Best Hansom Poems
Barbie’s precision, stiff, lounging in glamorous style,
Plastic pink body asleep in a brand new cardboard box.
Barbie, eyes still open, abused by many of Ken's wiles,
She was once truly human, her daughter opens the lock.
The key is that her daughter Tara, is now forty or more,
Barbie's truly brutal life has never been known before.
There is a real woman who modeled for Barbie, it’s true,
But the life of her daughter, no one ever really knew.
The real Barbie drank in dark tombs of sharp yellow scotch,
Daily she was drunk and passed out on the wooden floors,
Sleeping with numerous young men the names she forgot.
Bold and hansom men came in droves but never to adore.
While drunk, Tara was raped by one of Barbie’s drunken lovers.
Drafts of therapists came, yet, she never really recovered.
A mere child she was left with problems that shattered her dreams,
Mattel Toys and Barbie were not really what they seemed.
Mattel was owned and run by Barbie's real parents,
fashioning the doll after how the real Barbie would look and act.
Some said Barbie Doll was a fine model for young women, this made little sense,
But Barbie lost Tara's respect in reality and that continues as a fact.
Knowing this story I’d never buy that drunken toy, hoping
Tara grows strong and finds her life, after she's finished coping.
Categories:
hansom, childhooddaughter, daughter, life, men,
Form:
Rispetto
When first I saw London, it was in a book in the library,
But then I came to England, experiencing its history.
The Bridges over the river Thames, like sentinels over the city stand...
While the long Buildings of Parliament, lay beneath Big Ben's command.
The Palace Guard at Buckingham, who keep safe Her Majesty...
Marched oh so smartly on parade; such a wondrous sight to see.
The Cathedral at Westminster, final home to Kings and Poet too...
Along with other Heroes of the Realm are honored and here given their due.
The bustling floors at Harrods, with all the things to buy...
Finding just the right one for Granny, as too soon for home we'll fly.
The imposing dome of St. Paul's and its windows of stained glass...
Will not be erased from memory, so long as life shall last.
The Double Deck Bus ride to Picadilly or the Tube to Trafalgar Square...
Where stands the Column of Nelson, rising high into the air.
Standing on the deck of the Cutty Sark with the Moth laying close beside...
A trip to the Maritime Museum and a quiet Hansom ride.
We'll not forget the Museum of art, the British Museum, or the Rosetta Stone...
We will long remember Traitor's Gate, where Ann Boleyn once entered alone.
Within the walls of the Tower are kept the Jewels of State...
Lingering here with the memories past, of those who here met their fate.
Alas, we will miss this Great City as homeward soon we'll go...
But it is the people we'll miss most of all, the Londoners we've come to know.
Though we know not your names, your faces with us remain...
For we will fly homeward and oft think of you again.
These few lines cannot begin to tell the cherished thoughts we keep...
Of your City, your History, your People across the ocean so wide and deep.
We hope you always will be well, in your country on the sea...
As friends we depart your historic land, our best wishes always for thee.
Categories:
hansom, city, farewell, feelings, friendship,
Form:
Rhyme
The crab is drab and sitting on a grab
Toasting his brown bread in the monster's lab
The sea is creasy
The crab is greasy
He is street easy on a hansom cab
Categories:
hansom, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
There was a dashingly hansom young Toreador
Who slept on the floor of a corridor
But things they got worst
When he met this cute nurse
Now he sleeps in her medical storage draw.
Categories:
hansom, funny, , cute,
Form:
Limerick
Such an invasion will not go unavenged-
I will render my prostate prostrate
Lest my humor become unhinged
It so betrays my desire to micturate, yea even to conjugate.
And I will radiate radiation
When approached I will shout Unclean! Unclean!
I will need some serious anesthesiation
Just to maintain my unvented spleen.
I always think I am so hansom
I quite assume my royal entitlement
But a colony of cutthroats now inhabit my rectum.
And I must engage in violent embattlement.
To the walls! To the walls! my spermatazoan comrades
And destroy these interlopers awful.
Let them not breach our ballustrades
For Nature herself has proclaimed them unlawful.
Categories:
hansom, poems,
Form:
Burlesque
BRITISH POLITICS
I did well not to get involved with politics;
I saw through local councillors
With their holiday homes in the Highlands.
