Best Hankies Poems
Always Prepared
Ready
Freddy
The Untamed
Feral
Ferril
What’s in Frankie’s Pockets?
Frankie’s
hankies
Patriotic Guy
Yankee
Frankie
Of the highest Quality
Fraser’s
razors
Small Eater
Grazer
Frazer
The Warlock
Pagan
Fagin
The Brilliant One
Star Glow
Fargo
Something’s About to Happen to Him
Herald
Gerald
Poet
The bard
Gerard
The Mimic
Parrot
Garret
Who Needs Pudding and Pie
Georgie
Porgie
Good Grief!
Lordy,
Gordy!
Best Things in his Garden
Gerrett’s
carrots
The Stoic
Steely
Greeley
What People Always Say to Him
Really,
Greeley?
The Generous One
Sharin’
Garen
Thrill Seeker
Gnarly
Harley
So Angry
Snarly
Harley
Embittered
Soured
Howard
Not Brave at All
Coward
Howard
What’s in Henny’s pocket
Henny’s
Pennies
The Pest
Vermin
Herman
What Herman Gives Each Sunday
Herman’s
sermons
Why Can’t He Just Stay Home?
Roamer
Homer
Better Than Ice Cream
Sherbet
Herbert
Get Him Band-aids
Howie’s
Owies
Nonsensical
Phooey
Huey
Always Amazed
Wowie
Howie
The Overly Sentimental One
Gooey
Huey
I entered a room
and saw familiar strangers
and knew in an instant
they were me: past lives
made living flesh again.
I saw the fat baby, 38
pounds at one year!
(Poor Momma's back!)
I saw the angel-face boy
of four who spoke only
gibberish-- the doctors
told my parents "Sorry,
but he's an imbecile,
best send him far away."
Lucky for me, Mom And Dad
got a second opinion, and
six years of speech lessons
till I spoke like a happy
little English lord....
Then I saw the teenager--tall,
gaunt of cheek, dismissive of
lesser intellects. I grimaced,
and he sneered: I did not like
him, nor did he like me
(though we both lamented
his forlorn virginity)
Behind him stood a 20 something.
I had filled out by then, handsome,
confident with women, tossing them
aside like used hankies, not knowing
how vast was my emptiness-- not
even knowing I was a blind man
until...I crashed into that fog-
shrouded iceberg called Death.
And Death took me to that terrible
place where my soul burned briefly,
and then, without explaining,
returned me to life.
My soul, which one day I had
not believed in, and the next
I knew to be absolute, had been
seared but my eyes finally opened
and I began to see beyond
this world of pleasure and pain,
hunger and feast, war and peace.
Then I met my married self, and
shared with him the happiest day
of our life, when she said yes
to a man still lacking but at
least now trying. Decades later,
he is still inching closer to God.
Emotional me
is out from my verbose head
like a winter flower with
petals, so much like
hankies of a sleepless god,
to wave in such elegance
my charm over you,
again and again, ‘til your
smile, left to death by the strides
of your rococo
lover, is awakened and
becomes my choka poem
In London, away in a terrace
Half-hidden with elm trees and grime,
Lived young Violet, in her parents' house,
Left alone for near all of the time,
As her mother had no patience to teach her
And her father was working all day,
Violet read to herself through her childhood
Forgetting her seclusion in play,
Any friends she made as a young woman
Would laugh at her stitches and cloth,
For they knew that Violet was quite useless
And so showed their neat needlework off,
Poor Violet kept trying her best, but
Each time everyone ran her down,
She retreated back into her mind's warmth
Far away from that cold-blooded town,
Then one night, as the raindrops were piercing
Through the rueful, restricting twilight,
Violet threw on her Sunday attire and
Did at once in the darkness delight,
So she ran through the alleys and gardens,
Dancing down the pitch-black London streets,
Her beautiful dress flew about her
As she skipped past the other deceits,
Violet's stories swam round in her memory
As she flew through the night and the stars,
And she bathed thoroughly and with relish
Until Violet was cleansed of her scars,
Now her heart was open and happy,
So she laughed and fluttered her tail,
Carelessly gliding free through the water
And onwards to the ocean did sail.
