on square
two-hundred-twenty-three.
Only a few left to conquer
until my trivial existence
is at an end.
More than a man, the south made.
Black and white, south one started,
great oaks refused no man a child
to hang about it, call dark christmas.
Hallow was a name, old now hollow.
Stigma inside wears grey cotton
memories, alive die uncompensated.
Here, electricity has that sick sweet
smell about it, as if it were once alive.
While morality, debates in pockets
of isolated votes packed together.
Is It Poetry
FIRE, FIRE
The house is burning round me,
There’s no time to hang about.
Just enough for me to get
A few essentials out.
First, up to the bathroom
To collect my medications.
To a lifelong hypochondriac,
They’re vital preparations.
Next, the photo albums;
I just can’t let them burn.
My life recorded through a lens,
Through every twist and turn.
The car is parked close to the house;
I’m afraid it might explode.
So I have to find the car keys,
To move it down the road.
My fire insurance policy
Covers such a fate.
I’d better take that with me,
To prove it’s up to date.
I have to take my cell phone;
It’s full if information.
A phone book and a Filofax,
My life’s organisation.
I’ve put my warmest coat on,
Although the weather’s sunny.
Well, my wallet’s in the pocket,
Full of credit cards and money.
And, lastly, my computer,
To keep me in the loop,
And make sure I can enter
This poem in Poetry Soup.
Beware women, my son.
They try to get you.
With 'I love you'
Not true.
Beware alcohol my son.
It's made to ensnare.
It makes you vague.
Avoid it like the plague.
Beware false friends my son.
Choose with care.
Those, who your life, share.
You will be judged by who.
They are.
Beware of the gang my son.
With them, don't hang about.
Stand alone, and shout.
I am a man.
Beware money my son.
Greed, robbery and vice.
The fruits of this device.
Use with care.
Have some, to spare?
Give it to me, my son.
...................................
.
Think of it this way
All illnesses make our body sick
Some can kill you others just make you just miserable for a while
All need healing
The same can be a state of sins
Some sins can cause us to lose our eternal lives
Others just delay our entry to Heaven
The makes a distinction between mortal and venial sins
The same can be a state of sins
Some sins can cause us to lose our eternal lives
Others just delay our entry to Heaven
The makes a distinction between mortal and venial sins
Mortal sin is a deliberate
Intentional
Or on purpose turning away from God
His laws
Mortal sin is to must be a grave
Or serious choice against God
Sinner must be aware of how bad it is but choose to do it anyway
On the other hand
venial sin is falling short of our obligations to God
Others without completely turning from God
It is like loitering
wait
Or hang about the road to heaven versus taking one that leads away from it
The good news is that no matter how lost we get
God will always take us back through the Sacrament of Reconciliation orunderstanding (Confession).
Most people unabashedly cultivate this art
For rising on the ladder of progression fast
Never mind debasing oneself in the court
And act audaciously putting aside all doubt.
They are singularly motivated by self-interest
That guides their path through the conglomerate
With honey in the mouth and a smile on the lips
Attract everyone around using suitable tactics.
Never tired of taking rounds to appease the boss
Forever full of praise for traits he doesn’t possess
Extolling his missing virtues in front of others
An art by itself very few really can have access.
It allows rising incredibly fast in the hierarchy
This is seldom possible through the routine way
That makes this art temptingly charming utterly
Very few can cultivate this aptitude so superbly.
The ill-equipped ones with acerbic tongues
Can never ever dream of acquiring such skills
Despite owning ample talent and adeptness
Certainly hang about on the back of progress.
Vagrant thoughts
Hang about the corners
Of my mind
Idly tormenting each other
Daring
At least one
To take hold
Take shape
Cast a shadow
On the unknown.
©4/19/2023
Writing Contest - 'V' Words Poetry Contest
Constance LaFrance - sponsor