Summer, darkened off.
Hung yet of o'er
As bright to the core
Nectarine. Peach.
Arboured italian!
Now my pleasure
To share whose leisure
Ripe to ravish
Soft cheeked, alike squish.
When for, so reach.
With lank longish hair, of virtue most spare
Hollow cheeked, with joints that creak..An elderly evil proponent of deaths i see there is a reek a pungence of cadavers in such abundance, he knows not where he has buried children a'plenty Grandfathers their
Wives, but then for satan he strives.' He must at least rank as a liutennant skull and
Cross bones on his pennant, a trace of accord..He has trodden the boards floors he is invisible on the black squares.' And will never give up his share.' He mooted for
Guvenor of Gaza, no other i dare could
Show such brass neck.' Of tony blair, who will
Be, no doubt? flexing his ropey old pecs.'
She's like the essence of a coral rose
a latent bloomer with a heart of gold
And when she speaks to me in prose
deep inside, she opens doors of old
Rosy cheeked and full of vitality
a thriving blush in my garden of love
Infused with life and immortality
she's been sent from up above
A rose by any name will always be so neat
like cupid wings when flown across the sky
Filled with ample beauty she's replete
soft and mellow, like a gentle sigh
She's the perfume of my scented days,
perfect and valuable in every way.
The fearless soldier with a glowing and youthful look
aims his rifle toward his enemy behind the barrack,
while thoughts are focused on practical and clever survival;
the concept of horrifying death is as distant as imminent hell!
The voluptuous gal with artful fingers massages his client's body,
to her wishes are paid in hefty sums to satisfy her corporal desires;
morality has been replaced by want, nothing will deny her pleasures:
does incurable disease make her worry and go back to a life of purity?
The peachy-cheeked girl gently picks up the fragile petals of blue lilies
dispersed by gusty blows of rageful wind swooping above and around her;
she should be outraged and find a calmer meadow amid the lively hills:
no whim smears with anger her charming smile adorned by hair so fair!
The newborn baby, pulled from his mom womb, emits a scream into light,
there's no happier mother caressing him, nurturing him with sweetness;
life offers joys and awful moments, while death offers pervasive fears:
between these two stands immortality as conceived by religion, not fact!
Somewhere I hear Earth's ever ticking clock
Emptying the grains of Summers’ sandy seas
Parting from birds flying South in flocks
Time for leaves to fall from ancient trees
Eldritch bare branches stretch twisted in the cold
Memories like magic spells wafting on the breeze
Buoyant leaves flutter by in rich hues of red and gold
Energetic, pink cheeked, flannel shirt and comfy jeans
Relaxing by the fire spitting sparks
Friends scorching tongues on creamy, hot cocoa
Another ghost story please in the dark
Laughing when we scream at the scarecrow
Later the sun says it's begun as earlier the moon has come
Soak in the chill and unique feel of Autumn
Another generation of himself
unzipped his soul like a banana,
stepping instantly
into another dimension of
the same dream.
Never died - never born,
it was an implanted imaginary life,
knowing this, was of course
as useless as a map of the sky.
The only thing not imaginary
was the emanation of God
looking from human eyes.
For a brief moment he thought:
"If I am alive, I must have been dead
or else how could I know I am
alive now?
Nothing had really changed,
he was still 75 years from the grave,
also, a lifetime nearer to
the next womb.
It came upon him
that his liking for chocolate ice-cream
had abruptly become
an insatiable desire
for strawberry vanilla.
Upon a stone plinth
an inanimate frog
flickered,
as once more
it changed into a stone
Buddha.
"Nirvana is that close!"
Hollered a ruby-cheeked Cherub
speeding past
on its tricycle.
Suzy with her cute black curls
and red rose in her hair
plays with June. These rose-cheeked girls
have lots of love to share.
Tea parties make both girls grin.
Some sweet tea they have made.
Blue/pink cups their tea is in.
A matching cloth is laid.
The girls sure love things blue and pink;
June wears a pink rose too.
The tea they now prepare to drink.
A nice chat will ensure.
