Long Hancock Poems
Long Hancock Poems. Below are the most popular long Hancock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hancock poems by poem length and keyword.
Ole Poppycock said the British clock maker.
While setting his alarm clock which was the building block
of his foundation.He purchased penny stock at four o'clock
and future stock on Wall Street today.
Ole Poppycock said the Dutch soda drink maker.
George Washington did not cut down the Cherry Tree.
He placed a cuckoo clock under the chopping block,
and becasue of a culture shock purchased New York Common stock,
at the stock exchange today.
Ole Poppycock said the British Law Maker.
You're only trying to make me the laughingstock of London.
Place your pig's belly on the butcher-block,and play me some acid rock,
before we experience another earthquake aftershock.
Sign your John Hancock and be on your way.
Nonsense Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2016..ALL rights reserved.
written in octaves
Tom gathers broken branches
and stubs his toes on roots.
Tywhoppity’s rich bottom
is tidied up each autumn.
The ache and pain he stanches
to reap September fruits.
Tom gathers broken branches
and stubs his toes on roots.
Re-staking his best grapevines
on the hillside on his knees,
he rakes up leaves and stubble
along with rocks and rubble.
The smell of fragrant pond pines
makes this old farm boy sneeze.
Re-staking his best grapevines
on the hillside on his knees.
His body takes a beating
his mind stays in control.
Each year his land gets littered
but he is not embittered.
It’s nature the man competes
against with heart and soul.
His body takes a beating
his mind stays in control.
Crops gathered without delay
hand-picked by one-man crew.
Bottoms broadcast with clover
provides a winter cover
Keeping Blackford Creek at bay.
This bottom - his world view.
Crops gathered without delay
hand-picked by one-man crew.
June 25, 2019
Brian Strand, YOUR PERSONAL PERFECT POEM PICK contest, 3rd place.
Tywhoppity Bottoms isn't some place you can find on Google Maps or Wikipedia. It is a small area of bottomland that surrounds Blackford Creek, which creates part of the county line that divides Daviess and Hancock counties in western Kentucky. According to legend, Tywhoppity was given its name by Union soldiers during the Civil War, who remarked the sound of the creek against the rocks made a ty-whop-it-ty sound.
When we bought a home on Tye Ave., many times I referred to our area as Tye-whoppity Bottoms especially when our creek (Blackiston Run) rose and got into our neighbor’s house.
Pall Revere was renouned four his audacious mid-knight Ryde,
End alsow fore his silversmithin', inn witch he took grate pried!
Butt he is most famed four ridin' like a bat outta ewe no where,
Two alert Hancock, Adams, et al, fore there lives two spare!
Two lanterns inn a church belfry signaled en a-salt bye see;
(Pall gnu thee Brits were cummin as soon as they'd sipped there tee!)
On a borrowed hoarse he flu thru thee nite, thee patriots too summon,
Yellin' two ever'won, "Thee Brits ar cummin! Thee Brits ar cummin!"
Pore Pall was later captured end his hoarse was confiscated two boot,
Butt thee Brits released him two thumb it back too Lexington afoot!
Afro Beats pulse through my veins/
Deep House vibrations as Dj Vertigo X manipulates the house vinyl/
The booth is alive/High-end sequences intertwine, complex melodies wrapping around me/
Jazz Hip Hop can you hear it? Waiting for the breakdown/ Do you feel It/
The echoes of Pete Rock and DJ Krush are in the air, a dance house of history, Bling to Swing, a playful soundtrack creaking in my ear/
Downtempo grooves guide our feet, Drums thumping, bumping/
Upright bass grounding our soul/
Melodic piano loops drifting, Chords and chromatic notes shifting/
Herbie Hancock to D’Angelo, From Prince’s Crown funk to our very own, Soulful loops, Jazzy Keys, Miss Anderson wants to sing if you please/
Tempos shifting, HI/high/treble/Top/ 85 BPM, 104 BPM, feel that ebb and flow, man, the sumptuously smooth journey unfolds/
Afro Beats and Deep House collide/
listen, baby, I ain’t talkin no playboy jive/
A talented man has died and he's gone for eternity.
Prentis Hancock has died at the age of eighty-three.
This great man came into this world in 1942.
He starred in "Space: 1999" and "Doctor Who".
Millions are mourning because his life came to an end.
They are all sorry because they will never see him again.
He was a very important member of the Human Race.
It's sad to know that he's dead and can't be replaced.
When I say he went to Heaven, it's something I'm certain of.
All of his fans are saying goodbye to this man who they love.
[Dedicated to Prentis Hancock (1942-2025) who died on May 30, 2025]
Early in the morning you boarded it
and for a ride from Rock Island to Chicago.
tickets bought
for an outing
anticipated all week
First, it lumbered on the main track
through rail yards, warehouses, aging
factories where your fathers worked
as it clicked and clacked its way
out of town. It passed back yards
in East Moline where early morning
residents walked, secrets revealed.
You wanted to tell them there was
so much more
to the life they’d known
you were young
You were on summer break
from college and sharing
the journey with high school
friends on a Saturday off
from summer jobs
vistas of countryside
east of town opened
fields vibrant and green
After three hours a towering
skyline grew before your eager eyes
of Chicago, a city so great that each time
it stirred your imagination and after
you got off the train the Hancock Building
looked just blocks away
the mecca sought
reached into
open skies
You walked through the Loop
and by the El, overhead commuter tracks
past small ethnic restaurants and crowded
sidewalks where a woman with a shaved head
danced with her man and you gasped
o, a wonder of the music played
moment-by-moment
you embraced stories
each neighborhood revealed
You walked from hours to get
to your destination to go up
do the observation deck and
view other skyscrapers and
interstates web their way
through a metropolis as it
rose in the midst of fields and farms
just to the east
the sun shimmered
on an endless lake
R is for the repeated distortions of facts,
A for press articles written with hacks,
M for the emphasis placed on survival,
P for the piss taken out of your rival.
