Best Hit On Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Hit On poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of hit on poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Hit On poems, articles about Hit On poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Hit On poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New Hit On Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Hit On poems are below this new poems list.

View all new Hit On Poems

The Best Hit On Poems

 
Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Nemesis

Nemesis 
The pay back Reward that await
Intelligent humans

Nemesis 
It hit on an unexpected 
Moment 

Nemesis 
I see it coming soon
To all evil paparazzi's 
All over the globe

Nemesis 
is the God
That fights for the innocent 

Nemesis 
Is about to catch up 
With them that takes
Away our freedom 

Nemesis 
No man can escape 
It 
No matter who 
You are!


Copyright © richard nnoli | Year Posted 2017

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

DENSER NOT MENSA PART 1- COLLABORATION

An old gal applied to join Mensa Gee she couldn’t be any denser She went in the wrong door On the thirty third floor And there she enrolled as a fencer When attending her first fencing class A man scored a hit on her huge ass She screamed out so loud It drew quite a crowd She cannot abide failure – its crass! WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON She hollered and screamed for a medic I swear it was worse than a dead duck one without any wings oh the horror she sings she's much more than dense she's pathetic WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH She swore that she really could spell And in math she did surely excel But once she felt pain All she did was complain And whined as her sore butt did swell. WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN That old gal then became a method actor but one thing soon became a huge factor she forgot all her lines her mentality declines now she sputters like a John Deere tractor WRITTEN BY LIN LANE Her butt was so sore she bought leeches Gently placing them in her breeches To suck out the bruise We could hear her oooh's I felt sorry for the poor creatures Her butt was so big like a whale all that was missing was it's tail so they stuck a flag up her arse called it the new Khyber pass she went a whiter shade of pale. WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS "Am I smart?" is what she kept asking In glory she hoped to be basking. Suddenly she farted. The whole room departed. Now finding fresh air is their tasking. WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART She sat for the test with all smiles Filled out the forms and the files But she spelled her name wrong Became twisted of tongue And was thrown to the crocodiles. WRITTEN BY RICHARD D SEAL 07-17-17 Seems the old gal was a talented tart Clearing the room with but one single fart Wiping their eyes All those wise guys Soundly applauded her flatulent art WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS 07-18-17


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017




Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Everything You Can Imagine

"Everything You Can Imagine"

There's a part of me that wants to do as it pleases 
And a part of me that don't make sense
There's a part of me that calls out to Jesus
And a part of me that rides the fence...

There's a part of me that walks the edge in the night
And a part of me that I don't know
There's a part of me that want's to give up the 'fight'
And there's a part of me that won't let go...

'Cause I've been lied to...Spit on...
Pushed down...Hit on...
I've been Cussed at...Cheated...
Used and Mistreated...
Everything you can imagine....
But I wouldn't let go...

Nothing but The Blood could set me free
So I called out to Jesus...here's what He said to me:

There's a part of me that lives inside of you
And a part of me that won't let you hide
There's a part of me that always sees you through
And a part of me with arms open wide...
There's a part of me that lived the pain you feel 
A a part of me that died for you
There's a part of me with power that's real
And a part of me that makes that 'old life' new...

Nothing but My Blood can rescue you
So call on My Name...I know what you're going through

'Cause I was lied to...Spit on...
Pushed down...Hit on...
I was Cussed at...Cheated...
Used and Mistreated...
I've been through everything you can't imagine...
But I wouldn't let go...
Because I loved you...
I wouldn't let go...


~by deborah burch©
3/31/2012


Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bell's Blues (Conclusion)

     Today, I had a chance to ask his widow, Laurie, about this story.  She 
confirmed that it did happen, and he came home from work that day excited, and 
told her and their 3 daughters about the event.
     And sure enough, shortly thereafter, the song became a hit on the radio, and 
M.T.V., in those ancient days when they actually played music.
     This news brightened my day considerably, and I'm happy to share it with you; 
so when you next hear that song, remember my good buddy, Mark Trotiner, the 
uncredited genius behind it.
                                          tom bell


Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sometimes

Sometimes I feel trapped in a little box. 
That box is surrounded with mirrors inside.
Sometimes I see a light in one of the corners.
Sometimes I try to open that light more to get out, 
I try, and try so hard suddenly it goes off.
Sometimes of trying so hard, I give up, I cry.
The mirrors get colder, as I cry.
When the light disappears and comes back, 
I look at my face in the mirror.
Sometimes I hear voices.
Those voices can't hear me, 
I try to scream, I hit on the mirrors beside me.
Sometimes I try to do anything to get out, I get sad. 
Sometimes, as time passes me by I get older, 
I survive without food, and water.
I think I'll never get out of here. 
Sometimes, I've wondered has it been forever?