As the weary sun rose on the next day
Her friends could be seen on the pier,
Dabbing at their dry eyes with their hankies,
Voices straining trying to sound sincere,
"It has hurt us so indescribably,
That because of her poorly-sewn hems,
Violet felt she was inferior to us
And has drowned herself in the Thames."
Violet's parents had not yet noticed
The absence of their only daughter,
And they would understand even less
How she came to be dead underwater,
But Violet was now free to prosper,
To swim and to dance and to glide,
And with angels and mermaids to play with,
She would always in her dreams reside.
SIGN OF THE TIMES
Stones will be thrown down. The temple succumbs like Lazarus.
Inconceivable evil hurled inside and outside satan’s circle.
Good perceived as bad and the reverse a similar fact.
Noah’s days before our rainy eyes, hankies blowing it.
Other christ, the false one, the devil incarnate arrives.
Feast of beasts will turn the world upside-down in defeat.
Torrential weather, hate and great distress to impress.
Heaven looks on in horror but not surprised.
Evening becomes the norm without moon or stars.
The persecutions worse and worser, God’s children cry, wanting
It to end sooner than later, having suffered and died, blood
Mixes like a cultural conglomerate - we knew the rat race
Eventide, on its plenipotentiary screeching wheel, couldn’t
Survive but for Jesus Christ — His victory secured at the cross.
4/22/2018
The temple in line one is Jesus. In the final line His victory.
SKY VIEW FROM THE Q.E.
Dark grey squalls
glide off of Hamilton Bay
trailing snow
look like old time proper ladies
their dainty booted feet
stirring up a wake
of frothy silken finery.
one behind the other
they file toward the escarpment
dropping crystal lace hankies
in coy consent
“I am approachable”,
the squall ladies whisper
“the hour is late
my mood so melancholy”,
as their cold breath
caresses the cheek.
a pale sun breaks through
shafts of light reflect
from delicate flakes of snow
appearing as though
finest gauze wedding veils
drift to earth
earth sleeps
awaiting Persephone
time between white velvet comforter
and a lacy leafed wrap
exposes her bones.
One fine day, as hot as Hades,
Six respectable old ladies
Decided they would take a trip
Before the winter chill could nip.
They drove out to the countryside
With rolling hills and river wide.
The place was quiet, full of charm,
But, oh dear me, the weather warm.
Gran became a trifle naughty
Heat made her a little potty
Decided she would take a chance
You only have one life to dance.
Removing both her diamond rings
She cast off all her under things
And dived into the swimming hole
Then with a flash, the show she stole.
This lady in her autumn years
Was young at heart, for her, three cheers.
The other ladies’ eyes, they popped.
While with their hankies, brows they mopped.
Then one declared, ‘It looks so cool.’
And all at once, a river full
Of naked ladies having fun
Beneath the hot and blazing sun.
There were things of mine in the drawers that could be thrown out,
But I kept gravitating to the things that were his.
His Public School 45 autograph book. It was red, white, and blue leatherette with
a zipper.
Inside was his hand, writing the names of favorite teachers,
And the dreams of the future you have when you are 13.
His father, an old world German who never shared himself,
left ink blotches of emotion under his hand.
In another drawer, the fancy leather passport wallet complete with passport and
photo.
He was 16.
I don’t remember him talking about anything else with the same twinkle in his
heart
As he did about the 6 months he spent in Germany.
Here is a poem written to him on his 40th birthday,
by his best friend in the world.
The gift made so much better because it was so unlike this IBM Executive
to write personal poetry full of memories.
There was an untouched underwear drawer.
Belt buckles.
Cards of love and joy that I had given to him over many years.
A collection of Christmas wallets.
A yo-yo. Gift from a child with nothing else to give.
Old prescription glasses. Why do we keep those? Pocket knives, hankies.
A sweater and socks I knitted for him,
Always said they were too good to wear.
I store them still.
Every drawer I opened, every cupboard, every box stored away throughout the
whole house had something of his tucked away within.
A stray bullet or black powder ball. A toothpick holder.
A cork screw. A flint, patches, pictures of his ‘49 Olds, a comb, a watch, pocket
treasures.
~ Maybe if I go clean someplace safe like the fridge.
And there was the bottle of Zeller Schwartz Katz wine
bought for the coming Christmas season of entertaining.
This is foolishness, hanging on.
