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Best Hankering Poems | Poetry

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hankering for a brawling by Lee Sr., James Edward
Hankering for a Kiss by Anderson, John
Hankering by Yantis, Susan
WHILE HANKERING by robinson, esther

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The Best Hankering Poems

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At the footbridge Sue was meeting her beau (He was married to a woman called Flo) Sue soon found out his deception She dismembered his ******** For his love life it was a massive blow To the hospital fled poor Rodger For an op to repair his todger Now fixed, it's SO big Rodger grunts like a pig in **** films as Rodger the lodger Inspired by but not for contest BY JAN ALLISON 7~18~16 He promised Flo he never would leave her And she would be his only receiver But she caught him with Sue And his chances were through Gnawing off wood when he neared her beaver WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH Sue castrated that cheating deceiver With one whack of her meat cleaver she pulled a Lorena Bobbit turned Rodger into a Hobbit Sue's now known as an "overachiever" WRITTEN BY MARTI SUTHERLAND Across the table sits sweet Amee Once A Roger, before he became a she The master of infidelity So many personalities Before and after he became an amputee.. WRITTEN BY SKAT A He was known as a terrible stoner With a huge un-deflatable ***** It now sits in a jar At the end of the bar A reminder to all of its owner... WRITTEN BY JOHN LAWLESS It’s become a tourist attraction As a symbol of female subtraction Grannies sneak in for a peek Everyday of the week Dreaming of former of love action. WRITTEN BY MARK WOODS Oh how sad that pork missile should be unemployed but for all there to see if science, in a jiffy can rejuvenate stiffys then the first in the queue would be me! WRITTEN BY VIV WIGLEY Flo wanted to give Sue a high five For slicing Rodger with all his jive A two timing fool Who broke every rule Now lil Rodger don't work in overdrive WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y Rodger's story has been immortalized For having his thingy circumcised It's on display in a bar Now hanging in a jar While it's slowing becoming crystalized WRITTEN BY MARTI SUTHERLAND As she ponders on what to eat Hopefully, it won’t be red meat For there on the log Is Rodger's hot dog So she gets excited and jumps off her feet. WRITTEN BY WINGED WARRIOR There's a lesson I really must blurt To all those blokes out chasing some 'skirt' When you're on heat Don't share your meat 'Cause your todger might really get hurt! WRITTEN BY MARK WOODS Poor forgotten noteworthy Sue Looking so gloomy she blew At the pickled todger once belonging to Rodger kissing good times its last adieu WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER As "Rodger" snaked out of the door It went past a room on tenth floor. A woman therein Said "Come right on in." she kept screaming, "More, I want more! WRITTEN BY ANDREA DIETRICH After Sue chopped his tally-whacker Poor Rodger became quite the slacker He tried to bring his pecker forth Never again to be pointing north Now when he pees he sits on the crapper. He stopped at the house, the red-light was on Knocked on the door, the girls were all gone Stuck with his sawed-off ***** Tonight He's going to be a loner Damn, why did the girls all have to be gone? BOTH POEMS WRITTEN BY JAMES ANDERSEN A group of limericks quite clever Began with one simple sever Of engorged ***** which is, (between us), I think, a spicy endeavor WRITTEN BY H PENELOPE SWIFTLOCK There was perfection in his pecker, as a **** star he was a wrecker, but to his wife he was unfair, so she severed what was down there, now his only job is director. WRITTEN BY CASARAH NANCE Poor Rodger thought he was being slick when he carved out a handcrafted prick he rubbed his new attire his precious toy caught fire Now he is left with an ashen stick WRITTEN BY TEPPO GREN An ashen stick means man minus prick. Poor Rodger, now a eunuch, without a fix. He decided to become a transgender. Then off he went on a bender. Woke up married to a man from Bertrix WRITTEN BY JEAN MURRAY Rodger's new love was a prudish fox but for brains she had a head of rocks he splinted up his willy popsicle sticks look silly he said it was new and still in the box! WRITTEN BY SONNY ROPER (EVE'S HUBBY) To be fair "At the Footbridge" Now to be completely fair And to stop every persons stare Rodger was not actually circumcised As he was a player, so don’t be surprised This was from wear and tear and his willingness to share WRITTEN BY MARK PAUL VAN DER MERWE Now Rodger mostly stays home for lack of a viable bone. He reaches by habit down for his rabbit: he's got Phantom Willy Syndrome! WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART Rodger was a good friend of Eye Had a real hankering for cherry pie Tasted every chance he got And it would hit the spot Until his crazy wife made him cry WRITTEN ON 14TH JUNE BY EYE TRUTH TELLER Roger pretends that he's a sexy stud But when the ladies find out he's a dud they all laugh in his face anatomically a disgrace His manhood is referred to as "The Bud" WRITTEN ON 15TH JUNE BY LIN LANE Rodger thought his op was a success When he found he had more and not less But the surgeon's blind stunt Sewed it on back to front Well, he certainly lacks some finesse! WRITTEN ON 15TH JUNE BY RAY GRIDLEY As he crossed the footbridge, Georgie saw a duck Quite unique and raucous, it could quack AND cluck! (And did so incessantly) "Hey! Hey! It's all about me!" It loudly proclaimed, with much aplomb and pluck WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
I also wrote another poem but this one did not turn into a collaboration - if you read it you will see that it is quite different to my usual style

