Best Hell Raiser Poems | Poetry

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The Best Hell Raiser Poems

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The Hangin' Tree

Folks avoid that spooky place 'specially on dark and stormy nights!
Heard are eerie moans and shrieks and seen are mysterious lights!
A driftin' hoss thief by the unlikely name of One-Eyed Buck LaHore,
Was strung up on the 'hangin' tree' way back in '72, accordin' to local lore!

Now, ol' Jedge Stern, renowned as the 'hangin' jedge' in them there parts,
Owned the hoss that Buck stole, showin' no respect and lack of smarts!
Buck vanished in the night a-high-tailin' it fer the Mexican border,
Trailed by a posse to bring 'im back dead er alive upon the jedge's order!

He was found carousin' in an El Paso cantina havin' a grand ol' spree!
The sheriff said, "Son, come with me! You've got a date with the 'hangin' tree'!"
There was little Buck could do with a dozen forty-fours starin' 'im in the face!
"Boys, you got me! Don't make a scene! Let's git outta this here place!"

Hauled before the jedge, Buck admitted he'd been a hell-raiser all his life.
"But, jedge" he pled, "I didn't cause no harm like molestin' a feller's wife!"
Judge Stern saw things diff'runt 'specially since 'twas his hoss he stole!
"Son, you're to be strung up on a tree and may God save yer rotten soul!"

To this very day on moonlit nights Buck can be seen swingin' in the breeze,
Clawin' at the noose about his neck yellin', "Jedge, have mercy on me please!"
That stern ol' jedge has shown no mercy as is evident from all indications.
Alas, the ghost of that wily thief will haunt local folks for many generations!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011


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Heartbreak Hotel R B

I was speared by a Cupid star gazer
More likely the devil's hell-raiser !
With much mischief, his darts,
like his poems, would impart
a wit that's as sharp as a razor !

It's time for his shame to repent !
The Soup wants to charge you some rent
Your arrow and name,
that flared with hot flames,
died out, and I'm here to lament !

_____________________________________
For Skat's Contest: "Heartbreaking Poet"


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015


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SCARY 1

Try me, fool, and the semi gon' bang
I'm a big dog, I gotta' let my nuts hang
If I go to jail, best believe I'm bonding out
I always handle beef, that's what I'm all about
I'm not a punk, somebody lied--
I'm bustin' shots, let's get that fixed

Sleep on me, see me in ya' worst nightmares

I'm Hell-raiser, dead fresh in some Nike-Airs

Or in a monkey suit, totin' something with a banana clip

Leave you wet, like dry lips after applying Chap-stick

Ain't talking 'bout a blunt, but I rolled-up

I'm gon' wet these fools, hope they don't mold-up

When it go down, I go ape-shit, bananas

put coward to sleep, without the pajamas

Keep bustin' shots, like pimples on a maturing teen

I do my dirt, but leave the crime scene clean

Stay fresh, but they always call me grimy

They say I'm too gangsta', so they won't sign me

I put in work, man, I'm clockin' in overtime

Haters faces looking sour, like they suckin' on lime

You got beef, well guess what, that's all I eat

I stand my ground, you just sit in your seat

Can't let fools run me over, I'm not a roadkill

Leave you in the streets leakin', looking like an oil spill

You got a problem, I know how'tta' get that solved

Apply pressure, let's not get ya' family involved


Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013


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DEMETRIOUS

I’d like to tell you of a bright young boy
Who happens to be my love, life, and joy
He’s moody and stubborn but loves having fun
An adorable charmer, my second born son
A sweet and sensible little man that I admire
As a most trusted friend he has all that’s required
Loyalty, sensitivity, charm and wit
But on occasion will have an impossible fit
He won’t go through life, as would a hell raiser
Rather as a connoisseur of life who can savor
The beauty of a sun drenched afternoon
Or of a beautiful rose which is in full bloom
Demetrious I dedicate this poem with words all true
With love and affection from mom, me to you!



Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2005


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Dying young contest

He was a legend with a great lifetime ahead.       
Was a hell raiser who would never die  in his bed.      
To live fast die young was his motto instead.          
Actor extraordinaire was rebellious in his head.      