In spite of saving all this stuff
the hole in me is still there. ...
But I just could not throw him away.
It takes two to make a tear
It’s Christmastime so no more killing now!
Let’s get together, sing some carols here.
In no man’s land, we’re brothers for today.
A merry Christmas, season’s greetings, mate.
Und frohliche weihnachten to you, my friend.
Oh, stille nacht, holy night: a lovely sound.
I’ll trade some brandy for your schnapps, old mate.
Und bratwurst for your bully beef, my friend!
It’s nice to know you, as we’re friendly now.
I wish that you could meet my folk today.
Your German language is a pleasant sound.
Und Englisch klingt gut, now it’s spoken here.
It’s good when laughter is the only sound!
A cigarette? Und zigarette, my friend?
It’s good to smoke it either way right now.
I’d take you home to meet my folks, so here’s
A photo of my wife and children, mate.
I wish that I could be with them today.
We’ll have a game of football, Max, my mate:
A Christmas friendly five a side today!
Ah, football das ist gut, my friend.
And only friendly rivalry from now.
With Cheers, instead of cries: such happy sounds!
And No Man’s land’s a perfect pitch right here.
I wish I had some gifts to offer here.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give for hankies now.
Let’s sing again; it’s such a jolly sound.
It’s snowing; friendship keeps us warm today.
You’re welcome to mein mantel, Bob, my friend.
I never thought I’d wear your coat, Max, mate.
The world is now a better place today.
I think we’ll stay gute freunde, do you, my friend?
Of course we’ll be good pals from now on, mate.
I couldn’t shoot at German soldiers now.
We’ll tell them straight that we’re all friendly here -
And no more fighting in the world sounds sound!
They say we’re enemies again, old mate.
Ja, weihnachten war gestern, Bob my friend.
Forgive me if I take your life today…
*In 1914, the German and English troops had a ceasefire at Christmas.
I think my German words are correct, but apologies if not!
IN-FLU-ENZA!
IN-FLEW-ENZA!
This was not my today's agenda,
Hankies for snuffles my addenda,
Here I rest, moribunda!
Wintry weather down under,
Suppose it is not so bad,
Bed rest to be had,
Not in the rat race,
Cosy bed today's place,
Definitely not my today's agenda,
IN-FLU-ENZA!
My husband is naughty a very naughty man
He throws down the newspaper on top of his beer can
He buys himself a sandwich in a cardboard box
And puts it in the laundry with his woollen socks.
He takes off his pyjamas and chucks them on the floor
He uses hankies frequently, so I have to buy some more.
He wants to have thick sauces on top of all his food.
And when he has a hypo his speech is very rude.
I gave him such a shock when I learned to curse and swear
But we really need to,as “eff off “is everywhere.
Why, even in the Bible there are some wicked words
I’ve not read it all yet, except Psalm 23rd.
I mean to finish reading it and then when I must die,
I’ll come onto a cloud and shout,Oh pi is in the sky.
For transcendental numbers give a hint divine.
Although you can get it better with a glass of dry, white wine.
My husband drinks draught guinness and then he fall asleep
He hollers and curses when the oven timer bleeps.
He eats a piece of kipper and cried out,Oh,dear God!
Nobody caught this b*gger with a fishing rod
He wants to move to Whitby and walk upon the sands
Sit in the audience and hear the big brass bands.
He wants to see the sun rise and to see it set…
So please send God some gelatine in case the air’s too wet!
These people make me sick
These false prophets
These religious money pits
These well dressed demons of deception
Nothing but
Con artists
Liars
Purveyors of pure sacrilege
Pretending to offer you salvation
Offering you the comfort of the lord
For a price
Selling you a seat in heaven
The more you pay the better your accommodations
Religious travel agents
Without their blessing
You’re doomed to be left behind
You wont get into heaven
Without your donation
I myself believe in religion
Support all religions
They may be different in their views and customs
But the end goal is all the same
Eternal peace
But these people are different
They to,
Want peace…
Your piece
My piece
And anyone else’s piece they can get
Their goal is simple
Fleece the flock
Sell them promise
Sell them an eternal ticket
Guarantee them eternal bliss
For a price
Sell them anointed hankies
And blessed books
Promise them wonderful lives
With their religious looks
They are the one-armed bandits of the new age
With a bible in one hand and a credit card machine in the other
We take Visa, MasterCard, American Express and Discover
But no checks please
We need your “prayer” right now
Not in 7-10 days
These people make me sick
There are so many of them
Saying they represent God
Flashing 800 numbers
Requesting your “prayers”
Which will only be “answered”
As long as credit card is valid
Are people that dumb?