I gave New Labour the slip and went canvassing
For the Love Spirit.
Like Big Ben, I looked down on Westminster
Politicians; I wouldn't give them the time of day.
I didn't complain when the Tories
Lost all their seats in Scotland
I didn't take the matter up with the Ombudsman.
I didn't get into a hansom cab with Disraeli,
I passed the House of Commons obliviously.
Like the monarch, I took no part in constitutional affairs.
I didn't read Politics, brothers! I read mystics:
St Theresa of Avalon, St Francis of Assisi;
Wind in trees
Moss on stones
Herbs in pots
I found a writer's hut, a path to the fairy dell;
I have fairy wings I won't give up.
The Fair Ones made me Clairvoyant Laureate for 2003.
I was awarded The Diamond Talisman,
A hidden gem of rare beauty.
Now the Green Party are after me!
I didn't go on the Peace March in Glasgow,
I just pushed through the crowd to Borders bookstore
And had a coffee with Hans Christian Andersen.
I've done well not to go into politics,
I'd only make a fool of it
Like Screaming Lord Sutch;
I dropped a poem into a ballot box once,
A vote for Robert Burns - I did that much!
Categories:
hansom, humor,
Form:
Narrative
A letter from old mother to here son
Dear son :
One day you will see me old, an reasonable in my behavior......
At then please be patient...
Give it some time and some patience to understand me...
When my hand shakes..
When my food falls on my chest...
When I don't have the strength to ware my clothe..
Have some patient and remember years were passing I was teaching you what I cant do
today..
If I am no more pretty and smell bad...
Don't` blame me.
Just remember when you were little how hard I tried to make you look hansom and smell
good.
Don't laugh at me if you see my ignorance and not understanding things in your
generation...
Instead be my eye and my mind to catch up what I missed....
I am the one who mannered you and teach you how to face the life..
How come today you are teaching me what is most and what is not..
Don't be burred from my weak memory and slow talking and thinking when I am talking to
you...
Though my happiness from talking to you is just to be with you..
Just help me to do what I need because I still know what I need...
when my feet fail to carry me to where I want....
Be kind with me and remember I hold your hand a lot so you can walk...
Never be shamed to hold my hand today because tomorrow you will look for someone to
hold your hand.
In my age I know I am not facing life like you...
But simply I am waiting death..
So be with me not on me..
when you remember some of my mistakes know for sure all I wanted was your best interest..
Best thing you can do with me is forgive my mistakes and protect my privacy...
May GOD forgive you and protect you...
Your laugh ,your smile still makes me happy as they were before...
Do not prevent me for your company..
I was with you when you were born so be with me when I die ......
Categories:
hansom, sad,
Form:
Free verse
I stand here in the corner as I see you grace the floor
Aware that you don't know me, but it's you that I adore
I see you with a man, as he twirls you 'round the hall
And i wish that man was me, and my name, the one you call
There are men here talking business, there are ladies having tea
But i focus on your image, as my heart sends out its plea
That you stop for just a moment, and glance in my direction
And see that I'm in love with you and yearn for your affection
I know it's just a dream, that we've taken to this floor
And dance away the empty days, till we can dance no more
But now I see you happy, inside this hansom hall
And I must stand here silent, as I watch you have a ball
Categories:
hansom, heartbroken, lonely, love, love
Form:
Rhyme
When first I saw London, it was in a book in the library
Then I came to England, and experienced its history.
The Bridges over the River Thames, like Sentinals over the city stand
While the long Buildings of Parliament lay beneath Big Ben's command.
The Palace Guard at Buckingham, who keep safe her Majestsy
Marched so smartly on parade...and were a wondrous sight to see.
The Cathedral at Westminster, final home to Kings and Poets too
Along with Heroes of the Realm, are honored and given their due.
The bustling floors at Harrods, with all the things to buy
Finding the right one for Granny, too soon home we fly.
The imposing Dome of St Paul's, its Windows of Stained Glass
Will not be erased from memory, so long as life will last.
The Double Deck Bus ride to Picadilly or the Tube to Trafalgar Square
Where stands the Column of Nelson, rising into the air.
