Best Hanging Poems
A funny thing happened on the way to my hanging
Couldn't sleep the night before my head was banging
I was innocent of a crime that I did not commit
But they roughed me up and got me to admit.
The face on the wanted posters said it was me
Anyone seeing those posters would be inclined to agree
I was in a horse drawn prison wagon with bars down the side
Thinking to myself, it will be my last ever ride.
Heading for the gallows then onto Boot hill
To pay for shooting a bank teller that I didn't kill
Two miles from the town all hell did break loose
Unbeknownst to me I'd be dodging the noose.
For ten desperados' brought the wagon to stop
Then ordered the guards, their weapons they drop
Some gang members got me out and they set me free
The gang leader approached and he looked just like me.
He said " in this life you look out for your own "
Then he told me something that I hadn't known
" We were Separated at birth and we had the same mother "
And that this mean desperado was in fact my twin brother .
" We heard that you'd been framed for our crime spree
But you are my brother and that's why we've set you free.
The teller had died because he went for his gun
We grabbed all the money and went on the run ".
He gave me some money and said " start a new life "
Told me head south, settle down and find a good wife
There was so much I wanted to ask him and so much to say
My brother said " some other time, best be on your way " .
Written on 4th July 2018.
For a funny thing happened on the way to...poetry contest, sponsored by Robert Haigh.
The jury was unanimous
Twelve cried out justice
Guilty
It was just before the changing hour
The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so
The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance
The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection
I was ready for this moment
Ready to face my freedom and my death
Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces
Twelve faces who said I have to go
Twelve past the midnight hour
Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours
Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed
The hangman at the ready with a somber face
For his duties he did not so much embrace
This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort
Of spirit and determination
To send this one of to his eternal damnation
He was shivering and I sensed in fear
As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror
We both eye to eye knew this day would come
The hangman and me, conscious of the sum
So the note was neatly written
The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor
I stood bravely or maybe cowardly
Upon the wooden chair
The rope I wrapped around I my neck
As the hangman in the mirror was in despair
I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend
This, you see is the end of it all
All that we ever both wished or dreamed
A week or two later
They found the hangman
A rope around his neck
Staring blanking in the mirror
A note on the bedside table
Told this story as you hear
A man with a broken heart
Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection
HANGING BY A THREAD - COLLABORATION WITH DARREN WHITE
I felt my life hanging by a thread
The tip of your sword piercing my heart
My mind screamed words my mouth couldn't say
The unfairness of it plain in the dark night
And through it all the sharpness of your mind
That once attracted me, like moths are drawn to flames
Dance fiercely around, burn to ashes,
Nothing remains but shallow husk, and tears
Replacing trust that once shone bright
Your deceitful words are now unveiled
Your true nature open for all to contemplate
You can't hide in the shadows anymore
No more I say, enough of your cold-bloodedness
So callous. My moth will be a butterfly;
This crying creature of the night
Will shed it's cocoon and step into the light
And as is my right, I'll conquer the skies
No more crawling for me
I was born to fly High
April 18th, 2017
By Darren White and Claudia Polydoro
Salem
_________________________________________
Unrest of spirit churns behind thy door,
the sin interned therein is quarrelsome
No "witch" that thou hast burned serves to restore
the pitch that has upturned thy moral plumb
Forego thy demons, none would be found here
Such guile belies the pleasure of the young
Until thy trials should rise of fact, not fear,
so will thy measure see the pious hung
_________________________________________
Date: 11/14/2018
Sponsor: Julia Ward
contest: Unrest of Spirit
Dedicated to a fine poet on soup, Lin Lane
-------------------------------------------------
I shook hands with my brother and bade him farewell
Then set off on my journey away from this hell
Mexico I’d head for and buy a small farm
Meanwhile back in town the guards raised the alarm.
A posse they assembled to help track me down
But saw some Apaches and hightailed it back to town
It was far from over, the Pinkertons were brought in
Determined they were, to carry out the hanging.
After three days riding my horse became lame
It slowed down my escape that made me fair game
Sold my horse at Santa Fe and boarded a train
Vowed I’d never come back to America again.
Two whole years went by and I was living free
Thought they’ve given up now, they’ll never find me
Bought a farm, met a girl, a beautiful senorita
Had two children both girls, Anna and Conchita.
