Best Hankered Poems
A subtle march hush saddles the valley
whilst dawn’s reveille is the seagulls call
staid water’s brim against ancient galley
once flew the ensign how the mighty fall.
For here she lie ‘o’ top of salty graves
where wretched souls ne’er see another day
their silver horizon the restless waves
that howls the sirens song of doubtful bay.
Long gone the storm the cries of emotion
of those whom hankered for a better life
yet still the tempest doth rule the ocean
to take at will the rights of man and wife.
Gone the prisoners of her majesty
damned to the colonies over the sea
the bay holds no bars grants them amnesty
their spirits to roam the ocean floor free.
There’s no one left to wail or shed a tear
to pen a shanty of that tragic hour
nor weave a poem of hysterical fear
build a monolith a marble tower.
21/06/2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
She had a gothic heart,
predictability and tamming tranquility were her counterparts,
she felt pain as gain,
peace was nettlesome and purposeless,
an abomination that careless civilization is undeserving of,
life is best consumed in confrontation,
within her magnificent mind God's value gravitated toward the power of volatility,
instability as instinct,
truth is permenance in transition,
Victoria believed that divinity as a mystery unsolved is more exhilerating
than explication or epiphany leading to the extinction
of curiosity's reign,
Victoria knew that law and politics are nothing more than an imposition
by the few heaved upon the many,a yoke of oppressive genius,
Victoria, a child of love betrayed,a woman of courage displayed
thought toughly & tenderly about the potential of mercy,
an enviable Empress,
compassion and kindness were complimentary components
to her dangerous disposition as hawkish talons
may be employed for feeding of fighting,
she developed into a clandestine warrior of natural necessity,
this world would either waste her
or she would wound the witnessed wickedness,
there was no harmony to be hankered for,life is a war of wills & wits,
espionage,diplomacy,truces,tributes and trounces always in the making,
Victoria loved God like a woman loves the anguish of pregnancy,
Victoria had a passion and a pity
for the Creator responsible for her awakening -
J.A.B.
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in ’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and told, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at Buzzard’s Breath.
The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la Tart”.
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the mother lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, “Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! boys, git the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the earth, and the heat increased by day.
Buzzard’s Breath became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
Last night I met an old boxer in an alley of cardboard; he seemed glad to see me,
shouted me over for a fight, I told him ‘Hey mate, I’m not in your league’
‘Young man.’ He said with glint of victory in his solid brown eyes. ‘That’s alright,
I suppose you’re going to leave cos the forecast is for rain, you in your fine mansion, mine here, just a bloody pain. But then I guess, that’s okay for a foolish old tramp.’
lonesome sadness blues
through the lips of the city…
the eyes are windows
He told me ‘What’s the price of glory if one is shackled to the past. Even my wife left me, took my purse in pursuit of another man. To think I really loved her, gave her all that I could, the witch hankered for the final count, then left me where I stood’ He rambles on discursively ‘One day I’ll roam within my native Devon, where I’ll chase those illusive dreams back into heaven. Its years of abusing whisky years of perpetual hoar frosts that hones this savage beast.’
this fight on its knees
many blind eyes a mismatch…
all have a story
‘How do you think I feel in these chains of formal sorrow, replaying each vintage year each round like no tomorrow, each morning still, I count the homeless, watch the van collect the corpse. Man, I need a second chance to come out gamely fighting, repay life’s referee, society the uninviting.’
incompatible
metabolism a stray…
unfriendly advice
His bottle runs dry, his words begin to wound. Here, In God’s own country left high wide and marooned. Yet like the mortal flame he submits to the desolate night, the municipal van empowered to administer the ultimate rite. No dawn able to invigorate leaves this empty feeling in me, only the morning dew edulcorates while a soul in hell is set free.
careful where you tread
mats to wipe one’s feet upon…
look down you may see
Entered sponsor Mark Toney's 2022 Marathon 19
poem converted from free verse to haibun 2022
3/11/2022
Pa hankered cheeses of every kind.
Alas, it placed him in a painful bind!
"For fast relief", said his wife,
"Plumber's snakes should ease yer strife!"
"No thanks! I'll use Ex-Lax for my behind!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
I reckon to us city dudes an' ordinary blokes it seems somewhat strange,
But a cowpoke an' his horse become pards when ridin' the lonely range!
Pausin' fer a roll-yer-own under a ponderosa after a hot ride on the grange,
He might alight from the saddle, lean agin his hoss an' hold this exchange:
"Dan, ol' pard, me an' you has spent years ridin' them bobbed war fences.