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Purveyor of Ecstasy

Miles in a coaster, a day and hours elapsed, 
Felt the utmost relief when the whirling wheels halted; 
So weary and dizzy, even a smile seemed so hideous 
But an in peace slumber I desperately craved for;  	

Eyes wide-opened at the chirping of euphonious birds, 
Stirred myself with hankering for the glimpse of exquisite village,  
But still a dawn blanketed in frosty mist, sight diminished, 
I’d only steal the blurry scene of Tang valley; 

An hour after, when the glorious sun showed its perky visage,
Outside I stood relishing the splendor of the hamlet 
And savoring the icy breeze wafting underneath my nose
With succulent aroma from the Mother Nature;  

Amidst undulating hills and mountains down lay a quiet place,
So called Tang enclosed by rich vegetation and iridescent river
That embellishes the heavenly place superfluously picturesque,
Enticing all man into the blissful homeland of Tang Valley; 
Houses clustered and down beneath the farmyard, 
Divine school stands with its pride upheld 
And hallowed veneration anyone would esteem,
It is so-called Tang Central School elevated of late; 

Established in 1965, primary to middle since last year, 
Now shines the school proud and gratified of its new recognition
As the central school bestowed with prerogatives and autonomy, 
And concurringly, rejoicing its Golden Jubilee in eons;  

Postures upright like inert figurines in a park, 
Crescendo of unripe singsong voices spring at eight and thirty, 
Crooning the sincere words of praise and homage to Tsa-Wa-Sum 
That infuses the all hearts with never like joie de vivre;   

A trickle of erudite whizzes and astute greenhorns
Gathered deep delved into a bond of kinship with no antipathy, 	
But an unremitting fondness amongst solicitous brethren- 
A purveyor of ecstasy as its depiction I call for the beautiful home. 

Copyright © Karma Dorji | Year Posted 2015

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An Idyll of the Past

I am of Maroon extraction, dear
My grandmother's grandfather fought
Without surrender or tanant of fear
And two times with Boukman caught
And twice unlike him escaped
To die in a rocky cliff, proudly brave
While the freed slave escaped
He held the pass alone unto his grave.
But my grandmother, mixed his blood
Gave me a half German grandfather, good!

At evening when oral tongues tattle truth
These stories were the pomegranate 
Juice that fed the worthiness of ragged youth.
My father from aboriginal state
Rose and span his flight from teacher 
To banker's clerk, and then to police
Against the national disorder of labor
Hankering for a new identity of peace.
He found his, a veterinarian, at last
But for his broken wing there was no cast

To compensate, he dreamed of children
Into whom all his resources were poured
Rising to the top of government, send
Them to colleges far away, they bored
With the magic of his island never returned.
And I, he died when I was fourteen
Before he carved me from ash for his urn
Dote on his past like a child unweened,
While suckling from the simplicity of mother
Whose clothes on the line reeked of heather.