Copyright © Jessica Aguilar | Year Posted 2017

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Death of my Friend

Death of my Friend


Found was the key to heaven's door
this pain I can bear no more
The shadows that eat my long nights
the guilt of that deadly fight

Ages ago tragedy came sailing in
took the life of you my friend
A drunken party that went so wrong
our lives becoming a sad song

I begged you to not dare drive
if you done so you'd be alive
My guilt in not forcing you back
you car hit on that train track

Death came instantly to my friend
for me pain that will never end
I backed down when you hit me then
your funeral I'd not had to attend

You that always got your own way
should have never died that sad day
Now I see your fate was meant to be
you died young, a soul early set free!

Robert Lindley

note: Death of my friend. I tried to stop him 
but not hard enough.Too drunk to safely drive but 
when so young we thought we were ten feet tall and 
bullet proof! 
Maybe we were but just not speeding train proof..
Rather than knock him out I let him go. 
Car was hit by a train and death was immediate..
Twenty-one is too young to go..


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tee Shot

Address.
Stance, grip,
settle in, shake out,
place the club head,
sweet spot kissing
the doomed ball,
a ripe plum
against the steel.
Eternity.
Doubt about 
the Oppenheimer reallocation.
Eye on the ball, 
a visual feast,
view the flag,
take a picture of it
with the mind,
eye on the ball.
A breeze, a frown,
left foot forward
a millimeter,
club head opened 
four thousands of an inch,
the reckoning 
of terrible variables.
Imagine the Masters:
“Mr Scott Davis of Fort Wayne Indiana,
you are away.”
Address.
Perfection, shake out,
wiggling hips,
exhale, the paroxysm
of tension, mind and body
crystallized.
The flag appears
as a scrapbook photograph,
the drum roll crescendo
of concentration stops.
Silence.
The Oppenheimer reallocation
was a good move.
It's time.
The back swing,
a slow pendulum
of machine precision
rises to the twisted apex 
and hovers.
The sword of Damocles,
falls slowly to release.
Scott gives it his all.
Eye off the ball.
The Oppenheimer reallocation.
Ping!
Follow through.
Angst.
There it is!
The ball is shooting straight
down the fairway
as an artillery round,
climbing to trajectory,
rising, hanging, hanging
beyond gravity,
falling, falling, dropping.
Thud. 
Direct hit on the green,
rolling, rolling, stopping
ten feet from the pin. 
“Yes!”
Could be better but
birdie is possible –
very possible.
Scott lifts the heavy golf bag
and soldiers down the fairway. 
The sun could not
be brighter,
the sky more blue,
the grass more green,
the birds more musical.
Scott is hopeful
of birdie
on Par 3.




Copyright © Peter Kautsky | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Near Death Experience

Back when I was twelve, my dad built me a dabchick
I had great fun learning how to sail it getting many dunking's
Us kids used to sail around the harbour and race to the spit.

One day after racing back and forth several times,
the wind started to pick up and the others headed ashore.
But I carried on, this  was way too fun as I sped about.

The squall grew stronger and I turned turtle several times
up righting my boat I foolishly carried on until as I up ended her
I was hit on the head, dazed I sat on the up turned hull.

Unable in the squall's strength to get her up right
I clung to the centre board and watched the harbour wall get closer
too dazed to realise the danger I was in I just sat there waiting.

Lucky for me the yacht club notified the life boat and it came out,
rescued in the nick of time they took me aboard and dried me off.  
They towed my dabchick still turned turtle back to the yacht club.

My parents Dad especially were furious and I was grounded for
the rest of the summer while dad repaired my dabchick.
My humiliation was complete when the local paper covered my rescue.

I learnt that day to respect the sea and treat it with caution.
My story could have ended so differently. Yet I remained a dare devil
and went through two very bad car clashes with barely a scratch.