A for analogies that never convince,
N for false narratives making us wince,
T for traditional values cast-off
That cause umpteen scholars and clergy to scoff.
L is for lovers whom I dream of all night,
E for electric bills high as a kite,
T for temptations I can’t keep at bay,
H for Matt Hancock - please God stay away!
A is for the **** he fondled intensely,
R for resigning - we respect that immensely,
G is for the government of which he was part, and
Y for the yes-men aboard that rotting cart.
Boris and Hancock heads held high but don't be surprised for they know how to lie
Pockets jingling they have no shame, they don't really find you all the same
Watch your loved ones through a screen or don't see them at all
Boris and Hancock laugh at you all
10 downing street parties on ,creating billions for the monetary fund
While we lock down in the covid bund
Geneticall genocide in a town close to you, come buy your tickets discount for two, Geneticall genocide lockdown your mind cash is dirty don't you find
Geneticall genocide please don't resist hold out your arm the needle is bliss
Geneticall genocide please stay at home nature's no good you have no right to roam
PPE shortage it wasn't really strange it's great to prepare for the genocide game
Profit from suffering please we can't breath it's like a fictional story hard to believe
Mortality rates at yearly highs babies dying in front of your eyes
It's hard to believe they have your health in mind when they go on killing our kind
Boris and Hancock were puppets on strings I only wonder what the future brings
Yes away they walk heads held high
Every government knows how to lie.
Natural soporific narcotic
Recurrent suicidal thoughts
vaingloriously wend along winding road
within windmills of my mind
(o'er a death cab for cutie weeknd)
yakking, yanking, and yawking zeal
becalming this crash test dummy rolling
stone temple pilot inxs
of maroon 5 plus decades long
perdition hellaciously slogging
slow as adam and the ants,
thru fifty shades of gray's
anatomy common weal
masterly baiting this motley crue (cutting),
beatles browed, beastie boy,
foo fighters kickstart new edition
quickening reo speedwagon treadwheel
outre gee (bee) us, grateful dead,
mailer daemons inhabit
cavernous fist size vastness steel
via herbie hancock (hermans hermits)
cheesy munster trap doors that steal,
deep purple swiftly tailored
culture club members squeal
hosted by megadeth
pack rat boston for real
venue at tokyo hotel,
via en grave invitation
signed by alice in chains poison huss kiss
sing, which will spellbind
once contents unveiled,
an instant jane's addiction peal
immediately choking off air supply
then alice cooper egging bad company
to hypnotize the guess who sacrificial meal
supplanting raw
primal scream from spinal tap
acquiescing self to abandon all hope,
especially if black sabbath joins
creedence clearwater revival
dark shadows would demand one
(to take a knee) and kneel
before sacrificing oneself
at the beck and call
of evanescent nirvana
experiencing permanent relief,
sans soul (twisted) sister riding a hansom
off phish hull heart shaped coffin
ample room enough for blind
melon collie 10,000 maniacs,
their healing powers profusely emanating
via m&m shaped talking heads
methinks averring obeisance
to judas priest and hooters
with metallica linkedin with mötley crüe
coldplay feeling of eternal sleep,
where quiet pussy riot
joins carpenters, whose underground
bunker with golden arches
resembles empyreal
heavenly vault wreathed soundgarden
with electric light orchestra
sepulchral crowded house indicative
cynthesis iz done on a green day,
whereat dizzy gillespie afterlife deal
and you bet your sweet bippy meme,
an extra bonus for orthodox believers
(absent myself - a skeptic),
whose karma credit Suisse
with long deceased meatloaf
with soul asylum and heart to anele!
The air in Philadelphia didn't stir that July.
It settled, thick and suffocating, over fifty-six wooden chairs.
Outside, the summer beat against bolted doors;
inside, men prepared to snap an ancient, golden chain—
to trade an empire’s law for the unpredictable fire and rain.
John Hancock stepped forward first. No hesitation.
His quill scraped hard against the parchment,
leaving wide, aggressive tracks.
"Let the King read that without his spectacles," the whisper went,
a quiet defiance that fractured a monarchy.
They came from the rocky edge of Massachusetts:
Adams, unyielding and fierce, alongside cousin Samuel,
fanning a dangerous patriot flame.
Gerry and Paine moved in to anchor their legal names.
Then Virginia’s quiet architect stood up from the red clay.
Jefferson, carrying words designed to dismantle tyrants.
Behind him, Harrison, Lee, Nelson, and Wythe—
a solemn line backing the grand decree.
Franklin watched through wire frames, old eyes holding lightning.
"We must all hang together now," his voice dry, cutting the heat,
"or we will most certainly hang apart under the gallows' beam."
Morris, Rush, and Wilson nodded,
signing away their vast fortunes for a future they wouldn't live to see.
From the northern vanguard, New York and the Jerseys answered.
Livingston, Hopkinson, and Witherspoon—the fiery priest—
shouted that the land was ripe for birth.
Then south, down the coast to the Carolinas and Georgia’s marsh.
Rutledge, Lynch, Middleton, Gwinnett, and Hall,
joining a pact that smelled of treason.
Fifty-six men from every ordinary walk—
lawyer, merchant, keeper of the soil—
knowing a rope waited for them on the hill.
Yet they stepped up anyway, pressing wet ink into history.
The parchment dried.
The old world felt the tremor.
A new republic born not of kings, but of signatures.