Best Milt Poems
Jenna no longer has access to her account, and she has asked if I would post this for her.
These would be her last thoughts to Milt ~
Gone is the glint of your smile and poetic words
No longer will they glow on your poetry pages
How cruel was the fate of your mortal existence
that wounded my heart without scarring the flesh
In mourning am I that your last breath was taken
before I could whisper, "fond adieu and farewell"
Your life has dimmed, embers burned to ashes
Tears flow for your spark, extinguished in the dark
You live in the echoes of my treasured memories
but never to fray like unraveling loose threads
My fingers tremble with ardent emotion as I write,
Forever you will remain imprinted upon my heart
And when I hear the call of a meadowlark's trill
I will smile and imagine that you are still here
*Thank you, Tania, for using Milt's meadowlark quote on
your poem, 'A Heavenly Rest in Peace. 'It helped me find
the perfect final line for my thoughts.
Categories:
milt, friend, memory, tribute,
Form:
Verse
who didn't
love and admire
Milton,
or simply, "Milt"?
a true gentleman
and scholar
who gave...
so much of
himself
through friendship,
poetry,
and much more; a light...
that touched so many lives.
Milt,
you are missed, indeed.
Rest in peace, L. Milton Hankins. Thank you so very much for your countless supportive comments, and most importantly, your treasured gift of friendship.
In Honor of Milt - An Un-Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich
Date written: 12/30/2022
Categories:
milt, appreciation, dedication, for him,
Form:
Verse
"What I believed, however, will never be null
The poems I composed, the songs I sang
Sustain me in an ethereal, spiritual alter-ego
I shall continue to influence the world I knew"
L Milton Hankins
In his time here at Poetry Soup
Milt showed his prolific writing skills
He let his voice be heard in this group
and his impact echoes still
He was a resident of the fabled town of Soup Creek*
Of which many a story has been told
He stood up to bullies and made them look weak
In contests Milt would often get the gold
As he journeys on to an eternal sunset
To hear the hymns of a heavenly choir
He will be remembered on this site
and his poems will continue to inspire
1-5-2023
In Honor Of Milt - An Un-Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
*To honor Milt's memory Mayor Tom has renamed the town "Milton Creek"
Categories:
milt, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
Up in Sh*t Creek up his own fat butthole
the law is an ass and he’s out of control.
He calls himself sheriff
but I just call him Griff
and he’s a real fuktard and a fugly troll!
Like all coward trolls he’s just a mother
but thinks he’s Wyatt Earp, O’ brother!
Tom and all the townsfolk
up his fat ass blow smoke…
gun in one hand and dick in the other!
Written: September 2022
*Dedicated to my most obsessed troll.
He’s Peter Griffin with a badge!
****
Categories:
milt, fun, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Smiles and Laughter
I’d rather be noted for eliciting a smile
Bringing a ray of sunshine into your life
Than to have awards, trophies, and note
In a world increasingly rampant with strife,
We all need to be encouraging one another
A piece of advice that always gets my vote,
Treating each as beloved sister and brother
Learning to be kind must be a matter of rote.
A smile is a frown “turned upside down,”
I’ve been told, and I think it is certainly true
I have no aspirations to be a circus clown
But I’m vowing to do what I’m able to do
To bring to all more smiles and laughter
That’s what I hope to be remembered for
If I’m remembered, at all, in the hereafter!
Written July 17, 2022 by L. Milton Hankins
With smiles I'll remember Milt as the good-natured man I found him to be. I chose his poem, 'Smiles and Laughter,' because it seems he wrote his own elegy in the last four lines. In them, his thoughts tell us how he wanted to be remembered. Milt wrote,
"... I'm vowing to do what I'm able to do to bring to all more smiles and laughter. That's what I hope to be remembered for if I'm remembered at all, in the hereafter."
He tried to please everyone, offering friendship to his poetic sisters and brothers, even those who taunted him for his opinions. He had a competitive nature and enjoyed entering contests but stated in this poem that he'd rather bring a ray of sunshine into lives than have awards and trophies. He was a mild-mannered gentleman but didn't hesitate to defend his friends and country. I see his legacy as one that finds me hoping to be as good a friend to others as he was to me.
January 4, 2023
Categories:
milt, death of a friend,
Form:
Elegy
In Honor of Milt - An Un-contest Poetry Contest
I love the way Milton’s poem begins. It draws my attention immediately. Line 10 jolts me with Jacobs and Jacob-ites.I’m still quite interested! Line 3 of verse 2 gains my attention and then flowers bloom. I love the setting of the Applachians and West Virginia.
What I said: A fave for me! So many wonderful things mentioned here! Congratulations on POTD!
Milton’s reply: Thank you, Kim, for reading my poem and expressing your thoughts. I'm so happy you made it a FAVE, for I do think it is a worthy poem to be read many, many times, and I hope everyone who reads it will. It is one of my own personal favorites.