Now at last much wiser I take things much more steadily
and rarely take such risks after all I am not invincible.
Just someone who pushed her luck right to the edge.

written 11/02/2014

contest: Near Death or Near Life Experience 


Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Santa is a Yorkshire Man

To stop the myth going around that Santa is a Scotsman, a huge hit on the radio here. So fo those that believe this is the truth.


Santa is a Yorkshire man everybody knows that
You just say he is Scottish, cos he’s round and fat.
Well Yorkshire men can be the same they are not all dud
All year on the beer and whisky 
Washed down with Yorkshire pud.

Santa is a Yorkshire man everybody here knows that
You say your Scottish Santa’s Glow warm, red and fat.
Well Yorkshire Santa’s have glowing bits, but they keep them out of sight
Except on Christmas Eve when their pants have got too tight.

Santa is a Yorkshire man so stop making such a fuss
A Santa who know what’s what, so you can call on us
If your chimney is too tight, Yorkshire Santa will let you know
He’ll leave your present’s elsewhere, and you will have to go.
To collect you gifts is your own fault if your chimney is too small
Don’t expect him to get up there, he doesn’t want to fall.

A spade is a spade wherever you go Santa will tell you that
If you want to get your presents early, try Ilkley moor bar tat.
They meet there on Christmas Eve to swop gifts and stories too
That’s why they all have glowing bits, I bet you would have too.

He doesn’t have time to mess about, you people should know that
Santa is a Yorkshire man, there’s no more to say that’s that.



Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Table Hogs

They invade the cafe at first light
Then with latte and laptop held tight
    They seize tables for four
    To let go nevermore
So all others drink coffee upright

With a bored intellectual stare
That one hankers to be Molière
    If he's writing a play
    For a hit on Broadway
Then its plot must involve Solitaire

One's quite the scientific young chap
For which typing is no handicap
   He must write his thesis
   By psychokinesis
Cause the keyboard gets hardly a tap

That one with the big apple fritter
Is researching a mental transmitter
    He's receiving the thoughts
    Of strange cosmonauts
Transferred through Facebook and Twitter

Perhaps you will think I'm pretentious
And more than a little contentious
     But it's just a disgrace
     To monopolize space
And I think that's the general consensus


Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2016

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I hate

 

 I hate the way you make me feel guilty about being jealous when other girls hit on you, 
 
 
 I hate the way you can go forever without even seeing or talking to me when your friends are around, but expect me to drop everything to talk to you when you want my attention.
 
 
I hate how you're so happy at times and I'm so sad, 
 
 
I hate how you treated me like sh*t  but yet I'm the one feeling bad.
 
 
I hate how I feel so weak and you're so strong, 
 
 
I hate how you think you do no wrong.
 
 
I hate how you pretend that everythings okay, 
 
 
I hate how you took my innocence away and act sometimes like it ment nothing.
 
 
I hate how I feel so scared, 
 
 
I hate how fast I fell in love with you without a fighting chance.
 
 
I hate the way you look at me and just know when something is wrong.
 
 
I hate how everything we have means nothing to everybody else
 
 
I hate the way I feel inside, 
 
 
I hate the nights I spent alone and cried.
 
 
I hate how everything seems wrong, 
 
 
I hate the feeling of wanting to belong.
 
 
I hate how you're always in my head, 
 
 
I hate everything mean you have ever said.
 
 
I hate wondering how you really feel about me, 
 
 
I hate how you try to go out with certin friends and you feel like you have to lie
 
 
I hate how when your job takes you away for long times I'm left with being alone and want to do nothing but cry
 
 
I hate it how you can just come in and out of my life and feel like everything is alright 
while I am the one that has to put up with the problems, family and drama every night
 
 
 But most of all I hate the way I can't stop thinking about you, and I hate it even more because I know you know its true
 
 
All these thing don't make me really hate you, It just makes me lust you more an more and it feeds my wanting you right down to the core


Copyright © mandy cabral | Year Posted 2012

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Busted

   Busted            
When Santa got stuck down the chimney
What a terrible fright for young lives
Imagine the sight that then met them
Imagine their awful surprise.
With a crash and a thump and a holler
A bang and a whoosh and a boom
The magical globe trotting Santa
Daintily entered their room!

He landed full square in their fireplace
His hat flopped down over his eyes
He looked really much more like Black Beard
Except he was double the size.
The children sat up in amazement
Then hid and peeped through a crack
As this unfortunate dirty old Santa
Was hit on the head by his sack.