One day I went to town to buy some supplies
The Pinkertons were there, I couldn’t believe my eyes
They arrested me at gunpoint and they took me to jail
I strongly protested my innocence but to no avail.
Spent a week in the jail while they sorted deportation
Paperwork completed, headed for the railroad station
After a long journey we arrived back in Colorado
They had the noose ready, they were raring to go.
All over the state the news was all about me
The Pinkertons just loved their new found glory
The night before the hanging I heard guns blazing
What happened after that was truly amazing.
About a hundred desperado's invaded the town
Burst into the jail and told me to lie down
The sound was deafening as they shot at the lock
The Pinkertons stood speechless, they were in shock.
I went out into the street and a voice said to me
“We only found out because of the publicity”
Then out of the shadows came a face I knew well
My twin brother once more had rescued me from hell.
He said “join our gang and we’ll ride far away”
I said “crimes not for me and one day you’ll pay”
Rode back to Mexico to round up my family
Then headed to Brazil where I now live and I’m free.
Lin suggested a part deux so I was inspired to write a sequel, thanks Lin.
Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of
Destiny’s say.
On judgment hill from on high,
Voices do echo downwards, as the
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
Hangman's tree.
These gallows, of oaken branches, act as tethers,
Shackles, holding the forsaken, souls prisoner.
Ghost phantoms cling, to it's rotten limbs,
That break beneath times endless rampage.
Regrets fallen horsemen, of the old west,
Stand guard, sentinels on horse back,
Wearing a tarnished tin star.
God's law keepers, are branded, sworn,
By their honor, to protect even after death,
The gates of heaven, from this spawn of hell.
Beware evil desperadoes, no mercy will
This the lord's posses show unto you,
For these riders bare a different mark.
A silver cross of justice, given by
The Almighty’s hand himself.
Say thy prayers, all lawless men,
For on this day, does the rope tighten,
Around your neck, there is no reprieve,
No salvation for evils deceit.
Hell bound are thou, the devils breed.
But beware, there is no escape,
From this grave site.
At dawns first light, as it spreads
Across the western horizon.
Know that yee, are one of many spirits
Doomed, to be weaved within the
Tangled limbs, called the hang
Mans tree.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I’m on the verge of losing everything
as lashing tears are thrashing ‘gainst the night
and mournful notes of black rose petals sing
from wells so deep they’ve never seen the light.
My come to Jesus moment on my knees,
I’m at your mercy in my darkest hour.
In desperation hear my praise and pleas,
the moody gloom surrounding me is dour.
These thorny thoughts of you won’t let me loose
and breathing is a fight I might not win.
High hopes and dreams in broken promise noose
from rope of human nature and of sin.
In woeful rhythm beaten heart does beat ~
my blood does sing the blues of your deceit.
Don't leave me hanging sis!
I came out of nowhere with an agenda on the mind
Joining the soup to be near my favorite love
a game I did not plan to play
Until he called upon the first round.
giving it my best shot
Then came round three and more.
The poets here I started to explore
Not taking my poetry seriously
The writing just happens naturally
now I see why she visits everyone at the soup.
My sister who puts on a show with words
Is adored by her very own group
the Destroyer was my pet name
She gave me when I was young
So envious of her, I broke the head of her only dolls.
using her poetry was the way she tortured me
Inside me, she bestowed a poet of mischief
Now I like to tease everyone mind with words
I hate this poem..... Lol..don't read it... It was a joking way back then
(((for contest**Leave me hanging)))
I was young and innocent and I only had eyes for you
You were my constant companion the whole day through
But you fell into a puddle and mum hurried you away
I was oh so sad, I cried and cried so much that day
I found you hiding from me, high up on the washing line
Pegged up by your ears, but my teddy now looked fine
When I look through old photos its plain for all to see
‘Lying on teddy’ you really meant the world to me
21st June 2015
Penned after looking through old photos of me from aged about two
My teddy bear was called lying on teddy because I used to lie on him in my sleep and he went from a cuddly round bear to a flat bear
Don't leave me hanging sis !
I came out of no where with an agenda on the mind.
Joining the soup to be near my favorite one
knowing she is not hard to find
a game I did not plan to play
Until he called upon the first round.
giving it my best shot
than came round three and more.
The poets here I started to explore
Not taking my poetry seriously
The writing just happen naturally
now I see why she visits everyone at the soup.
