Best Hopper Poems
his distant still palette
of ambient light
painted the silence
of hawks in the night
catching a sadness
that hides in plain sight
in an air of detachment
that hints at their plight.
an automat whose orbs of light
reflect and touch the void of night
a refuge from the twenties’ roar
trapped in her thoughts without a door
a table, cup and gloveless hand
alone together in her land
a bowl of fruit that sits behind:
the 'still life' and her state of mind.
~ darkness gleaming wisdom gleaning state of the heart poetry ~
1.2.2020
Who Flips Your Trolley Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Bobby May
it is
what it is
without narrative
isolated
moments
of figuration
sunlight
on a wall
frozen
in time
conversations
of unheard voices
stillness +
paradox
commune within
the
interplay of
imagination
in
studies
of loneliness
emblematic
silences
soundless symbolism
saturated
with suggestion
soft realism
of the inner life
gestates
cries
on canvas
forever before
our eyes
juxtaposed
drip
by
drip
into
melancholy
an empty chair
a sad stare
it is
what it is
the sun's rays fall flat
for they miss the shape of you ~
emptiness distilled
sipping cold coffee
staring into emptiness
counting tiny grounds
Copyright © 2009 By Caryl S. Muzzey
bathed in still shadows
from an afternoon glow
and wrapped inside splendour
half faded half gone
this house from a time
remote silent and slow
stands trapped by the past
in a world moving on.
It seems I really loved to hop around,
to have my feet come off, then back on ground.
I got a pogo stick I used all year
and wore out quickly once I learned to steer!
At 15, I was not the same small kid,
for there were other fun things that I did.
However, I still liked some childish things
like Sting Ray bikes and trampolines and swings.
That year appeared in stores a brand new toy,
a grand delight for every girl and boy.
And though a woman I had now become,
that Christmas I just had to have me one!
This last big toy of mine I won’t forget
because it brought me also some regret.
A toy once you start, you can hardly stop:
Can you guess? It was the Hoppity Hop.
This toy was just a big strong rubber ball.
You’d grip its handles so you wouldn’t fall.
I loved to bounce around the yard on it,
and all I had to do was simply sit!
A boy I kind of liked showed up one day.
I didn’t know he’d come and seen me play
until I got up off that crazy ball
and went to tell him “hi,” but that’s not all. . .
I learned the back side of my shorts had split.
The whole time he was there, I never knew it.
My sisters later told me. Well, that guy
simply stayed and didn’t bat an eye!
I felt so idiotic and was sure
he must have found me kind of immature,
a grown girl hopping all around her lawn!
But worse was how I felt once he had gone.
He’d seen my shorts ripped from behind, and then
said nothing. I could not face him again.
So silly! He still liked me after all. . .
but I abandoned him and that dang ball!
1/15/2022 for Natasha L. Scragg's Funny Memories Poetry Contest
An Edward Hopper moment
finds her sitting there,
half in sunlight,
her legs, the best part
of an ordinary anatomy,
waving seductively,
like some submarine
predatory plant,
while the rest of her,
disguised by the late
afternoon shadows,
appears to read,
but shares the same hopes
as the legs.
where is the back road
that passes this place
- a gas station refuge
between nature and night
and who is the man
with the half hidden face
working / existing
in ethereal light?
Evading sleep...dress,
Walk in the dark cold night, street lamps
Out of the darkness
Welcoming open doors of the automat
Stop and sip the hot bitter, sweet nectar
Reflecting my soul in your panes
While the city sleeps...
Because...I can.
For the contest by Brian Strand
I once had a rabbit named Hopper.
My father had bought him for me on my birthday.
He was small and all white except for little black spots
on his back. He was a happy little thing, always moving around,
Never once staying in the same place. He liked to hop all day,
hop all night, hop, hop, hop, until he couldn't stop.
Hopper was no ordinary rabbit, I was sure.
Other rabbits just sat there, proving to be a bore,
Whilst Hopper sprang about, sniffing the underwear
in my mother's drawers, biting the heads off of flowers in
Grandmother's garden, and trying, but failing miserably to
bite his own stubby tail, twirling and twirling around in circles.
I loved playing with Hopper. I loved him like he was my own brother.
Hopper and I were inseparable. I looked out for him and he looked
out for me. We had each others backs. We stuck together like glue.
We would stay together forever, I decided, 'till death do us part.
Until one day, I couldn't find him. I looked high, I looked low,
My parents and I searched everywhere we could think of, but
came up with nothing. I was getting really worried, but I willed
myself not to cry. My grandfather once told me that men did
not cry, no matter what happened, so I didn't, because I was
a man and I would find Hopper, I just knew I would.
And I was right. I did find Hopper.
He was lying in the middle of a street downtown, ripped open,
sliced clean down the middle so that I could see all of his insides.
A pool of blood surrounded his body. His left leg twitched for only a
slight moment before going completely still.
I wanted to cry, Oh God I did, but I was afraid of disgracing my grandfather
and the rest of my family. Because, as he told me, men do not cry, no matter
what happened. They stood tall and fierce against the violent wind.
And that's what I did: I stood tall, I stood fierce, despite the loss of my dear friend
I called Hopper.
Hedda Hopper
wore many a fancy topper.
Louella Parsons hated her guts,
no ifs, ands, or buts.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for
information I obtained to write this clerihew.
June 27, 2013
Hopper and his hand
Showing us what
Coffee consumption
looks like, at 3am...
With a war waging on…
His stroke mastered the
Indemnity
Of the slurp,
The underlying principle
Of 24/7
Strangers screaming in silence
And soldiers savaged only hours
ahead
The lights of Gotham out,
The painting’s hollow illumination
As if it was all happening
between patron and comrade
server and those serving
The rest of the world asleep,
probably never wanting to rise
again
And those awake, just wanting a refill.
expressions
of modern existence
uncovered in reality