The air turned quite blue for a moment
When he finally uttered a cry
I’ve hurt every bone in my body
Was the gist of what he implied
Now Rudolph looked down from above him
Shook his head and then let out a sigh
Get up you clumsy old has been
We still have work left to do tonight.

Well Santa looked right up that chimney
His plight became clear in a flash
He was stuck with his sack at the bottom
And didn’t know how to get back.
The children, still hid in the corner
Just couldn’t believe what they saw
As this dirty old Santa recovered
Did his job and then limped out the door. 

They watched as he climbed out the window
His suit now completely akimbo
But Rudolph was there with the sleigh and a spare
He now had clean clothes to change into.
Once more Rudolph rescued the big man
Stamped his hoof, got him out of his whirl
Threatened to leave less he focus
You know, of course, Rudolph’s a girl!!!!                                                                                                                   
 
The children got up in the morning
Frustrated, annoyed and distressed,
For their bedroom looked just like a bombsite
Where two sacks of gifts had been left
Despite having left him a message
Stating ‘ please do not leave so much trash,
We are modern day children remember
What we want is a cheque or some cash’


Copyright © Heather Buxton | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

LOVE HURTS

LOVE HURT'S

        I want you to love me from deep within,
      not from the love that going to hurt me again.
        Not the love the going to make me cry,
    because the guy I choose to have in my life.
         Not the love that make's me bleed,
     not the love that make me cry on my knee's.
         I don't want the love that blacks my eye's,
          and everyone has to ask me why?
     Why do I have to lie to my family, and friend's?
            Just because you hit me again.
            All the love I have gave to you,
           is this really the best you can do?
      I made you feel like the star you are,
      how come I can't be your shining star?
       I've loved you when you have yet to love your self,
           but I'm the one with the busted mouth.
             Having to feel the back of your hand,
                makes you even less of a man! 
          I want to see you hit a man in that same way,
         the way you hit and treat me every day!
   It's not going to be easy having to feel the way I do,
     when he takes your man hood from you!
      You make me regret ever ****en with you!
        Then you can come walk a mile in my shoes,
           when he straight *****es you!
      Remember revenge live's in us all,
      and I can't wait for the day to see you fall.
      Don't worry because you weep what you sow.
              What you do in the past,
        alway's come back to haunt your ass!
         If you don't want to get hit on,
          I advise you don't hit on me!
     Because someone is alway's bigger and badder,
               that you just can't beat! 
  If you a real man you'll step to a man in the street's,
   and stop hitting women you already know you can beat.
     You know deep down your a bigger ***** then me,
               So step to a real man,
            and feel the heat of defeat!


Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2011

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Daddy Issues

World is full of witches
I'd love to write on them with stitches
Would you like to talk about your daddy issues,
I got time, lets break out some tissues

You say you want honesty
Your reaction while receiving is deceiving 

Your say you and your man share many loving moods
Why am I sitting at a bar watching you hit on another dude
Yours is at home, if he knew he'd regret
Waiting for you in front of your television set

When you come home tossed
He'll make you food while you feel lost
You know you should give yourself to him
Your denying him the right to get in

You want him to beg for you
 Just keep doing what you chose
Your love soon enough will be dismissed
He wont be around to kiss. 

Happens with one man, ok
Happens with the second man..eh
Happens with the third man, yikes
Maybe a therapist in your future isn't out of sight







Copyright © Sharon Morken | Year Posted 2012

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

GOD Cant You Change These Grandchildren

GOD Can’t You Change These Grandchildren?
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren?
You were there when they were born
You fed them
Changed their diapers
Followed them and their parents around the United States and some foreign countries
You studied with them
Went to school with them
Gave them money, praise, and love
And never a word of thanks
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren
They get on Facebook and Skype
Saying nobody has ever done anything for me
Did they give birth to themselves?
They didn’t have jobs, did they provide for themselves?
You bought prom dresses, caps and gowns, furniture, and paid fees
God can’t you change these grandchildren?
You pray for them
You offer them comfortable places to sleep
You try to show them how wonderful and valuable they are
And yet they don’t believe
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren?
You bought postage stamps for them so that they could write you
Not one letter did you receive
You sent invitations to celebrate and come and visit
They wanted you to pay for boyfriends and other kin
And now that they are adults that are full of rage and pain
How dare tell the world a lie
Nobody ever did anything for me
How dare they have babies and never bring them to visit
But when they need money here come the sob story
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren?
Love is unconditional; I really believe that’s true
So what about a phone call, a hit on Facebook, a text, a tweet? 
An Instagram just to say I love you, or I’m fine, I’m okay
Post a picture or a happy birthday
I love you grandchildren
Maybe one day I’ll do something and you can stop saying and posting
Nobody ever did anything for me
Love GOD and your Grandmother
’t You Change These Grandchildren?


