Best Hear Hear Poems
The family was poor
and on Christmas Eve
he went to bed still hungry
after his meagre evening meal.
He slept fitfully and dreamt
he had to work on Christmas Day,
distributing flyers to the people in town.
Hear, hear, read the news,
Today a Holy Child is born.
He ran from church to church,
from avenue to avenue,
from restaurant to restaurant,
spreading the good and holy news.
”Baby Jesus is born, Jesus is born!”
Soon he was tired for lack of food.
But though the job was badly paid,
he persisted for he believed
one day Jesus would bless him too.
So he went on, giving his flyers
proclaiming the holy news
until a strange light attracted him.
Slowly he approached and saw
a small Child in a manger
smiling softly at him.
“Come near my friend, come hear.
Look there are better flyers
beneath my cosy manger.
Go and distribute these.”
The newspaper boy obeyed.
He read the flyer and jumped with joy.
Quickly he returned to the centre
and with renewed energy he shouted:
“Hear, hear, read the news,
Heaven is full of repentant sinners,
come one, come all,
Heaven is there for you,
that's why He was born this day,
come hear the good news.
It is for you.
Merry Christmas.”
Cry, CRY
Wrench your heart and cry
For those with demons inside
With no will left to try
Scream, SCREAM
Find your voice and scream
For those who live in silence
Who are robbed of their dream
Mourn, MOURN
Beat your chest and mourn
For those lost in the night
Whose hearts have been torn
Wail, WAIL
Tear your clothes and wail
For those with twisted minds
Who seek help to no avail
Weep, WEEP
Close your eyes and weep
For the many living dead
Buried in nightmares deep
Hear, HEAR
Open you ears and hear
The silent cries of the poor
Who cower in their fear
See, SEE
Open your eyes and see
The one who is tormented
That tortured soul is me!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
So deep the loss...loss
different than any of those others’.* Others
can’t help but hear my cries, cries
of help. So deep the sorrow...sorrow
keeps the lump in my heart, heart
of despair. The one I need most to hear...hear
me she never quit, until her time was up. Up,
I look for help. Down I read the tether lines, lines
upon pages in books. Books
written by varied authors. Authors —
I glean from their advice...advice
with stories of suffering, suffering
taken to the cross, nailed through feet and hands. Hands
fold. He patiently, lovingly, mercifully listens to me.
6/3/2021
*Or so it seems
My BROTHERS --the Cherokee ---you may refer to me as cross-breed-- or not.
As an ancestor ----if it’s your aspiration?
My Grandmother----half Cherokee- half Blackfoot----as the old tales were told.
Citizenship with your sovereignty —till she was three—that I discovered-
with-in her descendants origin.
My Grandmother ---bought off your reservation after your----- relocation.
Bought by my Grandfather a “white-man” -------to the root!!
172 years belated —consider this --a cross-breeds apology--an accolade --to your entire-
nation.
A nation and PEOPLE-- forcibly removed in 1838-----by the U.S. Government.
Hundreds of Cherokee died----- Who Walked the Trail of Tears.
A NATION and PEOPLE-- vehemently abolished in 1838.
By the U.S. Government---with-in President Andrew Jackson’s administration.
Consider this a cross-breeds apology --with a symbol- ----eternally existing.
Of the anguish and affliction on the Trail Where They Cried--- the symbol of the Cherokee-
rose--that still grows------- that still grows!
Consider this a cross-breeds Tribute to Those Who Walked --that Trail --filled with-
Cherokee Tears.
No words can justify-- no expression can advocate --- what Jackson’s administration-
arranged.
No apology, no apology, would seem adequate or tolerable---to ONE human race.
Notably ----your NATIVE RACE!!
Innumerable thousands have spoken their inadequate and intolerable claims.
Knowing only one and only one-- honest, respectful, faithful, and trustworthy vindication-
would have sufficed.
Consider this-- cross-breeds desire for -----Forgiveness.
Forgiveness for any ancestral involvement---in the mass genocide of your civilization.
Healing our nation --from OUR CURSE—must embark from hear—hear at forgiveness.
Forgiveness extended by --OUR CREATOR---to our race and yours.
By : WEM/MEW/EWM
There's a secret men's club,
Of men at the pub,
We are men, we drink beer,
Loud laughter over here,
Slap shoulders, cheers,
We are men, we drink beer,
Bring that barmaid over here,
Let's drink beer, cheers,
Loud laughs and leers,
"I'll give you one, my dear!"