Was a hell raiser who would never die in his bed.    
He was a rebel without a cause a group he led           
Actor extraordinaire was rebellious in his head         
Speed was something from which he never fled 

He was a rebel without a cause a group he led
To live fast, die young was his motto  instead
Speed was something from which he never fled
He was a legend with a great lifetime ahead


Penned 21/05/2013

James Dean


    









Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2013


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Hallowman

Her face is deceptive, looking innocent Though she is far from it, a real hell-raiser Her dark powers covers all, she’s competent The witch holds her own, she is a life chaser Though she looks demented and fearfully bleak She only has these charms if I let you seek Her evil wisps come down on all that she can I bring her to life for I’m the Hallowman
Russell Sivey


Copyright © Russell Sivey | Year Posted 2013


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Spontaneous Thoughts

Awe there she is, looks as if she sleeping like a baby, umh…little do they know that she was a hell of a hell raiser.  Umm… she never looked that good in pink, the undertaker should’ve laid her mean ass in blood thirsty crimson.   Umh…looky here, her forth husband just strolled in, he looks somewhat relieved, he keeps fumbling at his hand, pulling up his sleeve, umh… nice Rolex,  looks like he’s ready to leave.  Oh my lawd….umh…. I can smell her fifth husband, from the french doors, this fool is lit, did he just bath himself in a gallon of Seagram’s, poor soul, that mean old bag did drive him to drinking.  Well, well, well, look what the wind blew in, word on the street is the sixth and the first, had to ante-up on the funeral.  The six husband manners is hard for me to read, umh… he did seem a bit oblivious and sometimes a little inconsiderate.  WOW! Look at MS Mildred, standing over there looking fabulously gorgeous, umh… is she looking for the second husband or the money that she owed her.  Ya know,  she don’t play about her money or her men, known back in the day as M&M, I best to keep my eye on her when she goes up to view the body, she’s got a reputation for pick-pocketing dead bodies.  Uhm… now that a sad sight to see, James her son is taking her death extremely hard, he seems to be so trouble, I wonder which of these men will stand up and finally act like a father, umh… it’s much too late for a paternity test, maybe they should  take turns and just pull straws, umh.. It’s so sad, she should’ve named that boy Jasmine or Janell.  Oh my… time’s whining down, it almost 11 o’clock, I hope she made her peace, I guess the moment has arrived, let me walk up to the podium and do my dear friend’s eulogy.UMH!


Copyright © Stephanie Yarbrough Quinn | Year Posted 2017


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Lekker Shaker

Ha, is Life a joy killer?
A sore loser? A penny pincher?
A dream wrecker? A home breaker?
Or is it a wisecracker? A joker?
A safe cracker? A bushwhacker?
A hell raiser? A heaven buster?
Or maybe, a trekker? A way marker?
A banker? An anchor? A timer?

Nah...Life is God's supreme Lekker!


Copyright © Abdul Malik | Year Posted 2013


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Memoirs And Battle Scars

Ernie was a hell raiser
A daredevil of sorts.
He was popular in school,
A natural at sports.

A kid in a candy store
Is the way Ernie felt.
All he had to do was smile,
And every girl would melt.

But he had eyes for Sally,
The only girl for him.
She was aces in his book,
A beauty, tall and slim.

They married after high school,
The Fall of thirty eight,
Ernie earned a scholarship,
At Arizona State.

While he worked for his degree,
Sally clerked at a store;
But their dreams were cut short by
The Second World War.

Ernie became a Captain
In the Army Air Corps.
He proudly served his country,
Like his father before.

Sally trained to be a nurse,
She wished to do her part.
Then word reached her that Ernie
Had earned the Purple Heart.

He’d engaged the Japanese,
Out in the Philippines.
Shot down at Corregidor,
News came from the marines.

The next three years passed slowly,
And Sally tried to cope.
But something would not let her,
Lose faith or give up hope.

Then in early November,
Of nineteen forty five,
The Army called to tell her,
Ernie was still alive.

Parachuting from his plane
He broke one of his knees,
But still avoided capture,
By hostile Japanese.

He joined with the resistance,
A ragged, motley band,
And offered his assistance,
Though he could hardly stand.