O but mother too, was only half of Africa
And yet despite the latent Spanish in her
I am your ebon tree, your chocolate or sepia
And when I dream there in the unblur
Stands my ancient, my vast begining, pride
Like a Serengeti from Ashanti to Zulu lure
O this child has many kings in his inside
And yet no kingdom did I claim but the bush
That surrounds my Canterbury with its hush

And the braod pastures on Knoxwood's plain
O to reign there in childhood still
Running in and out with swallows in the rain
To eat the pulp of fruit from every hill
That balmed me I was bruised. Too harsh
Were schools for the vision in my skin
My teachers were lilacs, things in the marsh
My student eyes eclipsed by the fins, things
Still bright, or a sudden gasp of wings.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

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Embers and Snowflakes

In our crimson embers lie the snowflakes In our snowflakes rise our whispers In the downward valley You asked Where are gone the embers My bird asks your roses The maniac cucumber That would change your proses to hankering lyrics In sync with the drumsticks and melt the burglar ice seated in the starving slice of my days and nights into my tissues and veins calling the fire that ignites the fragile glass of window panes pouring the dances of rose-fragrance grains in the lanes and bylanes of the churning existence on supreme fire Dancing with the strings of lyres Squeezing the pomegranate desire The snowflakes have robbed us of the curls of earthquake No tales of ripples in the frozen lake Purple pulsations have left my neck Gone are the hours of scarlet cheesecake We must wait until the white flowers into colors Our arrival in the scent of sun and showers Can never end in the frozen bower Embers proceed with death in snowflakes New sparks are born to infuse a break Gather new embers The golden spurs of life in spicy strife The poetry goes on From Babylon to Houston From embers to snowflakes From heartbreaks to handshakes The sunshine and the tree The lemon and honey The blending spree The blossoming cherry January 3, 2018 For Embers and Snowflakes-Poetry Contest Sponsored by Anthony Slausen

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2018

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Love is deciding to share your life with your soulmate
A reciprocal trust, sincerity, devotion
A two-way hankering to be the best you can be
Love is never losing sight of what’s most important

posted on August 7, 2018

Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2018

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                        fond, urgent
               yearning, pining, craving
                    a hunger for love

                    hopeful, expectant 
             hankering, wishing, wanting
             longing for passion’s ardency

                    Contest: Cinquain
                    Sponsor: Dr. Ram

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

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The State of His Hair

Girls and boys
pick up your toys
Your playground
has been shut.

There’s a man out there
with greasy hair
hellish hankering
in his gut.

That’s what we thought
till Joey’s father was caught.
He was clean shaven
with neat crew cut.

©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
July 15, 2012

Copyright © kathryn collins | Year Posted 2012

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My Offering

When the sands of life run out for me
And I'm about to die,
Will St. Peter say "Come in, Ma'am,
If I bring a piece of pie?

Gravensteins from my own orchard
Are the apples I lke best,
With sugar, cinnamon, butter, flour.
Recipe on request.

I handle the crust carefully
To preserve the tender taste
And delectable deliciousness.
Not one crumb should go to waste.

I learned the process from my mom
Who learned it from her ma.
Grandma honed her skills a lifetime
Making pies for my grandpa

Who was connoisseur of pie
And ate it every day,
Wanting fresh pie for his breakfast,
Not stale slice from yesterday.

Grandpa's hankering for pie, perhaps
Brought him to early grave.
Dad said if pie should bring him harm,
He'd just try to be brave.

My apple tree is bearing
An unusually big crop.
My family is clamoring 
For apple pie non-stop.

Last week I had no money
When the tithing plate came by.
I hoped no one was looking as
I left an apple pie.

This week a plumper minister
Could not quite meet my eye,
But when my money hit the plate
I'm sure I saw him cry.

If you think I am just bragging
About my luscious pie,
I'm taking one from oven now.
You're welcome to stop by.

For Linda Marie's contest.  "Dreamy Desserts"
Placed 8th

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010

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Cold, Cold Winter

Cold, cold winter, you wield misery like a knife! No magic wand to be waved 
To make you finally fade into oblivion. You leave me suddenly hankering 
For the halcyon days of summer. There isn't an ounce of warmth saved
Chilled to the bone. Oh dear, I can't seem to shake this incessant shivering!

Nowadays I quiver in my slumber, and another summer seems so far away 
Day by day you keep hovering in the air like a flickering hummingbird
My feet are ice cold, freezing on this snow that covers my doorway
I've mercifully given you a second chance, dear winter; I decline a third

Break this curse of yours; the gust of wind you bring is terrible 
I wish for heavy rain to rid you, snow, your white hue is blinding
I'm beginning to wonder if this misery you've unleashed is curable
The rays of afternoon sun will soon come shining down, I'm hoping 

Meanwhile, I yearn for spring, in all its glory. It will arrive much sooner, I pray
Cold, cold winter, please, please, please...finally be on your way 

Date written: 01/27/2016
Date posted: 03/26/2016

Copyright © Edward Ibeh | Year Posted 2016

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The secret lives of chimney pots V

Spawned from the loins that 
Perpetuated the loyal serfs mongrel
These peoples of a conditioned and
"Resigned-To-it-all" breed.
Born into the enveloping tedium
Of interlocking days...Interwoven
With interlocking days -
Victims of stark circumstance
And vague promises unmade.
Gregariously living out their lives
When warmly embraced by
Every self-serving boast brazenly
To be exploited, and thus,
Insidiously betrayed!