Men laugh, say,"Hear, hear!"
Chicks walk by smiling,
What are babes thinking?
"Underwhelming,
Have a look at them,
They're no excuse for men?"
Men laugh and don't care,
More beers over here,
There's a secret men's club,
All the men's down at the pub.
Mystery tears up the planks,hear,hear,its the beating of hideous heart.While i Pondered weak and weary.Like taking the beak of the raven out of my heart.
From a place u will not see,comes a sound u will not hear.just like a flash of light Which understanding can not fathom,from the depths flows words which an Avenue emotion is channeled.It speaks always.....
Ahoy!images simmering thru from the depths to the facade parts where its taken As means of communication like a puzzle remains unsolved,unbroken.
Heart of a poet,reservoir of wisdom,easy and steady words are slaves to it.
A voiceless voice it triumphs thru ages listening as wisdom echoes from Mountaintops inspiring the it, ready to bear.Soothes the weary heart and a Tool of discord it stirs up rift like two edged sword.
The heart of the poet is the keeper of thoughts that never dies.
I don’t want to be the other half of
something someone lost a long time ago.
I’m not interested in being
the better part of valour.
Everybody learns the hard way,
one way or another. No matter
how good you are at numbers,
you can only count up to broken,
forever.
So eat your liver & onions.
It should come as no surprise
to discover the divided heart
multiplies nothing.
Any child can tell you
love is invisible geography
& Reality’s the only fiction.
The more you look, the less you see.
Like insects whose words are feelers,
we strive to recollect the half-
remembered that deeply mattered,
witnesses to rashness
passing as bravery.
Despite the bad jokes
& Chardonnay
there’s an absence of humour
In what we say.
By resurrecting the dead we glorify
our names, our reputations
as artists, misfits & revolutionaries.
Savages together,
we toast our mutual savagery –
hear hear!! – the clinking solidarity
of well-heeled somebodies.
Janus Face
Chaotic dialect set-off back-and-forth
Two contrasting characteristics
One is proven to be duplicitous
Political backing of the other party
Now denies it
A refusal that of a true statement
Two-headed bull, speaks gibberish
But the bull is goaded,
wounded, half-crazed
If the bull could reason,
it would understand
After the matador shows off
assessing the bull
The matador unfurls a red cape
Makes me sigh
Men, and women who stand by the bull
Who want to take away freedom
A kind of deception in which you
intentionally hide your true feelings
Intentions behind false words or
Freedom’s away from women's choices
Of their own bodies!
Immigrants’ work grants and
reforms dissolving
They define our American character
and shared history
They are not a problem we need solving
Doctors arrested for saving mothers'
LGBT rights gone
It’s wrong according to the Good Book
A*** or oral copulation “bad acts”
aren’t limited to homophobes
Hear, hear,
Listen to you!
Invisible self
I’m just a regular guy trying to help you –
but if you go back to your old world, beware,
because there are some tricky guys out there
No freedom for those people
Students’ books banned,
Bullying left-facing taken into their own hands
Shine a spotlight on the humanity of immigrants,
and the underlying theme is compassion
Chaotic dialect back-and-forth
Left-facing a Warrior for the people
Our beautiful United States will not be free at all
If together we don’t stand,
So, divided we will fall
On day 1, I promise to take all social experimentation (affordable housing), woke agenda (ban books), side issues (woke ideology) and throw them in the trash—Ron DeSantis
There's one thing that we have in common— Neither of us will be the nominee for our party in 2024—Gavin Newsom
You picked a hell of a time
To come back
So why have you
Have you come to be forgiven
For what you have done
you've stolen my fun
The only thing i have
In this world
Why do you keep returning
You're the one who left
A long time ago to be exact
As a matter of fact
Stay i would love
To hear hear what you have up your glove
This time will be different
Like all the rest
I'll just sit and listen
As i always do
So ramble on
About the past that's gone
Cows of the Month, we're here!
This is a badge of honor, my dears,
Trophy of the year, hear, hear,
Once we were 'good little girls',
Now Cows of the Month do twirl,
Excuse me, what did you call me?
The basics, good manners for tea!
Cows of the Month, hear, hear,
It's trophy of the year, my dears!
Ode to Erato
“Hear, hear!” What’s this poppycock all about?
“Get rid of St. Valentine’s Day… you say — I say naught!”