My sister who puts on a show with words
Is adored by her very own group
the Destroyer was my pet name
She gave me when I was young
So envious of her, I broke the head of her only dolls.
using her poetry was the way she tortured me
sitting me down while she read me her stuff.
Inside me she bestowed a poet of mischief
Now I like to tease everyones mind with words
I hate this poem..... Lol..don't read it... It was a joke way back than
(((for contest**Leave me hanging)))
The Enquiry
Is over
They did not find
the missing and murdered
whatever
they were looking for
But every woman knows
Why
There are so many
missing and murdered
Aboriginal women
As every woman knows
Why
There will never be
an Enquiry
into the men
who murder women
June 5th, 2019
I was pulled from a swimming pool when I was 7 years old
gasping, frightened, cold
must learn to be water safe before I go in over my head
I was struck by a car when I was 9
bruised, shaken, embarrassed, but very much alive
must learn to look both ways
I was told my pneumonia was touch and go when I was 14
I'd never seen a doctor look so worried before
must learn to rest
I took a corner too fast on my bike when I was 17
cut, bleeding, startled
must learn to ride more slowly around corners
I was rescued by a lifeguard at the beach when I was 22
frightened by the immense power of the ocean currents
must learn to respect the rip tide
I was thankful for the seatbelt in a collision when I was 28
rattled by the poor judgement of the drunk driver
must learn to drive defensively and never presume safety
I emerged unscratched after spinning 360 on a wet freeway at 47
protected by a guardian angel from a potential fatality
must learn to check my tire treads and drive slowly
Not knowing the preciousness of life
until it was nearly snatched away
dear life, I love you so!
written 3 Aug 2020
It is madness how I write my poetry,
Around me mountains of paper collect;
By candlelight I write with pure insanity,
Until I hang on a cliff of a poem perfect.
It is desperation that I seek the last line,
Oh, mighty peak of sweet writing bliss;
The ecstasy and passion like a red wine,
My pen drips but I am lost in an abyss.
It is craziness how I write in a frenzy,
Around me piles of books are tumbling;
By dawns glow I pen in mad lunacy,
Until I stand on a crag- words drifting,
It is mania how I write my poetry,
Oh, euphoria when my muse is on fire;
All day I ponder my words carefully,
And all so my poem you will admire.
__________________
May 16, 2016
Poetry/Rhyme/Hanging On A High Cliff
Copyright Protected, ID 16-7911-63-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Lately, nothing seems to be going right.
Sorrow spills from my heart every night.
Try as I might, I simply fail to understand
why my tears gather like grains of sand.
I'm hanging on for dear life, but how I miss
the love we shared. I've fallen into an abyss,
and in the distance I watch the sun as it sets,
filled with forlorn emotions and rueful regrets.
I've lost my verve for living and paying the price
for listening to my sad heart's quixotic advice.
I found my tree long ago.
It didn't matter who touched it first,
Because I truly felt the tree.
I felt its life,I felt its age.
I felt its sorrows,I felt its pain
It could not speak,but I heard its voice.
It was deep,and thundering,the result of rain and sun
Over a hundred years.
I left my tree,with a thousand memories.
As years past,I grew old,like the tree I found long ago.
I returned to my tree,to finish a task never forgotten.
As I placed my hand where I had placed it long before.
I felt its life,I felt its pain.
It mirrored my own
This time I understood its message.
I sat beneath its canopy,
Weaving a rope.
Weaving a rope made out of my failures,
My lost hopes,my forgotten dreams.
I stepped out,seeing the moon,hearing the stars, realizing I was alone.
A chill ran down my spine,a tear down my face.
I turn around,
And look at my tree,
My nowhere tree.
I see that it weathered the test of time,
Not without harm.
I could see broken branches,withered roots.
I could see the marks that man had left on its surface,cutting it to fit his needs
But still,the tree held strong.
Held firm by its deep roots,supple even in strong winds.
I step back under the canopy of a million leaves,each one special.
I wrapped my arms around my tree,smelling its fresh scent.
I realized that it was free,even when cursed with immovability
Its roots stretched down to hell
Its branches up to heaven.
It was persistent,with roots of knives.
Stone crumbles beneath its never ending advancement.
Its leaves block the sun,soaking up all of its light.
On the ground was a lifetime of leaves
Deep and soft.
I lay down to sleep,knowing I was protected.