No pretense at humility (too funny). I like that it was one of his personal favorites!! Though Milton was keen to correct, he helped me and others become better poets.
Yearning for Reunion
Ancient, rugged hills worn down by time
I miss the lush green hills of my home
Leaning away from the peaceful valley,
Mountains forged from eons long forgotten
During those prehistoric periods before
Earliest settlers found the Appalachians,
Already old, tired, and wrinkled, awaiting
The laughter of young children discovering,
Holding the secrets of ancestors denied
Their birthright by Jacobs and Jacob-ites
Where old waters flow down into new,
New River old, maybe older, than the Nile.
I miss the lush green hills of my home
Leaning away from the peaceful valley
Where John Deere still breaks the ground
In the springtime after a long, hard winter,
And where flowers bloom into October
Especially if Mother Nature allows them.
And she does, for that is her mountain way,
Creating an everlasting yearning for reunion
Back home in those West Virginia hills.
By L. Milton Hankins
POEM OF THE DAY, December 2, 2021
Poetry Soup
written November 30, 2021
#49 on the Best New Poems List on Poetry Soup
December 8, 2021
Categories:
milt, tribute,
Form:
Free verse
As Mad Dog Milt wanders back into the town
Caressing his trigger, his face wears a frown
Six months in the hills but it’s time to return
And somebody somewhere is going to burn
Six months of life as a hilltop rambler
He ain’t gonna hang for shooting that gambler
Who’d pulled a gun due to the rat that he smelt
But sometimes four aces is what you get dealt
The town hadn’t known he was Mad Dog before
Till he cut that man down with a super-fast draw
For the man called him cheat and Milt’s patience eroded
But how could he know the man’s gun wasn’t loaded
Living for months under moon and hot sun
Freezing or roasting was no kinda fun
He’d asked himself questions but now had just one
What kind of man pulls an unloaded gun
He pondered that night in the Soup Creek Saloon
He vowed that his next shot was destined for June
His victim had loaded his gun, without doubt
And Milt now knew Floozy June emptied it out
*
That night she had offered herself for the taking
But Milt was a gambler with money for making
He’d said she was pretty, real nice on the eye
But she should go make eyes at some other guy
And so when his victim lay dead on floor
She’d made sure his gun wasn’t full any more
That was her way of avenging her honour
She’d grinned knowing Mad Dog would soon be a gonner
*
The saloon bar is busy and Milt draws his gun
“June’s leaving town due to what she has done,
I can’t kill a woman and that’s a darned choker
So I’m gonna have me some whiskey and poker.”
But June grabs a rifle from under the bar
She takes aim but that doesn’t get her too far
The rifle misfires as the sheriff walks in
So with June sat in jail, Mad Dog Milt plays to win
Categories:
milt, western,
Form:
Rhyme
Milton's goodness was a beacon shining bright
His humanity steered him to what he deemed right
With a soul kind and pure
His words will endure
Through a bright blessed day or a long-troubled night
12/31/22
Rest Well Milton
Categories:
milt, appreciation, tribute,
Form:
Elegy
From the Bluegrass, a poet named Milt
Took great care with the poems he built.
With both nuance and pace,
Gave the muse merry chase,
Graced the page with the ink that he spilt.
His posting are indeed a delight;
His shadormas and haikus, so tight.
His repertoire swells:
Trionets, villanelles,
Seems there’s no form that Milt cannot write.
But the real gift for which Milt is known:
That he treats folks just like they’re his own.
To teach and to share
With aplomb and with care
Is a quality not often shown.
For his true love, he’s over the moon
With sweet phrasing that makes the gals swoon,
And he longs to reside
Once again by her side,
but we’re selfish, so please, not too soon!
—————
for the Paean On Poets Poetry Contest
sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
written on 03/09/2022
Categories:
milt, appreciation,
Form:
Limerick
A friend was he to you and me.
Like me, he was a poet and a teacher,
Gosh, I think he’d even been a preacher!
I liked that he enjoyed using lots of poetry forms
and also that he stuck to grammar rules
even though not everyone
might find that cool!
His soul was true to what he knew,
and if with him I disagreed,
there would never be a need
for us to hurl
words at one another that were cruel.
I liked that he was kind.
In that regard, we were of the same mind.
New Year's Eve 2022
First time entered in a contest.
Submitted for Brian Strand's 'You Select" contest
Categories:
milt, friend,
Form:
Rhyme
Poet Milt was loved by all here on Soup,
for he held out to all, a helping hand,
day by day enlarging his friendship loop
and by his principles, always did stand.
Author of a book on theology,
he shared deep wisdom from direct knowing
garnered during his time in the clergy,
echoed in verses that he kept flowing.
Man of religion, yet free from its crutch,
Milt, honest to the core, spoke out his mind,
investigating higher truths by touch,
free from narrow superstitions that bind.