Brave Britannia, are we losing our faculties?
I’d give my life for God, king, and country,
but to give up St. Valentine’s Day? “Preposterous!”
A night with Erato is an experience like no other.
Painfully erotic, overwhelming, and barbaric,
or tenderly smothering, so Oedipal complex,
as passion guides your heart’s desire in words.
'Tis to die satisfied, knowing the utmost pleasure.
So, to this chicanery, I say, let us sing
out in an overture, from soprano high to basso low,
with mid-range baritone in between,
to fragile Eros’s joy in avoiding Chronos’s eye,
and follow Erato and not be dismayed by Thanatos,
but let the sexes engage intimately
in the propagation of the species.
We can’t stand this chaos, we need an organized society
Heartless humor
Haven’t we been saying that since the 90s’, only where is the organization?
The country will change, and things will get better
Such open denial
Can’t someone see the country is changing, only things are getting worse
We need God in this country, don’t we?
What an ask
With all the praying and churches, isn’t God here yet?
If only these leaders will have the fear of God, perhaps things will be better
Hear, hear
Not with all the loose money and dirty lies making the rounds on the corridors of power
Electric power is off again for the umpteenth time, and these thoughts are flying loose upstairs
Irony of darkness
You probably have the same thoughts, but like me would continue to hope things get better
YOU ARE MY ANGELS
Indeed you are well come,
Indeed you are someone special,
Indeed you are a true friend in need,
Indeed you are a true friend indeed,
Indeed you are appreciated,
Hear me clearly,
I am speaking my heart out,
I am pointing out my opinions about life,
I am expressing my mind out,
Hear me loudly,
YOU ARE MY ANGELS
Sometimes we look 2 see what we want to see,
Sometimes we listen 2 what we want 2 listen too,
Sometimes we have been called, yet we do not reply,
Sometimes we ask, but we only hear what we want 2 hear,
Sometimes we seek, but we only get what we believe we will get,
Sometime we knock at doors, yet we do not hear the word saying enter,
Sometimes we are seeking for help, yet we refuse 2 recognize it when granted,
Sometimes others do knock at our heart doors, yet we do not open them up,
Sometimes we look in front of us, yet we do not see anything there,
Sometimes we have been asked, yet we do not hear anything,
Sometimes we are smiling, but, indeed we are crying,
Sometimes we are crying, but, in reality we are joyful,
Sometimes life is not what it seems,
Indeed, it is true life is unpredictable,
YOU ARE MY ANGELS
Angels are always there,
Angels sometimes are not visible,
Yet, they are always watching over us,
For all the people, u a one of the angels,
Who is send in this world 2 inspired others,
U may resist this statement, but oooh no, do not,
What other people see, is a completely different picture,
What other people hear is a completely different word,
One person heart is a different Island
As what I see, is not what u sees,
Twins do have a different identity
By Erastus Popyeny Shipuleni
SHARING
Sharing is a way of caring
But you’ve got to listen too.
Sometimes it’s pain you oft’are bearing
Sometimes a joy come new.
We tend to bare our souls with hesitation
Fearing response of condemning negation.
So important we listen to what others say
In an understanding non-judgemental way.
So please listen, hear, hear, I want to share
A deep-felt feeling of which I care!
We spoke words,
We sung our emotions loud,
We felt fiery feelings for each other,
We shared smiles, we shared frowns,
We played in the rain, we wrestled in the mud,
But today we are against each other,
Today we are pointing not only fingers of accusations but actual machetes,
My folks why are we at war?
*
Remind me please, why are we fighting?
Is it because Ngwenya's son stole a cob of maize from Chona's field?
Is it because of hunger found in our own brothers household, that we choose to spill blood?
When we were young, remember, we stole not for hunger but for pleasure,
Even then, our parents never in a moon wished to shed blood,
Our parents never sworn enmity, never disowned each other because they knew that children are children,
Now our son has stolen for hunger, a noble cause,
Why then should we fight, men of one house?
Why my brothers should blood be shed?
Why should blood of our very own be spilt?
*
Is our blood of equal value with maize?
Should our blood be of equalled to a cob of maize?
Listen, our wives mock us,
Hear, hear how old women make fun of us,
Look, our fathers plead with us,
The ground rumbles loudly to our display of folly,
The skies above us, drop tears of disappointed gods.
Gods mourn for our cursed savage ways.
Why should blood be spilt for a maize cob?