Copyright © Mirrian Bryant | Year Posted 2013

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

No Internet Company

I've been sitting here at my computer, all day and all of the night
waiting for others to hit on my page, with a comment or a "like,"
24 hours plus and counting
and still nothing from anyone.
I guess that it is safe to suffice
that everyone else but me on the Internet 
has gone and gotten them self a life.
Time for me to hit the sheets
and get some over due sleep.
There will be no Internet company tonight.
Loneliness can be a b*tch. Ain't I right?"


Copyright © SillyBilly theKidster | Year Posted 2013

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Noah's flood

In a divine act of retribution,
A deity hit on a solution.
A flood he'd send was his conclusion,
One man came up with a revelation.
With some help from his imagination,
And also some divine intervention.
To build an ark to stop persecution.
He did not do it for absolution,
But so to keep safe the population.
He gathered animals amid confusion,
And prepared them for the Inundation.
And finally there came restitution..

27/8/16


Copyright © linda williams | Year Posted 2016

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I hate about you



 I hate the way you make me feel guilty about being jealous when other girls hit on you, 

 I hate the way you can go forever without even seeing or talking to me when your friends are around, 
but expect me to drop everything to talk to you when you want my attention.

I hate how you're so happy at times and I'm so sad, 

I hate how you treated me like *****but yet I'm the one feeling bad.

I hate how I feel so weak and you're so strong, 

I hate how you think you do no wrong.

I hate how you pretend that everythings okay, 

I hate how you took my innocence away and act sometimes like it ment nothing.

I hate how I feel so scared, 

I hate how I how fast I feel in love with you without a fighting chance.

I hate the way you look at me and just know when something is wrong.

I hate how everything we have means nothing to everybody else

I hate the way I feel inside, 

I hate the nights I spent alone and cried.

I hate how everything seems wrong, 

I hate the feeling of wanting to belong.

I hate how you're always in my head, 

I hate everything mean you have ever said.

I hate wondering how you really feel about me, 

I hate how you try to go out with certin friends you feel like you have to lie

I hate how when your job takes you away for long times I left with alone and want to do nothing but cry

I hate it how you can just come in and out of my life and feel like everything is alright
while I am the one that has to put up with the problems, family and drama every night


But most of all I hate the way I can't stop thinking about you, and I hate it even more because I know you know its true

All these thing don't make me really hate you, 
It just makes me lust you more an more and it feeds my wanting you right down to the core


Copyright © mandy cabral | Year Posted 2012

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Unquotable quotes - IX

Unquotable quotes – IX

You cannot have your cake and eat it, but you can have 
        your meat and beat it.
Sow your wild oats on a sow and your tame oats on a 
        milch cow, and reap what you sow.
See not evil, speak not evil but fiddle evil.
Silence is olden.
Blood is thicker than 70% of the body.
If you eat your fill, who will foot the bill ?
Since l’habille ne fait pas le moine, what if the monk 
       goes about in his birthday suit ?
Money makes Bunnies look funny.
When a white-collared worker marries a blue-collared 
    worker, they invariably produce a red-collared 
         sucker.
The only impermanent resident is the President.
It is only raining cats, not dogs.
We are just kissing cousins in the parloir but not in the 
     boudoir.
Wake not a man asleep and tell him his wife has given 
him the slip.