Under the fortressed arches
And into the newly built courts -
An architects realized vision
Showingly sports:
Communal gardens, devoid of 
Rows of potatoes...
An absence of trailing and 
Flowering Sweet peas;
But complete with a regulation
Once fortnightly Cut lawn,
Surrounded with borders of 
Herein, specifically positioned 
To please:
Indiscriminately planted 
Slug infested Hostas, and 
Stunted miniature Maple leafed

Dragging on long and slender cigs,
Stepping over mediocre aspirations,
Which, regrettably, inevitability
Now forbids,
Come trudging single-mothers 
Hauling groups of unruly and
Irksome kids.
Compounding their problematic 
Health issues
Reinforced by snacking on 
Comforting habits -
Bulging from every fur-lined
Of their zippered-up jackets.
Disposable plastic bags stuffed 
With many tins, bottles,
And cheap "Ready-to-eat" microwave
That, for all vitamin deficient sins -
Suit all ideals;
The uncaring volunteer delivering
In turn, 
To the elderly and infirm,
The barely warm "Meals-upon-wheels".

Traversing shadowy paths to avoid
Where the stooping and hooded 
Dealer hawks his lurid appeals;
Routinely confronting the drunkard
Who, staggering homeward, totters 
And reels
Along past troublesome defences 
Of overgrown embankments and 
Redundant sidings -
Resplendent in outrageously outlaid 
And profanely sprayed graffiti 
Hankering for the comfort their
Prone forms should extract from
The cheap IKEA settee...
When looking forward to settling down
With a glossy "Womans Own" magazine -
And a nice cup of Rosie Lee!
A glass of sparkling white wine...
Some precious stolen moments with
A favourite Crooners CD.

Firstly however, and in this we are  
Convinced any reasonable woman
Would most wholeheartedly agree,
She must dutifully prepare a well
Furnished table
For a hard working-man to partake...
Of his plentiful and much deserved 
Thus are her loving actions so
Such that spousely reciprocation
Should adoringly invoke;
Much rather, in joyful release,
Happily place her hands around his
Greedy throat,
And, in enraged fury -
The wretched life out of him to 
Earnestly choke! 

Such are these shortened lives
That ill afforded actions all so
Soon to Unavoidably broach,
Delivered through clamouring 
Encouraged by the perceptions 
And allure of the populist vote.
A doctrine that appeals to the
Craven interests and unsustainable 
Of the bickering indulgent-classes;
This, by the grace of God, we 
Should so fervently pray not ever
Have to undergo;
Wavering loyalties easily dissuaded...
Then put quietly to one side,
And turning their backs
Against the prevailing party, 
Desert and deride -
When to self-righteously Overthrow!
The sadly predictable backlash 
When contrasting a collective 
Consciousness against the many 
Failings and injustices
Of the prevailing Status Quo.

Caught up in the clutches of an
Downwardly collapsing Spiral
They cling to vague hopes of good
Dogged by the spectre of jingoistic
That will hopefully usher in the 
Of an ailing nations needy but 
Improbable revival.
Confusing the unimportant issues
Even further:
Fast fading remnants of yesteryear
Where fleeting memories briefly 
To help compound intellect and
Rational thinking - 
Into confounded and utter defeat!

Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2016

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The Crime Of Love

Shall I suppress the hankering of love,
And behold one’s stifle whispering bare,
Or quench thy besmirch of venom thereof,
Or bedight thy fog, doer of despair?
Before perceiving wisdom of thy crime,
Judgement of thyself no question make,
When desires approach years of prime, 
Must respect and morals themselves forsake?
Though slavery gone captured we still be,
Yet must we all have thy person to blame?
Praise thy duets of similarity,
Forswear injustice and love all the same, 
          So even I not man still do yet swain
          For love alone must I wish to gain.