I sure do like yer company, ol' pal, 'cause you ain't got no pretenses!
You ain't like them wimmen folk I knows - they is jes' a common scold!
You don't give me any sass an' you kindly do what yer told!"
"I reckon as long as I kin tolerate Cooky's grub an' you git yer oats to eat,
We kin abide the cantankerous boss, rattlesnakes an' the prickly heat.
We've rode togither in mud, dust, sleet an' rain an' the blowin' snow,
An' ye've been a good an' faithful cuss, I jes wanted ye to know!"
"I 'preciate yer toleratin' my git-tar strummin durin' night cattle guard,
When me an' you soothe them dogies when it's a-thunderin' real hard!
I don't know 'bout you, ol' Dan, but I have lotsa time to ponder,
Jes' a-gazin' at the wonder of them mountain ranges over yonder!"
"I ain't never gonna git rich cowboyin', an' ain't that the truth!
But, ol' pard, that's all I ever hankered to do ever since my youth!
Well, if'n yer ready to hit the trail agin I'll saddle up ol' friend.
We has got a heap of work to do before this day comes to an end!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
There is a cold and aimless fear
that grips our longing and aim—
like the talons of a hankered fowl,
readying itself to the plunge
of some inevitable sorrow…
The fear becomes a burning hurt—
one that is forgotten,
soon to be curled up and cold—
needing space and length to stretch
full bodied and shamed…
In the far-catching eyes of its skill,
it sees no goal—
only deadly possibilities
and drowsing hopes.
How can one write of such despair?
Humans cry out endlessly in the night,
forgetting that the day brings life,
and all breathe a newfangled breath
to conjure—
to capture—
hope beyond death!
How can they be fathomed?
these deep ends –
bubbling to begin,
stirring the earth
with fettered shame again?
Let their fears have aim toward the sky,
to the One who is the epitome of joy!
For in all the disappointments of this world,
every fowl thing will see its end,
every tear shall prove shameless,
And every fear only a dream,
A nightmare of weeping—
waking up eagerly to a love-filled day,
where all the previous cries of the night
have passed away
and warm, precious breath of gladness
eternally replacing the gray!
10/22/2019 - 10/25/2019
(Where the streets are full of pity)
Last night! I met an old boxer
in an alley of cardboard;
he seemed glad to see me,
shouted me over for a fight!
I told him!
“Hey I’m not in your league”
“Young man.” He said. “That’s alright.”
“So! I suppose you’re going to leave me,
cos the forecast is for rain, you in
your fine mansion, mine, just a
bloody pain”
“It’s not corrugated you see
it just keeps letting in the damp.”
“But then again I guess,
that’s O.K, for a foolish old tramp.”
He told me!
“What’s the price of glory if one is
shackled to the past. Even my old
woman left me, took my purse in
pursuit of another man. To think
I really loved her, gave her all that I
could, the witch hankered for the
final count, then left me where I
stood!”
He rambled on discursively!
“Take me away from this
‘Cardboard City’ Wrap me up in
sentimental pity.
Help me roam within my native
‘Devon’ Chase illusive rainbows back
into heaven.”
“Its years of abusing whisky,
Its years of abusing gin,
Its years of perpetual hoar frosts
that hones this savage grin. For
here I lay beneath this lamp, I hope
you understand, with only a
watery moon for comfort and
above me, this single amp!”
“How do you think I feel, here?
In chains of formal sorrow,
replaying each vintage year
each round like no tomorrow!”
“Each morning still, I count the
homeless, watch the van collect
the corpse, I caress each nightly
affliction to ease each delusion
that warps.”
“So! Give an old man a second chance
to come out gamely fighting,
repay life’s referee, society
the uninviting.”
His bottle ran dry,
his words began to wound.
Here! In God’s own country
left high wide and marooned.
Yet like the mortal flame
he submits to the desolate night,
the municipal van empowered
to administer the ultimate rite.
No dawn able to invigorate
leaves this empty feeling in me
the morning dew edulcorates
while a soul in hell is set free!
