A sand weight walking in a noon
Slumber stutter and sun moon fiasco
Lit morning and walking in shrill
Not many come keeping away the judge
As finally roaming as a sand world casted
The REM moods of inside mettle
And the sandman scoops for noontime
Abreast be less full of oneself
Hushing those whispers by a bent elbow brush
The trees escaping into blue
Yet the furnishings swooping the mystique
Varied by the dreamscape so flash
The moon tearing, the sun flaring
Upside down in the gases of apocalypse
Cunning the steady swoop of the pendulum
Clipping the utterances of a Latin hazard slay
Categories:
hanged, anxiety, emotions, good morning,
Form: Free verse
Listen my children and ye shall hear,
A tale to make ye quake with fear.
'Tis a scarey tale I tell ye no lie,
Of a man who was told he had to die,
For a crime he committed in the dead of night,
And each Hallows Eve he returns to the site,
Where his body was hung on an old Oak tree.
Steer clear of the place or he'll come after thee.
He searches for them who hung him there,
'Thout proof save the voice of the golden hair.
'Twas she who belied his whereabouts,
So he searches for her within and without;
So if ye be fair with hair of gold,
He'll carry ye off where it's dark and cold.
Keep ye by the hearth on All Hallows Eve.
Now I've said my piece and be takin' my leave.
Categories:
hanged, halloween,
Form: Rhyme
Let voted houses remain hung
And horse-trading go on unsung,
Let picture frames on walls get hung,
But men need never once be hung.
Call it an edict of a tongue,
Linguists' belief and devout faith,
Man should only be hanged till death.
Whilst garments in their wardrobe house
Upon their own hangers are hung,
All aircraft in hangars are housed;
If at all an innocent's hung,
Let that only be his portrait;
And no woman's fairly ‘well-hung’,
'Well-endowed', let me make it straight.
____________________________________
The ways of words | 02.08.05 |
Categories:
hanged, language, words,
Form: Free verse
And if the winter comes
It will come too soon for autumn
But a branch shall be the angel’s arm
To raise me from the bottom;
I shall not sink into the snow
Nor feel the winter’s dark white breath
For here my eyes shall always open
To the sun; it, to my death.
Categories:
hanged, autumn, death, eulogy, nature,
Form: Elegy
Aye, to adjoin The Hanged Man
suspended from his mundane world
traveling a paradox journey
lost in a timeless underworld.
I see you, Hanged Man
with your hands tucked away
your eyes ever so peaceful
watching fate make way.
I hear you, Hanged Man
as you silently speak
"You must sacrifice for the greater good"
-but do so quietly.
I feel you, Hanged Man
like the passionate red you wear
to attain knowledge and mystery
one must remain patient
unselfishly.
March 16, 2016
Categories:
hanged, dream, faith, giving, mystery,
Form: Free verse
There was a virile wallpaper hanger called Brunn
Who did his best to make every job well done.
His fame spread far and near.
And clients were heard to cheer
“Hire Brunn if you want something well hung.”
Categories:
hanged, humor, work,
Form: Limerick
The hanged man sings
The song, now over
Once, sounds of jubilee
Ends, a song of goodbyes
Words, lost on deaf ears for the most
Goodbyes come too late for him
Shall hanged man sing again?
Or shall his music die?
Categories:
hanged, analogy,
Form: Verse
Four winds whisper;
tricky crossroads.
Consider gingerly,
with the patience of Jobe
and care of the surgeon's scalpel.
A rocky path, or dead end road
entices same as smooth.
One will be lit by truths.
Arlene Smith
01/23/15
Contest: Tarot Cards
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
No. Four: The hanged man
Categories:
hanged, truth,
Form: Verse
Hanged man leaving time now to yesterday
A dimmed light a black in the windows bay
No children in garden or Christmas lights next year
Going on to death so leaves us bringing up the rear
Inspired perhaps by strange hanging fruit in the trees
Nuances rope chosen long ago a freedom the breeze
God bless go young man on to your destiny
PS
This really should have been titled “The house of the man who hanged himself “
But the famous painting by Paul Cezanne the famous French impressionist of the title drew me to it.
The view from my house looking down toward the dead mans house , the incline, the curve , the colour
of the building is so uncanny , so similar to the painting - its very melancholic .
This poor young man was buried on St Valentines Day last.
Categories:
hanged, poetry,
Form: Acrostic
CEZANNE STUDY – The House of the Hanged Man
Late Autumn
Buried in a hill,
Steep as descent from humanity,
A country house stands.
It’s late autumn,
Deep, sick autumn –
Deep as the plunging cellar door,
And fronting, its branches stripped, begging skyward,
This raped tree
Which no longer hides the window –
The window, like a large, trumpeting mouth.
*No E flat clarinet here,
*No Eulenspiegel, opaque humor.
No – The whole, a ground interment,
Is color of rotting flesh,
This God-awful house!
*Til Eulenspiegel was a German buffoon who delighted in playing
nasty tricks on the nobility. He was hanged.
*The E flat clarinet is high pitched, capable of sounding the pitiful
cries of Til as he mounts the scaffold
Categories:
hanged, death, house, autumn, house,
Form: Free verse
Listen my children and ye shall hear,
A tale to make ye quake with fear.
'Tis a scarey tale I tell ye no lie,
Of a man who was told he had to die,
For a crime he committed in the dead of night,
And on each Hallow's Eve he returns to the site,
Where his body was hung on an old oak tree.
Steer clear of the place or he'll come after thee.
He searches for them who hung him there,
'Thout proof save the voice of the golden hair.
'Twas she who belied his where-abouts,
So he searches for her within and without;
So if ye be fair with hair of gold,
He'll carry ye off where it's dark and cold.
Keep ye by the hearth on All Hallow's Eve,
Now I've said my piece and be taken' my leave.
Judy Ball
Categories:
hanged, fantasy, imagination, seasons,
Form: Couplet
Abandoned house isolated with cracked walls
Aberration emerging forth from the natural terrain
Red and black roofs of the village nearby almost seeming a beacon of civilisation
The wood boarded lower rotting windows and barred doors
Faded moth eaten curtains a cynical beauty of zephyred gossamer
The time long years doing their gentle but remorseless work
Inside the house light denied world now given to insects and rodents
Left to do nothing but eat and all gone now consume just themselves
Wintertime wind whistles and rain seeps in through gaps
Kept once a garden dissembling now in its own fertility
Nature kindly putting forth hated nettles burrs and docks
By lack of care a garden that is there now seeming to wildness
What now is there left of a man what was there ever
But everything unnatural now reduced to its former glory
Outside the lovely wild garden flowers
The reds of Foxglove Ragged Robin and sweet Herb-Robert
Bright suns yellow the Lesser Celandine and Creeping Buttercup
Butterflies alighting on blue Willow Gentian and Large Venus Looking Glass
Categories:
hanged, imaginationhouse, garden, house,
Form: Free verse