Standing on the deck of the Cutty Sark, with the Moth laying close beside
A trip to the Maritime Museum, and a quiet Hansom ride.
We'll not forget the Museum of Art, the British Museum, or the Rosetta Stone
We'll long remember Traitor's Gate, where Ann Boleyn once entered alone.
Within the wall of The Tower are kept the Jewels of State
Lingering still are the Memories past, of Those who here met their Fate.
Alas, we'll miss this Great City, as homeward soon we go
But it is the People we will miss most of all, the Londoners we've come to know.
Though we know not your Names, your Faces will with us remain
As too soon we fly back to our home, and oft think of you again.
These few lines cannot begin to tell, the Cherished Thoughts we keep
Of your City, your History, your People...across the ocean so wide and deep.
We hope You always will be well, in your Country on the Sea
As Friends we part your Historic Land, our Best Wishes and Prayers are offered for Thee!
Categories:
hansom, friendship, love, places, travelhome,
Form:
Rhyme
I love experiencing all our firsts,
The first time you walked me to my car,
underneath the shiny stars.
mmmm our first kiss,
And how I couldn't wait 2 taste your lips.
The first time we made love,
so confident and equipt.
Never took our time for granted,
we were thankful for this gift.
The first time you stayed till morning,
had me taken by surprise.
To wake with this hansom man,
was all worth my wild.
The first time we had a fight,
And saw who we really are,
We still made the decision to love each other,
till death do us part.
The first year of first holidays,
we spent building what we have.
To turn our loved ones into family,
And continue on our path.
The times we feel were worlds apart,
you'll always have my heart.
And now to have you in our lives forever's just the start.
Categories:
hansom, adventure, faith, family, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
Imagine you’re a woman, with a mind
as trained, acute and fertile as exists.
Imagine that your erudite, refined
creations top each year’s best-seller lists.
You write in English, French and Portuguese.
Translating ancient classics from the Greek,
(for you, no bigger deal than shelling peas)
you thrill the world, to hear Orestes speak!
But this is eighteen forty. There’s a catch.
You’re middle-aged and single. “On the shelf”.
Your father keeps you housebound, unattached:
he wants you as a frill, not for yourself.
The man’s a monster. You’re not free to act.
He holds you here, unnoticed, bored, unwed.
Your only means of protest at the fact
of kidnap is, you’ve taken to your bed.
Like many women, both before and since,
you’re “delicate”. It’s how you take a stand.
But what of that long-dreamed of, handsome prince,
your rescuer? Don’t worry. He’s at hand!
Elizabeth M. Barrett is your name.
A gentleman comes calling, loves your work.
He’s Robert Browning, of “Sordello” fame,
and suddenly there’s light amid the murk!
He shows up every day at Wimpole Street,
and soon you loosen the paternal tether:
with Mister Browning, you’ve re-found your feet!
You’ll marry him, then run away together!
The banns were read discreetly, days ago:
the journey’s booked. No vacillating now!
The father’s out on business: down below,
in Wimpole Street, a hansom waits: but how
to saunter past the servants? What a fright!
My trusty Morgan – glad I could suborn her:
Well, here we go – I’ll sleep in France tonight!
Brave Robert’s waiting, just around the corner!
The thing was carried off without a hitch.
They wed, they fled. So farewell, Wimpole Street!
And far from wish undone her Dunmow Flitch,
Elizabeth’s contentment was complete.
One’s fate can turn upon a single act.
Two poets lived as one – idyllic bliss!
They now had what they previously had lacked –
each other. Fiction can’t improve on this!
Categories:
hansom, love, , cute,
Form:
Quatrain
The Barretts of Wimpole Street
Imagine you’re a woman, with a mind
as trained, acute and fertile as exists.
Imagine that your erudite, refined
creations top each year’s best-seller lists.
You write in English, French and Portuguese.
Translating ancient classics from the Greek,
(for you, no bigger deal than shelling peas)
you thrill the world, to hear Orestes speak!
But this is eighteen forty. There’s a catch.
You’re middle-aged and single. “On the shelf”.
Your father keeps you housebound, unattached:
he wants you as a frill, not for yourself.
The man’s a monster. You’re not free to act.