I mean really that naïve?
Do they really believe?
The cheap suits
Silk ties
And piss poor acting of sincerity and caring
Do they not see the obvious?
Are they truly blind?
Do they want to be spiritually slaughtered?
Do they not remember the one very important rule?
You never have to pay to pray!
All God has ever asked of anyone is their faith
Time, is your most valuable asset
It is what you have the least of in life
And this is what you pay to God
Your time devoted to him and your faith in him
Wake up, before it’s to late
You don’t have much time left
Spend it wisely
Spend it on God
Eric (and sometimes not)
Sixty-Six Sixty-Six Ford Mustangs
Rusting on Sixty-Six acres
Of the Mustang Ranch since
Sixty-Six
Sixty-Six parking tickets
attached to Sixty-Six Sixty-Six
Ford Mustangs
Stuck on Sixty-Six acres
Of the Mustang Rance
Sixty-Six Ladies of the Night
Sixty-Six lacy hankies held
In Sixty-Six dainty hands,
Waving at Sixty-Six Deputy Sheriffs
Supervising Sixty-Six County
Tow-Trucks,
Oh those Sixty-Six Poor Unfortunate
Schmucks...
Gonna cost each Sixty-Six bucks
They could'a spent on
Sixty-Six Sweet Sexy hours,
With Sixty-Six Sweet Sexy Gals,
Oh well,
Sixty-Six, "Oh, What the Hell!"s
Silent but Deadly (Written 2014)
In the heart of the nursing home where old folks stay,
Lived Erasmus, a man twinkling in twilight's array.
With a glimmer that danced in his mischievous eyes,
He concocted a plan to bring great surprise.
Not a prankster by trade, but a jester at heart,
He perfected an art that set him apart.
With a silent approach, undetected, unseen,
He'd let loose a cloud, where he once had been.
The residents gathered, unknowing, at ease,
Till the air filled with a curious breeze.
A stench so strong, it could wilt a rose,
They clutched at their noses and squinted their toes.
"Who could it be?" they wondered, looking around,
Silent but Deadly Erasmus made not a sound.
Except for a giggle, suppressed and discreet,
Erasmus, now hiding, pretending to be sweet.
The ladies, most prim, with their hankies out,
Fluttered and fussed an occasional shout,
"It's Erasmus again!" with a laugh and a tease,
Pointing at him, the one cutting the cheese.
Though the air was quite foul, the laughter was sweet,
As they chased down the halls on their slippered feet.
For in every life, a little fun must be had,
Even if it's a bit smelly, a bit bold, a tad mad.
So remember dear Erasmus, with his silent decree,
Who taught us to laugh, letting spirits run free.
For in the end, it's the joy that we spread,
That lights up our days, 'til we're finally in bed.
And so, in this home where the old folks stay,
The legend of Erasmus lingers to this day.
A reminder to all, that life's for the living,
With each silent gift that keeps on giving.
~The Hot Spell Is Over~
Watching the clouds gather
There is thunder in the air
After a beautiful week
It really doesn’t seem fair
We finally cast off winter woollies
Then sat with hankies on our heads
Tomorrow I suppose the Wellingtons are out
And we put back on our winter threads.
Our poor bodies don’t know what to do
From freezing to frying all in a day or two
Part of life’s rich pattern I can suppose
Life is short as the saying goes
Live it large as they now say
I think this means we should go out and play
Get our kit off in the kid’s paddling pool
Kick our heels we are nobody’s fools.
Grasp it now before it has gone
Make someone smile - just anyone
The air pressure rising leaves our skins moist
The air is thick and steamy as on us it is foist
Pressure flies are landing dropping from the skies
Blown out of the atmosphere before our very eyes
Sitting on the picture frames like little specks of dust
A flash a thunderous bang to come - we know it is a must
The thunder bounds around us with its lion-like roar
Taking the hot spell with it - but we hope not for evermore.
© 28/05/2012 ~GG~