I heard my tongue scream
YES!!!! YES!!!!! OH GAWD YES!!
The fork trembled
The knife hesitated
The maple syrup
Dripping lips quaked.
Cage free egg yolks
Filled the craters
Of the unexplored waffle terrain
Soft, plump cheeked strawberries
Crept closer to the golden shore
Blushing as the bacon sizzled at them
A knife parted the sea of syrup
Allowing it to mingle
To taunt, tempt and torture
The taste buds
Of a once insatiable beast
The last vestige
Of this gustatory grandeur
The hint of maple
Caressing my moustache
Tormenting a tortured tongue
Arousing a need to
Gently lick
That prickly collector
Of memories
In search of savory crumbs
ruddy-cheeked and whimsical
October comes skipping in
brightly drawing attention
then leaves with a BOO
It’s a boy thing
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
of a train along its tracks
all manner of boys
from diapered toddler
to arthritic codger
from suited gent
to aproned chef
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
ignites within them
the feeling of freedom
and faraway places
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
fills their hearts
with a special joy
enlivening their faces
with an apple-cheeked grin
and when there is
a head of steam
and that whistle blows
they all know
that the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
pulses and echoes
just for them.
A joy it is to see
planted in his honor
A Memorial Tree
Roots, memories of Milton
and a kind act for the ecosystem
Forget-Me-Nots shall be written
by your poetry pals, ‘till then
RIP
Lewis Milton Hankins
[Poet]
December 5, 1941 ~ December 22, 2022
Paris at Christmas
Paris at Christmas
city of lights for a week
streets decorated
Eiffel Tower lit
like a Christmas tree aglow
tourists staring up
shoppers bustling crowds
bells ring; children caroling
joy is everywhere
rosy-cheeked Santas
wrapping presents with ribbon
in department stores
light sprinkle of snow
sleigh ride through the Tuileries
wrapped tight in blankets
by L Milton Hankins
December 5, 2022
I Am Anaya comment: Feliz cumpleaños a ti! Belated, hope it was a nice
one Milton. Paris must be on your mind, your many memories of Paris
are joyous! 12/6/22
It was Milt's Birthday, and I could feel the joy in his poem, I felt it!
Paris at Christmas
city of lights for a week
streets decorated
Eiffel Tower lit
like a Christmas tree aglow
tourists staring up
shoppers bustling crowds
bells ring; children caroling
joy is everywhere
rosy-cheeked Santas
wrapping presents with ribbon
in department stores
light sprinkle of snow
sleigh ride through the Tuileries
wrapped tight in blankets
Written December 5, 2022
The children come to visit
once or twice a week
and they are fine, I'm sure,
but not the ones I seek.
Though tall and fair and handsome,
not who I'd choose to meet:
those grubby-kneed and tousled,
the freshly apple-cheeked!
Oh, what I'd give to see them
running in the door,
coats and hats and mittens,
footprints on the floor.
Cardboard forts and castles
and the day they tried to take
sand buckets full of water
to make a bedroom lake!
Another trip to the E.R.
Superman has tried
(with a towel for a cape)
to fly above the concrete drive.
My daughter's arm is up around
a Great Dane's hulking dome.
He's all alone, she said
and declined to take him home.
The toaster that they took apart
to see how it was sprung,
signal beeps from bedrooms
where a net of wires was strung
In hope of snaring messages
from Tokyo or some Hong Kong,
lipstick on the bathroom tiles
when guests were due to come.
I play my games with memory toys,
pretend they're real again,
but something of it's gone;
It's time, time is the stealer of children.
Anteater’s ideas are absolute.
Buff-cheeked gibbon gives them a toot.
Tree kangaroo throws down a shoot.
Peacock pheasant gives them the boot.
I run away with all of their loot.
I am kind of a robber galoot.
When the lights, one by one
House-lit do go off
I, with envy, pull back
A window's lace-cloth.
For there, under the stars
A Sleeping Beauty!
Earth - kissed awake of Dawn.
Wet-cheeked, more wishful
For whose own dreams come true
Which hour, too, finds me.
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