Copyright © Joanna williams | Year Posted 2016

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Tumbleweed Billy And One Eyed Sam

            Tumbleweed Billy And One Eyed Sam

Banked off jagged hills, pushed on by memory
Cause and effect took turns churning the sidewinders
Tumbleweed Billy and One Eyed Sam (The patron Saint of snake eyes)
Dragged down from on high by a freak flood

Through swollen gorges flushed with raging waters
From melted mountain snow with a long way to go
Two cowpokes gathered up by ancient storms without warning 
Compounding the Pounding past the sandy canyonous rocks
Crashing through dams along the flooding passage
Tumbleweed Billy and his one eyed friend rolled into town 

They came to rest at Rusty Bottom, a dusty town
Released their grip on a sturdy timber log 
That brought them there all wet and muddied
With wind against their backs 
That swept them up to view the Last Chance Saloon
Looming over there

This brought them to their feet to mossy over
They moved like prestidigitation fakes, hankering for a drink
Taking whiskey down like magic water  
Then set out their pedestrian plan there on the table
To take this western town down by gambling pranks
Quick digits formed their sleight of hand

Children suddenly appeared before the strangers
Seemingly from nowhere on the action
The two cowpokes glanced back at them like spies
Sam scared them with his missing eye
Covered by a black patch, looking kinda pirate like
The other clouded, milky white, piercing, with limited sight

Billy grants the young ones wishes on the spot to settle them
Magic to be perfected and performed above a pending storm
He rolls one die.   A one comes up.  A snake eye
An omen more visible than not
This made the children fear an awful lot

Dice played a major role for his desires and devices
He kissed them twice for luck then vanished in their cast
Tumbleweed Billy rolled out of Rusty Bottom Town 
Taking his dice and the bad eyed man  

In a singular milky white last lost glance around
On the same south winds now gone from town
Both sidewinders de-materialized, vanished in that instance 
As though they never existed 
Invisible, never seen before, never seen again, as foe or friend
They disappeared

As for the children; who gambled on the chance of magic
Got exactly what they asked
And what was granted when they first wished it
For the two to disappear

Tumbleweed Billy and Sam were gone as quickly as they came
And no one really missed them or their game
That is; their tricks, dice and way of life
Their little slice of paradise

9/16/14 Cowboys in the badlands – Poetry contest

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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Road Trip

So if I recall I was on the backhaul
early 2003 sometime 'round late February
usual cold n' bleak Jersey winter 
still snow n'ice enticed roads n' bare trees
reached up all dark n' fingery
I'd made it from 527A in Englishtown
to the 33 to Bordentown to the 130 to the 1
then up the 278 Expressway to the 78
I was runnin' a long hooded big black Classic
with a Cummins 500hp red top n' was gettin'
tired so pulled into a town just off the Interstate
After restin' 'til late mornin' I decided to grab
a bite before headin' west n' didn't see much
open besides a lil'ol'world style bar n' grill place
Though for years hadn't been a drinker n' most
times just in aftermath a thinker figured I'd get
soup n' sandwich deal but got an uncannily
uneasy feeling from the few seated in bar
though barely even turned a face
Even barkeep gave me double takes while on
the food i wait n' i picked up a Reading PA ol'
style newspaper n' front cover I was shocked
to see 100 killed n' 187 injured in
West Warwick RI nightclub fire
I stood in the corner taking it all in I looked
up on the wall n' saw posters describing witch's
feet n' their symbols of a coven n' if I said I didn't
wanna get outa there quick I'd be a liar
As I rolled to get back to the freeway through the
center of town I saw a church not usual to be found
were no crosses it was plain except for above
the front door the exact same symbol saw on poster
back at the bar
I wanted to put as many miles as I could between
me n' that evil place but I'd taken a copy of the
newspaper n' kept glancing down at the picture
though further 'long seemed I hadn't got that far
In the photo taken just minutes before the fire
had broken out I could see dark pointed caped
figures in the audience millin'about n' not really
passing judgement on the singer well least not 
condemning it still looked like his eyes were dead
dark holes
When I looked later at some other photos it showed
fire trucks n' emergency crew n' people wanderin'
'round in the smoke n' confusion n' only thing 
missing was those 100 poor lost souls
Seeing the remaining black charred embers kinda
took me back to that evil little town 'long with the
eerie feeling those at the bar were witch affiliated
n' most likely members still
So if you're ever taking that road trip back east
to see The Big Apple or Hamptons or Connecticut
n' unless you got a hankering for things related to
the beast-i'd say none the least you might wanna 
bypass Shartlesville.
10-31-2016 Duncan R.M.Ferguson

Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2016

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Dance with you

9th march 2012, by: Sashi.Prabhu(zeauoxian)
 ~ LET'S DANCE! ~ Poetry Contest

Dance, only with you, my sunshine,
Dance, our vigorous emotions within erupt and rise.
Dance, exuberantly and vivaciously to make you all mine.
Dance, diaphanous caress with my gossamer eyes,
Dance, intimately churn sweet love’s nectar to inside us sensationalize.
Dance, ecstatic desire to drive us to each other fondly insane,
Dance even in doubt’s pain I have only you to gain.
Dance, desire gushes out the fathoms of my heart to my yearning lips,
Dance, from my fervent emotions all impurities will drain,
Dance, Behold us hankering and seductively gyrating  our hips…………

Copyright © sashi prabhu | Year Posted 2012

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Vast skies, the tiny drop’s soul now ascending
Dying, to heaven helplessly heading
On the ground,a corps, dried, into vapor turning.
Hard-hearted heat, its flesh mercilessly still biting.

A condoling cloud the driblet’s life saving
Caring,on its back with compassion carrying
Fleshier, stouter ,stronger everyday growing
Looking down revenge on earthlings swearing.

The driblet, now a monstrous Armada proudly  admiring
Ruthless mercenaries from all lands continuously levying
A rumbling cloud to the battlefield majestically riding
Over the village endlessly roaming, the enemy feverishly skulking.

Thick icy  mist from above came down swirling
To their nests alarmed birds hurriedly sending
Silence the defenceless, scared village invading
Dribs in thundering rage down their whole selves hurling

Roads, paths, streams every means taking
To the big river in floods ,All hankering
There, the driblet its pongos eagerly waiting
A demonic, resentful revenge that night caballing

Into a cruel monster, the river now swelling
Silently around the village sneaking
Leaves in trees rustling, doors suddenly creaking
The bugle then reached the villager’s hearing

Dayspring, cadaverous,pale faces in icy waters wading.
Behind , carrion, felled homes  leaving.
Cherubs in shivering, sapless hands carrying.
Warmth, a dry offered hand seeking.

Copyright © Andi Abderrahmane | Year Posted 2010

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There's an event in the country that few city people ever know,
It's called the Greasy Pig Competition held at the local show,
It's a novelty event put on when the riding's been all done,
A greased up pig chased by the locals on the run.

Now local cafe owner, Chubby Enright was his name,
Has prospered in recent years, his belly showed the gain,
Had planned daring tactics to capture the running swine,
On pork ribs with cranberry sauce that evening he would dine.

Lean Lanny Watkins had a mean and nasty look,
In fact on the morning of the show there was little there to cook,
He'd been out of work for quite a while, no fault of his own,
And he was developing quite a hankering for ham on the bone.

The whole Godolphous family had been practising for a week,
With their pet cattle dog dipped in mud from the creek,
The dog was fairly cringing, he was sure they'd all gone mad,
As they chased every afternoon caked in mud put on by dad.

The Gunning brothers were responsible for supplying the hog,
But if the locals knew what they'd planned they'd all be on the grog,
You see they were replacing the domestic with a very furious brand,
A wild pig caught in the bush, near the salt-bush on the sand.

It was the morning of the show, the fairground filling up,
On the announcer's desk taking pride of place, the Greasy Pig Cup,
Many contestants entered, some paying with their last two bob,
Later on they toed the line, waiting for the release of the hog.

The contest was held inside an oval with a fence all way around,
The starter held his gun up high, everyone waiting for the sound,
The pig released, the gun went off,the hog was on the run,
Alas the poor town folk thought they were going to have some fun.

But this snorting wild pig had other things on his mind,
Returning to the salt flats to live with his own kind,
He was knocking people over and a terror replaced their grin.
Realising he wasn't domestic but a wild swine that'd been rung in.

The grunting wild animal had turned the crowd around,
Survival now their primary thought as they raced across the ground,
Screaming people everywhere, one opened the oval gate,
Both man and beast came charging through to escape a drastic fate.

The pig flew through the opening straight into a stall,
Causing all the home-made cakes to be flung against a wall,
The weeks of work now a sloppy mess laying on the ground,
The Harkness ladies now mortified gave a kind of whimpering sound.