The rebels had a medic,
Who tended to his knee;
But without proper treatment
It wasn’t meant to be.

He would always have a limp,
And Ernie knew the score.
His future would be different,
Than what he knew before.

Somehow it didn’t matter,
If this wound changed his life,
If upon returning home
He’s greeted by his wife.

For she is what he fought for,
For her he would have died,
Only she can ease the pain
Of his next labored stride.

The ship made port in Richmond,
And Ernie said a prayer.
Then through tear filled eyes, he saw
His Sally waiting there. 

For a moment, time stood still
Every detail defined,
Imprinted like a snapshot
Upon each of their minds.

And like an old time movie,
They met in an embrace.
End credits rolled as Ernie
Wiped tears from Sally’s face.

They drove into the sunset,
Holding hands and grinning,
Though tales end, we know this is
Only the beginning.


Copyright © Mark Spencer | Year Posted 2011


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They Is A-hangin' Me Tonight

Well, here I sit a-sweatin' and a-thinkin' in the hoosegow in old Santa Fe.
In the glow of the settin' sun I see the hangin' tree jes' across the way.
Folks has come in their buckboards from near and far to enjoy the show.
Things ain't a-lookin' too good fer me right now, I want y'all to know!

The preacher was here babblin' words of hope and a-prayin' fer my soul.
Well, he was reassurin' and charmin' but he left me feelin' mighty low!
He said if'n I'd repent my sins they'd be a slight chance of avoidin' hell!
I reckon in a hour er so the Lord'll sort that out - fer now who can tell!

The sheriff jes' came by a-wantin' to know what I want fer my final meal.
"Fried chicken, taters and a beer would do" said I.   More'n that don't appeal.
Through the bars I see the sheriff's boys a-stretchin' out the noose.
I hope they gits it adjusted comfortable like - not too tight and not too loose!

I admit I ain't been a outstandin' dude and I've been a hell-raiser all my life.
But shucks, horse thievin' didn't cause no harm nor did I molest a feller's wife.
But that jedge saw things diff'runt, 'specially since it was his hoss I stole!
He said, "Son, you're to be strung up on a tree - God have mercy on yer soul!"

I see they drove the final nail in my coffin - I reckon I'm ready to face my fate.
Maybe before they stretch my neck the guv'ner'll call if'n it ain't too late.
I'm mighty glad them folks is enjoyin' theyselves partyin' and drinkin' beer.
Too bad it's my demise they is celebratin and a-causin' all that cheer!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

(Sequel to follow)


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012


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Jihad Donald Trump Style

The glory of America, now heats up 
   with agitation poised to strike on the brink 
sans legislation incites humiliation, 
    which goads desecration as fete accompli chink 
   in armor of Democratic rubric, constituting capitalistic 
   ethic, generic iconoclastic, and jingoistic logic, 
   nor budging an inch when mandating masses swallow his drink 
what huff huck – this belligerent, dominant and 
   fervent hell raiser doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Mar shall law fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab doth put Venus under his sway 
   with his Mercury hill temperament
   pitches the orbit of planet Earth tubby comb out of balance
   infected by hiz anti Ju pit er damnations, excoriations, fulminations
   Huzzah sing how whiz derriere didst Sat urn simultaneously 
   crushing crucible as an Uranus
   indiscriminately plop ping two hundred fifty pounds off flesh 
   dub ling down humming his favorite Neptune 
   that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
   repeating a self coined motto – 
   I yam all mighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control, 
   a one man military intelligence groupthink  
hut triad and true dyed in the wool rip pug in ant guise zing rogue 
   rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial, linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on wielding indomitable aggression 
   practiced in the Art of the Deal incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down vis a vis pro pens heave lee and prop hen city 
   flashing hiz seal of approval, which scribbled signature 
   doth not smooth monkey serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
   spells these United States of America twill become hell 
   in a hand basket with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president (whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence) 
   found him steady and strong, plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitomy of this forty fifth elected commander in mischief
   a twenty first century Drake yule ha – albeit nink
con poop – barely describes this oafish piranha making waves
   (Whereby Hurricane Katrina seems like child’s play), 
   where even a toddler, could out rule, out smart, and out think 
   thee maniac pampered by don patriarch Fred, who fawned, doted 
   and bow wowed over this magnate trick son, whose rapacious, 
   reprehensible and riling actions generated when Melanie doth wink.






Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017


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TODAY

YESTERDAY IS GONE AND TOMORROW IS THE STRAIGHT AHEAD BUT I AM SCARED.

AFRAID THAT I MIGHT COME UP AGAINST SOMETHING THAT I CANNOT BEAR SOMETHING THAT I CANNOT OVERCOME.

BUT I LOOK UP TO THE SKY AND I REMEMBER WHO BROUGHT ME OUT OF SO MANY STORMS.

WHO HELPED ME WHEN THE RAIN DIDN'T STOP FALLING WHEN THE ROAD GOT ROCKY WHEN THE DEVIL TRIED TO KEEP ME DOWN.

WHEN HE THOUGHT HE HAD THE VICTORY WHEN HE THOUGHT HE HAD ME AROUND HIS FINGER.

BUT THE HOLY GHOST SPOKE FROM HEAVEN AND SAID THAT IT'S NOT OVER YET.

I HAVE THE LAST SAY OVER ALL THIS I FELT THAT I COULDN'T GO ON.

I FELT THAT I WASN'T WORTHY ENOUGH I FELT THAT I HAD DONE TOO MUCH.

THAT I HAD BEEN MORE OF A HELL RAISER ANGRY AT THE WORLD ANGRY AT MYSELF.

LOOKING INTO THE MIRROR SEEING A WOMAN THAT I DIDN'T RECOGNIZE A PERSON WHO WAS MEAN AND HATEFUL.

WANTING REVENGE ON THOSE WHO HURT HER STRUGGLING WITH FORGIVENESSS AND LOVING AT THE SAME TIME.
SHE WAS HURT AND CONFUSED SHE FORGOT HOW TO LOVE, HOW TO BE A PERSON OF MORALS BUT SHE KNEW SHE HAD TO PROVE HERSELF ALL OVER AGAIN.
BUT WITH JESUS AT HER SIDE SHE KNEW SHE COULD DO ANYTHING.


Copyright © Quondreika Cheatham | Year Posted 2011


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Jihad Donald Trump Style

The glory of America, now heats up 
   with agitation poised to strike on the brink 
sans legislation incites humiliation, 
    which goads desecration fete accompli chink 
   in armor of Democratic rubric, constituting capitalistic 
   ethic, generic iconoclastic, and jingoistic logic, 

   nor budging an inch when mandating masses swallow his drink 
what huff huck – this belligerent, dominant and 
   fervent hell raiser doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Mar shall law fast as a shutterfly eyewink

as his cosmic crotch grab doth put Venus under his sway 
   with his Mercury hill temperament
   pitches the orbit of planet Earth tubby comb out of balance
   infected by hiz anti Ju pit 
   er damnations, excoriations, fulminations

   Huzzah sing how whiz derriere 
   didst Sat urn simultaneously 
   crushing crucible as an Uranus
   indiscriminately plop ping 
   two hundred fifty pounds off flesh 
   dub ling down humming his favorite Neptune,
 
   that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
   repeating self coined motto – 
   I yam all mighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control, 
   a one man military intelligence groupthink  
hut triad and true dyed in the wool 
   rip pug in ant guise zing rogue 
   rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial, linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on wielding indomitable aggression 

   practiced in the Art of the Deal 
   incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down vis a vis 
   pro pens heave lee and prop hen city 
   flashing hiz seal of approval, which scribbled signature 
   doth not smooth monkey serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
   spells United States of America twill become hell 
   in a hand basket with nary a trace of grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president 

   (whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence) 
   found him steady and strong, 
   plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitome of forty fifth elected commander in mischief
   a twenty first century Drake yule ha – albeit tink
con poop – barely describes this oafish piranha making waves
   (Whereby Hurricane Katrina seems like child’s play),
 
   where even a toddler, could out rule, out smart, and out think 
   maniac pampered 
   by don patriarch Fred, who fawned, doted 
   and bow wowed over magnate trick son, whose rapacious, 
   reprehensible and riling actions generated when Melanie doth wink.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017