He was a true friend who walked among us ~
We wish his soul peace, aboard God's bliss bus
29-December-2022
Categories:
milt, tribute,
Form:
Sonnet
The sun is shining, the sky bright cerulean sea
And I am writing a letter…a letter to my future me.
The pandemic is over, so it’s time to pack up for a trip
Hey, Milt, no time to be giving yourself any pouty lip
Because you are living on borrowed time, you see,
Approaching the mid-eighties, not much time left for me.
I guess you are remembering the last ten years or so
Some wonderful times if you recall, not many more to go
You are still lonely since our wonderful Deborah died,
But you have cultivated friendships, O yes, really tried.
It’s good that you are still in your own home and thriving
I see you are not as productive now, but you are striving
I also see you have lost some of the lilt in your stride,
But, time hasn’t diminished your ever present self-pride
Slow down now, my future self, and let me catch up
I must deal with this most recent arthritic flareup
So, I’ll close this short letter and put it in the mail
Hope it gets to you soon, next time I’ll add more detail.
Cordially, Milt
SECOND PLACE WINNER
written September 19, 2021
especially for "Letter to Your Future Self" Contest
sponsored by Silent One
Categories:
milt, me,
Form:
Couplet
I promised Milt I'd tell him a tale
Turn on a little Hillbilly music OK
I was about the age of six or seven and bootleggin was a real bad habit.
Or so I heard
We had one road called the Cannon Ball Road
Where the law'd hide in the trees and wait for the brew
Trying to stop all of these illegal crews
Or so I heard
Now where we lived there weren't many homes
And most of the owners worked their homes were so new
You see all this took place back in WWII
Or so I heard
One afternoon mom, my little brother, a cousin and me
Were in the house it was pre TV
The door burst open and a man ran in, "I gotta use you phone right away," said he
Or so I remember
Scared to death mom showed him the phone
We all just stared as he made his call
And Zeke my little brother started to bawl.
Or so I remember
He hung up the phone thanked mom and explained
He had to get hold of his brother, he said
It seems he'd heard the cops were planning a raid.
Or so I remember
He left and mom rushed to the door
There was no way to lock it to stop another scare
So she and my cousin pushed up a big chair.
Or so I remember
The next thing she did was then call my dad
"Call next door to his brother " is what he said
Zeke and I climbed upon the back of the chair
And looked out the window until he was there
Or so I remember
The cops did raid Bushers Grape Vine after work
And as it turns out they went to our church
We found out he had ran nearly three miles to ask for mom's help
Or so I remember
Zeke and I had so much fun on the back of the chair
Whenever dad would have to work late at night
We'd beg mom to lock the door to avoid another such scare
Or so I remember
Categories:
milt, childhood, family, funny, time,
Form:
Free verse
From the Bluegrass, a poet named Milt
Took great care with the poems he built.
With both nuance and pace,
Gave the muse merry chase,
Graced the page with the ink that he spilt.
His posting are indeed a delight;
His shadormas and haikus, so tight.
His repertoire swells:
Trionets, villanelles,
Seems there’s no form that Milt cannot write.
But the real gift for which Milt is known:
That he treats folks just like they’re his own.
To teach and to share
With aplomb and with care
Is a quality not often shown.
For his true love, he’s over the moon
With sweet phrasing that makes the gals swoon,
And he longs to reside
Once again by her side,
but we’re selfish, so please, not too soon!
----------
I wrote this for a contest back in March, and then, like a dummy, did not submit it to the actual contest. Milt was gracious and encouraging to me from the beginning, pushing me to try different forms, always finding something kind to say about my efforts.
Over the past few months, I noticed many of his poems had themes of dying, putting things in order, being satisfied with the life he'd lived.
We saw through different lenses, theology and politics in particular, but our conversations, even in those areas, were always respectful, and I considered him a friend, though I never spoke with him.
He leaves quite a legacy, and there's a bit of a hole where he was. I'll mull a poem over the next few days, but thought this repost a fitting tribute to a poet and friend.
Categories:
milt, appreciation, sorrow,
Form:
Limerick
A prolific poet
With a talented touch
He knew how to show it
Active, vocal as such
He loved a thoughtful write
Will be missed very much
A glowing, shining light
In his faith, standing firm
He had a deep insight
His wife, Deb would confirm
He wrote love from his heart
He served well his full term
A tribute to his art
On tearful diamonds built
From our minds, won't depart
Now walking on streets gilt
Our Kentucky friend, Milt.
3rd January 2023
"Keep writing, and keep entering contests, but never let the worth of what you write be judged by some contest. Know that your work is a reflection of what's in your heart and that is always rewarding! --your Kentucky friend, Milt"
(From one of his soupmails to me)
Categories:
milt, dedication, friend, missing you,
Form:
Terza Rima