He holds you here, unnoticed, bored, unwed.
Your only means of protest at the fact
of kidnap is, you’ve taken to your bed.
Like many women, both before and since,
you’re “delicate”. It’s how you take a stand.
But what of that long-dreamed of, handsome prince,
your rescuer? Don’t worry. He’s at hand!
Elizabeth M. Barrett is your name.
A gentleman comes calling, loves your work.
He’s Robert Browning, of “Sordello” fame,
and suddenly there’s light amid the murk!
He shows up every day at Wimpole Street,
and soon you loosen the paternal tether:
with Mister Browning, you’ve re-found your feet!
You’ll marry him, then run away together!
The banns were read discreetly, days ago:
the journey’s booked. No vacillating now!
The father’s out on business: down below,
in Wimpole Street, a hansom waits: but how
to saunter past the servants? What a fright!
My trusty Morgan – glad I could suborn her:
Well, here we go – I’ll sleep in France tonight!
Brave Robert’s waiting, just around the corner!
The thing was carried off without a hitch.
They wed, they fled. So farewell, Wimpole Street!
And far from wish undone her Dunmow Flitch,
Elizabeth’s contentment was complete.
One’s fate can turn upon a single act.
Two poets lived as one – idyllic bliss!
They now had what they previously had lacked –
each other. Fiction can’t improve on this!
Categories:
hansom, london, , cute,
Form:
Quatrain
recurrent suicidal thoughts vain
gloriously wend
(o'er a death cab for cutie weeknd)
yanking zeal
becalming this crash test dummy rolling
stone temple pilot inxs
of maroon 5 plus decades long
perdition hellaciously slogging
slow as adam and the ants,
thru fifty shades of gray's
anatomy common weal
masterly baiting this motley crue (cutting),
beatle browed, beastie boy,
outre gee (bee) us, grateful dead,
mailer daemons inhabit
cavernous fist size vastness steel
via Herbie Hancock (Hermans Hermits)
cheesy Munster trap doors that steal,
deep purple swiftly tailored
culture club members squeal
hosted by mega death pack rat boston for real
venue at Tokyo hotel, via en grave invitation
signed by Alice in Chains poison huss kiss
sing, which will spellbind
once contents unveiled, an instant app peal
immediately choking off air supply
then Alice Cooper egging bad company
to hypnotize the guess who sacrificial meal
supplanting raw primal scream from spinal tap
acquiescing self to abandon all hope,
especially if black sabbath joins
creed dance clearwater revival
dark shadows would demand one
(to take a knee) and kneel
before sacrificing oneself at the beck and call
of evanescent nirvana
experiencing permanent relief,
sans soul (twisted) sister riding a hansom
off phish hull heart shaped coffin
ample room enough for blind
melon collie 10,000 maniacs, their heal
ling powers profusely emanating
via m&m shaped talking heads
methinks averring obeisance
to judas priest and hooters with coldplay feel
ling of eternal sleep, where quiet pussy riot
joins carpenters, whose underground
sepulchral crowded house indicative
cynthesis iz a done dizzy Gillespie afterlife deal
and you bet your sweet bippy meme
an extra bonus for orthodox believers
(absent myself - a skeptic),
whose karma with long deceased will anele!
Categories:
hansom, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Whadidit usay?
A ale too far to sail on mar?
Ne’er too far for tha ner keday
And some kin jin us mestarar.
Neh join us there wit min an sord
to take dai in ur hansom handen.
We kanno come that way wid not a bord,
ni morro com Kig an Sor tostanden!
E kin waifor in borg till then.
Nolanger tha needle wai for us,
but canno wee morro on borofin
widot de somulin garolus.
So wesaled wid to foreston
ner de magar to forstallin.
Kig an Sor tostand wid sorrontom,
an nofor ken a pistollin!
Categories:
hansom, conflict, courage, fate, nonsense,
Form:
Vogon Poetry
As comforted by, Autumn eve
With it, approaching
Choice grim hansom requested of
The sombre-inclined.
Aptly quaint, to be enclosed
And snuck away in
Misty-glassed, puce velvet-hung, down
Dim pasts that does wind.
Categories:
hansom, autumn, eve, memory,
Form:
Rhyme