Snakes and Ladders : To skid and fall is a blessing compared to climbing a ladder and falling from a height and being hit on the head by the falling ladder while the snake is waiting and hissing…

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2016


Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Dark Times

Dark times in my mind are nightmares I bare/ and remind in lines of my rhymes/ the pain I sustain/ times I can't change/ I remain chained /my thoughts maintain to explain the blame and shame I contain/ so I sleep at night to fight the dreams I've seen that despite my life/ they mean to demise my eyes cause their light isn't bright/ ( long pause ) I give in my will is paper thin 
      I skip to my Lou to do my drugs/ the fight is threw/ enough is enough/ I've given up myself I can't help there's no trust/ and I listen to no one else/ so dark times in my mind are felt/ who knew if you combine blue with red you'd be beaten purple and left for dead/ I'd yelp for help but more blows dealt/ so I have to get up/ and do it myself 
       So out the house I go for a stroll/ midnight alright at night I'm hype/ who knows with no light how far I go/ all I hear are whispers and peeps/ so dark I can't see the guy beside I until I get hit  on my blind side/ ducked taped and hog tied/ I tried to rely on I/ but me grieves and hates the lies inside I say/ such as I'll be fine and ok/ attacked by me I see/ kicked and slapped with my hands and feet attached behind my back/ me leaves cause I can't walk and can't talk my jaw bleeds/ believe I tried but died inside/ bitter sweet my dreams as I sleep


Copyright © Alex Miller | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Worst Morning After

Not ever having gotten drunk before,
I drank tequila; then I drank some more.

The night got shorter. Wasted,  then I saw
A tall dark cowboy stride into the bar.

The drinks kept flowing as he hit on me,
And now I have this vaguest memory. . . 

I got up on the counter in high heels.
I think I’ve learned how Jimmy Buffet feels!

I think I did the can-can till  I fell. 
Both head and tail of mine now feel like hell.

And though I’m used to waking up with dread,
No dread compares to what lies in my bed!!

A smelly guy who now I have discovered
must use false teeth, for here they sit uncovered!

Worst morning after; now I’m feeling ill.
Where can I find a morning after pill?


(Hope everyone realizes this is pure fiction. LOL)

For Black Eyed Susan's The Worst Morning After


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

One Among Many part 2

I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better. 
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
 I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
 I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.


Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Heart Broken

Hard hit on the inside with a devastating impact
Ending a pleasure once enjoyed and cherished
All events in this situation presents with a heavy baggage
Rendering sadness to a degree nature avoids
To meet a turning point in life’s book of experiences.

Breathlessness, the soul suffers from a mourning mind
Ravaging condition from death, failed love or betrayal
On a heart on total submission to the vanquished blessing
Kicks, felt from the torments of good memories
Enslaving in thoughts, imaginations, questions and wishes
None giving an answer as the only way forward is to move on. 


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I'm Free

It was twilight and in the purple mist the fog was dense.
She shook her head as if that would clear the cobwebs.
No secret society here, pinning her down with rules,
just her and her pain and self incriminating discipline.
She knew something had to change and the thing was her.
Tired of being hit on, struck out, toe to toe, and lied to,
it seemed the world,  a round room and she the chicken.
She felt chased, with no corner to stop in to make a decision.
It was like the parable of the good Samaritan- - without him.
So, when this extremely handsome dude started the hit
she cut him down at the knees, as she said with a grin.  
Oh, I get off at one thirty, but I leave work about twelve.
My honey is waitin’ for me and me alone, sittin’ on ready.
Maybe you could come and watch my babies while we- - - - - !
Hush your mouth, trash, you got no cause actin’ like that.
Maybe I don’t honey, but it sure saved me thirty minutes
of dodging the bullets and making you madder than now. 
Fact- - - you just made up my mind and I am glad to say,
that I am going to enroll in that new beauty college.
So in a few weeks when you feel you need some trim,
come on down and let me fix you up, with the style.
Might not be the kind you are looking for tonight, but,
honey that is all you are going to get from little ole me.
Lawdy miss Claudie, I think I have finally set my self free.  

for Judy Konos "Monopoly--the game of life contest"
© May 2011 cgh 





Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Hit On Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Pigeon Soup

Been there done that
come on home and kick the cat
follow cranes and ask for work
then hit the closest bar
chatter up the working men
shoot some pool 
play some cards

The best time to ask is on a Monday
Hangovers create job openings
Most stores need sweeping or windows washed
Follow the cranes
follow the roach coach
then hit the closest bar

Spend a day at the dump
Hit on guys dumping sheet rock
If they can afford to dump stuff
There might be a job
Day old bread from bakeries
thickens watery soup
most car washes have
a place they dump trash from cars
check for pot plants
Seeds got to grow


Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2009