The fruit and vege stand was prepared with pride by farmer Ness,
It was decimated by the rampaging boar creating such a mess,
After wrecking another two stalls the pig finally turned east,
He headed off for sanctuary and other wild beast.

The towns folk didn't appreciate the joke that had been played,
Their nerves and their tempers had been completely frayed,
The Gunning brothers most unpopular hastened to their farm,
They daren't show their faces for a while in case they came to harm.

Eventually they were forgiven, the locals even grinned a bit,
As they re-told the story of the swine and all the people hit,
However next year at the fair they made sure a domestic pig was used,
No more broken bones for them, no more battered and so bruised.

Copyright © john williams | Year Posted 2015

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Major Motion Pornography

A subtle carol echoes of the evening
Upon bended knee I am arrested
Betwixt strange refrains
Shaking the floorboards of Teicu

The evocative moans amplify
The foolish peacemaker of astrologists
The English dream of poetry

Those I coaxed by death
Were the witnesses of the tragedy
And were familiar with its ballad

Crafted the design ‘tis conceptual ***********
Eradicated their honor for vanilla threads
As they shimmy and shimmy

They defile elongated hankering
And retreated in the greenhouse of Woodstock
Its language made iconic by efficacious character

Having often been labeled an experiment
Broadening its brilliance along death’s boulevard
‘tis she who was the stunning one

Her language made sacred by her iconic fame
A long time controversial reference
An automaton, an origin of extraterrestrial etiology

The evocative moans ensnares the tourist

Copyright © Glenn McCrary | Year Posted 2012

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Counting Down

Twenty-six letters in the alphabet:
Vowels and consonants be soldiers to defend my message

I'm like a twenty-five cent coin rolling on a parking lot;
destined for the machine or the storm drain?

Twenty-fours in a day, but all I need is a minute
to grab your attention

Twenty-three is unlucky so they say (I pet my black cat
under a ladder so that doesn't bother me)

Twenty-two or two times eleven? I got this thing about math, you see
Numbers and figures mean way too much to me....

Twenty-one is a golden age... a time to crash (literally or
figuratively?... pay close attention!)

Twenty fingers and toes... help me keep balance...
in fact I'm using them all as we speak

Nineteen-or-older shops surround this path I'm on
I look left and right, but keep moving forward

Eighteen, can you believe it? Still not there yet
but I heard it's a memorable turning point in life (most likely just another day)

seventeen syllables
capturing moments
in so few words

(perhaps that wasn't my best haiku,
however you made it this far... right?)

Sixteen or two to the fourth power? I long to multiply,
but I'm still stuck at one...

Fifteen for a moment (according to John Ondrasik)
It's only just begun, so let's have some fun!

Fourteen lines in a traditional sonnet
Sorry William, that I couldn't keep on it

Thirteen be the year I watch the thriller 2012
(and laugh hysterically)

Twelve months and a dozen broken eggs later...
yeah maybe farm ain't for me

Eleven thousand poems I could write
As well as a eleven millions wrongs committed by the end of the night

Ten Commandments I abide by
(Bull crap... I still have a hankering for lies)

Nine or three to the second power?
(Guess I'm more and more OCD by the hour)

Eight is just fine with me... it's the month I was born on
and I haven't regretted it since

Seven days in a week...
(why should we choose only one to worship the Lord?)

Six billion hamsters in a cage (we run like the wind
but still keep in place)

I could give a high five as a gesture to cheer up
(but it's always back to the doom and gloom with you)

Four limbs and each one aim for the shackles and heavy chains
(I thought slavery was over?)

Three things: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost...
(what more do you need to know?)

My brain is cut in two, I'm on my knees screaming

But one thing I know for certain
is that I got YOU

NOTE: Lines 13 & 18 seem a little contradicting, but I did write this before before 2013 and before my 18th birthday.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

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Thanksgiving Day/Dane Ann

The wind is quite blustery on our short walk to grandmaws
Hankering to have some chocolate pie and dressing
And see the new baby boy!
Never get to spend  much time with the family lately
Kiss 'em all and get a hug
Stress out over all the germs we shared
GOD grant us blessings all the days of our lives
IF the heartburn doesn't kill me tonight, praise Jesus
Value of family --priceless$$
If brother can hobble he will make it ok
Next year will be better
God grant brother a new hip by Christmas

Drop off some new teeth for granny
Ann, she needs to chew her food good
You're faithful and just to grant our needs!

Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2010

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Dreams In Ether

Coveted dreams
Waft in the ether
Illumining opalescent
Hankering yearnings in your sanguineous veins stream
Awakening the enthusiasm to wake up each morning with a sense of purpose 


Copyright © Nayda Ivette Negron | Year Posted 2016

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feeling powerless
surrendering to passion
hankering for more

curse rhyme or reason
allow your heart to decide 
listen intently

elbow fear aside
seize the moment and hold on
surrender to it

Diana-Marie Bombardieri
January 28, 2012

Copyright © Diana-Marie Bombardieri | Year Posted 2012

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Throbbing trances hankering 
for raindrops of devotion,

I stood frigid in cold logic,

Melted with warmth of his 
leather jacket on my shoulders.

Copyright © Dr. Upma A. Sharma | Year Posted 2013

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137 PEOPLE view this i will disembowl my girlfriend's ferrett, Chaos

  NOT A ***** QUEERY 

Must I beg half of my life to read my tome
The sensuous one with whom I share my home
She claims to already know each chapter written
From now all the way back to when we were both smitten

A lover I had found yet silently I advised her to run
And that would only be chapter one
No one knows why she suffered all the lies which I would orate
And that query would become  chapter eight

While pages turned and a plot was developed
There had  been many embraces in which I was enveloped
Yet she refuses to read the book she claims to know by heart
However, I know why it’s a novel she just won’t start

She says she knows my every move
But there are so many things I shouldn’t have to prove
When you found that stranger’s lingerie under our bed
The bed I defiled with others due to the lies you were fed

So read my tome and and if you care to leave home
Because I have a heart and a hankering to roam
But the truth is I would be frightened without her in an empty fog
And that there is the epilogue
   © 2011.….Poefree


Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2011

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How To Overcome Temptation

The tempter is a master of persistence
desiring you to stumble and to fall
but from the things he offers, keep your distance
and you will overcome and still stand tall.
Do pray, into the snares you won’t be led
strive to please the Master every day
rebuke bad thoughts that come into your head
from enticements quickly run away.
Allurements, like a magnet, they can be
ungodly source that’s pulling at your soul
put space between the hankering and thee
the magnet’s pull will not win the control.
Joseph, day by day, he was provoked
Potiphar’s wife tempting him to sin
Running, the response by him evoked
Sometimes that’s what it takes to not give in.
To follow his example, we’d be wise
when by sin charmed, we must put up resistance
don’t’ let temptation lead to your demise
between it and yourself, just put some distance.


Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017

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The Seductress is Hapless

Here she comes like shaft of the sun, walking,
As sullen eyes and widened mouth feast – 
Dubbed the slayer of love; the goddess of lust – all stalking
Libidinously like a fun starved beast
Beauty so hypnotic, enslaving whoever looked twice
Ensnared kings, drunks, gamblers and sorcerers
Ducked in her den as hankering pleasure floats itchy eyes – 
Loyal lovers of lusts and murderer of murderers

Oh! That glance, that peep, that squinty stare
Stolen and tattooed in intrinsic view 
They yearned and ogled the sorely rare
Beautiful seductress, damning all affluence in lieu
Of love; that cliché of emotional agony!
“Oh Madina! Come live in my gallery of thought”
All wooed – Could she be the protégé of Cleopatra’s progeny?
One kiss, one touch and one night they sought

Dressed in Roman negligee – escorted by colourful butterflies
Her footstep is melodious like sounds of hymns from David’s harp;
Distrait eyes unveils her body in pendulous sighs
Her covetous peers gathered careless ears - and would carp
Tales of her flirty beauty probing the voguish classic
Being, they burst the rumor bag! ‘Is it true she once killed death
With her breath - and her smile once deflowered a monastic’, -
Isn’t she the con-lover? Ah, her kinds are dearth!

Madina! Madina!! Madina!!! Watch out…
They awed as her poised step made a blooper
And fell off lurching zigzag the stairs – a feeble shout
That revealed her mask of beauty broke the order
Gleeful mockeries basked the puzzled spectators…
Her long hair had eclipsed herself from a polished glass
And toed face-down overwhelmingly at the feet of waiting fornicators
Broken bones and bruises dissolved her beauty; - all snubbed the lass

Copyright © Timothy-Paker Nwaorgu | Year Posted 2013