Best Hangs Poems
She hangs from the beams from way up above,
Sways not making a sound,
Patiently waits to be noticed by me,
Patiently waits to be found,
With sun pouring through the hole in the wall,
Pouring all over her torn,
Her beautifully dark, broken down clothes,
Her clothes that she had once worn,
And she looks straight ahead, not budging her stare,
A smile escaping her cage,
A smile that’s not even meant to be seen,
A smile that hides all her rage,
And I sit, all alone, watching her hang,
My beautiful obedient slave,
My black and white painting of love on the wall,
In my studio, my office, my cave.
Yesterday's love is lost to time
Buried upon the hill I climb
Her name is etched in marble stone
By her grave, I hung a wind chime
To dance with the winds that now moan
Each day, anguish and pain I own
I picture her face with each tear
Revealed when I'm at her tombstone
Where her voice is soft, yet I hear
This imagined sound I revere
The pain in my heart will not mend
Takes me to a madness I fear
The timeline of life can not bend
So in my night dreams, I pretend
Where we go through time and relive
There I will stay until my end
mist hangs her body
close to his softness blending
early morning chill
separated no longer
hardness enters disappears
(February 9, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Old Salley faces gallows.
Will she eat Jail gruel?
Will monks pray?
Hung up my saddle and its reins
Now I'll count the losses and gains
My reputation's got some stains
I've still got Texas in my veins
I got old with some aches and pains
My knees creak whenever it rains
I know horses from tails to manes
I know each brand upon the plains
I know nothin' of Jills and Janes
It seems too much for one man's brains
Don't mean to be one who complains
Wish I'd married and wore the chains
Now my life's goin' down the drains
Thinkin' on it gives me the strains
But honky-tonks still play refrains
They still make whisky from the grains
11-13-20
instead of solving problem
we in generally puzzle the problem more
so probable solution goes out of hand
fighting with the problem gives
more experience for future
to pave along to stronger world
problem continues and will continue forever
individual perfection needs less effort
but collective perfection is not easy
so until whole perfection along with all is got
social human life hangs in uncertainty
Victory !!! – Bitter Sweet
A David and Goliath day !
I got to see and feel a just way
handed down by a court of this land
as questioning – evidence presented by this hand
lead the judge to find in my favour,
against I.C.B.C. - lawyer Karen Curtis – to savour
the taste of this win left very little flavour,
for I felt that it was a hollow victory
as I walked home feeling no glory.
My Past hangs .
In eight by tens, upon the four walls of my room.
In three and a half by fives, on pages of my books of history,
accompanied by notes, letters, cards that soon
will reach seventy three volumes, telling the story
of experiences, of memories, of life one once did live
in the dreams of light and the nightmares of dark.
A life, in which, little did I have to give.
The desire of the dream and reality, in comparison, very stark
The Future ???
Images rippling across the distorted surfaces of mirrors
that are hidden behind so many closed doors,
that lie buried before the eyes of one’s life,
as time slices into tiny pieces, with its keen knife,
the rainbow colours that hang in the sun, like spider webs
as the shadows, the light, drift in and out, ebbs
and flows towards places no one knows
and on and on… and on it goes.
These veiled dreams of ones days, hope for gayety of ones heart,
a desire for change, for gain, to find a brand new start.
The Present .
Silent, empty moments, flashes of brilliant light reflected
upon the corneas of the mind’s eye, seldom, if ever, detected,
a brief glimpse of, – then quickly vaporized – that is infected
with viruses from the past, the future, the present passing by.
Which is it that finds me ?, and just where ?, stands I ?,
as thoughts about take wing and sour on high.
B. J. “A ” 2
April 2nd 2003
Beads of scarlet salvation
did flow down from Calvary
that dark day
Pilate light justice
was on total eclipse display
At the Golgotha place
A skull view
twas the Crucifixion perspective
“Abandon all hope”
was the Roman Legion directive
Crimson gold stained the nails,
which fastened that precious body
(of a Passover Lamb)
to the cross
In torturous fashion,
taunts hurled was the mob hobby
Ever thus did they venom rail
Obsequious Caesar squawks [so war eagle]
would coin crow
to pennywise show the Prince of Peace
who was boss
Fear and dismay
crushed trembling thoughts
held by vigil hands —
Grieved disciple Master plans
Wondrous expectations began
to slowly fade,
til the quarter mark
after noonday
There at the point of last breath,
certain death
was the only Nazarene sign
firmament given
The burial was of Jonah depth,
and son of Amittai length
Upon the third day,
the ewe resolve of a few faithful women
not once did stray
The blessed Eden hope,
which cruelly hung on a cross,
did Resurrection elope
when the tombstone got tossed
The betrothed bride New Jerusalem,
with pearly gate pride,
saith to all who drink
the blood of diVine:
“Jesus Christ, the Water of Life ...
the apple of God’s eye,
gives a passionfruit paradise welcome”
watching with deep look
in the bridge of nature's life
needs life hangs to pave
In a dark, dark room
Is where the monsters come out to play
Zombies & vampires,
Won't Buffy have a lot to slay?
In a dark, dark room
Is the monster night club
Alcoholic blood and brains,
What a great hang!
In a dark, dark room,
You're here to stay
I am misunderstood and distracted
I am empty and cold waters
I am frustrated and it shows in my sighs, in my silence, and in my answer to everything
My space is too narrow
My company is too focused
As my words are far too dark for vision
I am a lost thought in love,
Like forever chasing a wind
I am tomorrow’s sunlight beating down like heavy reasons and lies
I am a long story with no point,
And no place to go
I am a wasted note of hope,
With hours of writing on my wall.
I am quiet rain that stains the window with sadness.
I am all the things I shouldn’t be,
With a heavy heart to remind me,
I am without my most precious things
I used to ride from dark to dark
For wages that were thin
Then saunter up to Shorty's bar
And he'd say."Where you been?"
I'd drink a lot and tell some lies
'Til I got drunk of course
When I ran out of cold hard cash
They'd put me on my horse
Then one day my hair turned silver
I lost a step or two
I thought about how much I'd learned
Surprised how much I knew
I hung up my spurs, coiled my rope
Threw my hat in the ring
Got elected to our congress
It was a wondrous thing
I think of Shorty now and then
And I still tell some lies
But I get paid for doin' that -
Nice to be old and wise
6-8-19
Contest:A Contest on Aging
Sponsor:Emile Pinet
~ Passionate, sweet, true ...
yet no other,
finds this heart ... of worth. ~
The moon hangs lonely
I smile and give it a wink
Just another day
Enter Your Own Competition Poetry Contest/Winner(2nd Place)
Sponsored by: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Date written and posted: 09/08/2017
Here's the slogan, which hangs over my bed.
"Intimacy, my friends, do not propose to me.
I hate an intimacy, my preference instead,
The grouping sex, of five, of four or three."