© Harry J Horsman 1996
To slumber, when I did surrender
Someone gave me Untimely Call
Was enjoying dream hence did not answer
Colourful STARS vying for me one and all
Vivid shapes, attractive sizes, all catching eye balls
Enchantment caught me tight
In seventh heaven, fell en masse in love-at-first-sight
Missed heartbeats, fright of missing-any-one haunted
Arms went out for embracing all together
Dream reached climax, with bite of bug dream aborted
Dream shattered, all stars went helter-skelter
All fairies vanished, pillow was left with tear
Someone uttered, Untimely Call was of STARS
Same stars, in dream I hankered after
( Rhyme Scheme : a-b-a-b-b, c-c )
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By Hitendra Mehta
Entry for Members Contest - Create your own Form, May be by Constance La France ~A Ramblingpoet~
The days when women stayed at home and worked
From dawn to night,
Played roles of
Model
Wives
She
Hankered
For respect
But was shown none;
Instead in silence suffered his abuse.
--------------------------------------
Picture 2
Double Tetractys poetry 6 Contest
10, 4, 3, 2, 1 - 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 syls.
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Placed 2nd
1st December 2020
Hankered after plump pouting lips
Surgery the answer read all the tips
Now I'm a cartoon~think Donald Duck
Opening my mouth with horror I cluck.
Light Verse No:2
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by
L. Milton Hankins
10/09/2021
The cabin hankered for a story.
They had not had one for a couple of months.
Grandpa chair was tired of feeling the cabin’s discontent.
He came alive and began telling ghost stories.
They were better than any the humans had ever told.
The cabin was satisfied, and grandpa chair was fulfilled.
Keeping up the façade throughout the winter months.
Mum about it when the humans returned in the summer.
Dying for them to leave, so they could resume the best stories in the fall.
Ruffled for starters, confusion on the rocks
a colloquy for beginners as scattered as blocks
the more you think, the more you think more
away from yourself you weaken your core
Nothing was taught, they calculated it all
thrown from a cliff: not expected to fall!
a sign or an indicator would have sufficed
I wish there was somebody by my side
Words were flowers, I played with petal
like a plant you hold inside a nubilous metal
confidence reflected with replete pride
I wish there was somebody by my side
Qualities were belittled, expectations on list
I shook hand; they used fist!
smile was applauded; silence when I cried
I wish there was somebody by my side
A life of pain brought happiness surprise
an amazing new world reflected me wise
moment of truth stayed shallow and wide
I wish there was somebody by my side
Words were choked, feeling subsided
nothing got touch what’s already resided
I hankered them to see what’s inside
I wish there was somebody by my side
They went small, elevate to the big
looking for reality in a bald man’s wig
I then growled for things I abide
In a hope to get somebody by my side
The energy I gained, I realized, I had
I kept smiling closest to sad,
for a joyful life wherever I reside
just a few hands I ask by my side
~ A Lighthearted Look at Cheating on Keeping Kosher ~
Pick my poison, shrimp or pork
closed my eyes, lowered my fork
I’d hankered for that suckling pig
but I tasted shrimp, and couldn’t renege
Lightning didn’t strike me, I did a jig
of the (shrimp) cocktail, I took a swig
Upon awakening, my stomach was rent asunder
Hmm. I'd evaded the lightning ~ but not the thunder
____________________________________________
Sometimes older Jews tell young'uns that if they eat
pork, they'll be struck by lightning... Seems they
should mention shrimp and other non-kosher fare too!
Muse, you didn’t offer excuses to hold my hand
To walk and talk to the flagging courage
Weeping and seeping into the stamina gland
Where years of interaction on the educational stage
Yielded fields of unexpected benefits
I accrued from the investment you made in my person
Learning, teaching, editing the list of tweets
I dared and cared to ensnare in every lesson
My broken bones and swollen muscles
Endeavoured to flavor as you and I did communicate
On the chalk board in ninety minute corpuscles
Riding in our blood dared to dictate, not to desecrate
The warmth you exuded as you took over my teaching role
Spinning my brain, pinning down my despair, leaning your shoulder
To spell for me the scale I embraced to give up the droll
Approach and technique you taught me could move the boulder
That limited the view you held as to ways I could improve
My teaching craft if only I could rework my draft
Over and over again to delete passages that couldn’t move
My performance forward if a blessed benefits raft
Should finally open my eyes to the greatness your love
Appreciation, support and faith could blend and lend to the path
That led to the pinnacle your suave personality raised above
The mediocrity I walked worshipping the poetry path Sylvia Plath
Opened for my sojourn in search of the companionship
I didn’t know would metamorphose my struggles into accomplishments
Fed and led to a ship that grew into the friendship
For which I hankered to fly into achievements
You made possible
Cos you made me believe against belief
Sterling performances I once thought impossible
You would catalyze to grant limpid life to my academic relief.