Long Hang about Poems
Long Hang about Poems. Below are the most popular long Hang about by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hang about poems by poem length and keyword.
Waiting at the bus stop,
it started with a glance,
but somehow, they got talking,
pretty much by chance,
when the 501 arrived,
they both went up the stairs,
where luckily there was,
a front seat they could share,
Jess said how she liked,
to sit and watch the view,
Sam pointed out the mast,
and other landmarks too,
the bus meandered onwards,
through worlds of brick and stone,
they talked of life beyond college,
and all the things they’d known,
Jess was half expecting,
for Sam to ask her out,
with the town hall clock in sight,
she couldn’t hang about,
soon they would both disembark,
to go their separate ways,
she felt now was the moment,
for her to seize the day,
Jess told him her tutorial,
was due to end at four,
Sam said he’d be waiting,
by the refectory door...
I kinda like stupid people
I fit in
But their questions doth
Amuse
No -I usually hang about McDonald’s dressed in a uniform
I call it niche cosplay
Yes sir I do know who I am speaking to
You gave me access to your information
Although you maybe someone pretending to be you
Sorry need to explain
these are my attempts to be fired from employment
Now
if you ask me again
If you ask me again it will be a different now
Do you work here?
Do you know who you are talking to?
Do you know what time it is?
Actually heard someone coming back from lunch
That they slept in
We should make the next year coming 2026
Just miss 2025 out
Could you imagine future historians trying to figure it out
Would you like to explain yourself
Well are we talking anatomically physically
Do you need a breakdown of the word yourself
I would explain but I am unsure if you could
grasp it
Here is some drawings or a ball of tin foil to play with
You are meant to start at 8
I did
I just didn’t start here
Can you email when you have finished those reports
Dear Carl
When you have finished those reports
As last surviving acorn,
I hang about all day.
My skin is smooth and swarthy
Beneath a chic beret.
Horse chestnuts call me puny
But I don’t really care
For Mother shared a secret
Of which they’re unaware.
She said ‘Son just be patient
And hold your head up high
For one day you’ll have branches
That reach up to the sky.
The birds will serenade you
Throughout your lifelong days
And you’ll provide a shelter
For squirrels in their dreys.
Though wintry winds may batter,
We oaks will stand our ground
And one day, little acorn
Your splendour will astound.’
So now if others mock me
And label me a joke,
I chuckle, knowing some day
I’ll be that mighty oak.
18.04.20
The Last Acorn Poetry Contest -sponsored by John Lawless
I'm sick of all the jealous people, I need more in my life
Something more meaningful, something, with less strife
Everyone is always b.tching, having nothing better to do
For them, life is just a competition so shallow that is you
Fed up; of having, to pick myself up from your insecurity
I can no longer be a part in your lack of untruth impurity
As you thought, the grass was greener on the other side
You played every trick, but now caught out that you lied
Left me standing in a mine-field without a safe route out
As you stand on the side-walk, waiting for your hand out
What on earth are you waiting for, I am not coming back
I don’t hang about for those that who in integrity do lack
But I’m not jumping; just waiting for the right time to go
I'm not losing everything, just to give you the smug glow
Whilst wiping up the blood from that last run in from hell
But please, try to get over yourself, it is nothing personal
This is a true story- no names have been changed to protect the idiot........
Nb- * - a car bonnet is a hood in the United states.
** - censored.
On my way back from the pub
(since real ale is my passion)
slowly wending my way home
in a wibbly-wobbly fashion
in the road sat something small-
I almost passed it by,
camouflaged in darkness
by a cloudy moonless sky.
I could tell it was a Hedgehog
simply by it's silhouette,
and if it didn't move real soon
would get squashed flat, I'll bet.
Just then a hundred yards away
a pair of lights appeared
heading our way at a pace
exactly as I'd feared.
Instinct kicked in, and out I leapt
to the middle of the road
waving my arms frantically as
I switched to 'Hero' mode.
He hit the brakes just feet away
and wound his window down
"get out the way, you Prat!" he yelled
but I just pointed down, and said
"Hedgehog!!" (which he couldn't see,
his bonnet* was in the way),
"Just hang on while I shift it, mate"
was all that I could say.
So, bending down to rescue it
still sat between my feet
my heart sank as I focussed in
then finally missed a beat.
The Hedgehog I had risked my life
to save it by removing
was, in fact, from off a washing machine
a piece of rubber tubing.
Not wishing too look foolish
I just hid it with my sleeves
and slowly walked off to the kerb,
the car began to leave.
Angrily into the air I kicked the pipe before me,
a big mistake- in his rear view mirror
the car driver he saw me,
and hit the brakes, then jumped out yelling
( I remember, although quite plastered)
"That's cruelty to an animal! Come here, you heartless person** !
In hot pursuit back up the road
he came- the chase was on,
I wasn't going to hang about, in seconds I was gone,
vaulting over garden walls and dodging through the gates
then out of breath I hid myself, till he had gone, I'd wait.
Mud splattered with my trousers torn I reached home, panic over,
the ordeal I'd just been through was a great way to get sober.
So next time wildlife is in peril, maybe I won't hurry,
I'll carry on and stagger home-
let Mother Nature worry.
My mate must have seen the big grin on my face
He said spill it man, is that grin glued in place
I had to confess since the day I got wed
That I’d never had such a good time in bed
I told him I’d tell him but it’s a bit rude
Just spice up your sex life with plenty of food
So take a ring donut, a bagel will do
Just make sure the middle will slip over ‘you’
Some pineapple rings and some dark chocolate sauce
Some hundreds and thousands, and whipped cream of course
Those sprinkles make winkles that look pretty tasty
Your wife will leap on to the bed pretty hasty
It might be quite wobbly so try not to cough
At least till your lady has licked it all off
My mate said it sounds like an orgy in Rome
I can’t hang about I’m going straight home
The next time we met he was wearing a frown
In a hospital bed in a hospital gown
I could tell he was bandaged below the waist
He said my advice he had taken in haste
I followed your plan plus a cherry on top
My wife dropped her nightie but then I said ‘STOP!’
Your food plan, my friend, wasn't good for my health
It looked so damned good that I ate it myself
Travel to Algarve
Eight boxes in a row in the middle of a grimy room, boxes looking
like each other. What’s in the boxes? The stale air of a perfumed boudoir?
Or the sweet breeze of a passing butterfly?
Wrapped boxes, one of them could be full of . If so, I hoped
it would be horse manure, I can’t think of a sweeter aroma
no addresses, though, not going anywhere soon.
A man dressed in a grey storstoreroom coat in and carried the boxes,
one at a time (to fill time to five o’clock) to a corner, one on top of the other
no interested in what might be in the boxes, as he had carried millions
of them before from nine to four.
The stockroom had a window high up on the wall to stop warehoused
things from escaping; what do I know?
The light was fading we better things to do
one can’t hang about all day doing but nothing wondering why square boxes
that look perfectly identical can be so different inside.
Finally, I opened a box and found myself sitting on an oak tree trunk
in the valley of the naked woman, considering her full-rounded ****
I looked up and saw the oak’s malevolent eye staring at me; before,
I could make my escape, I was hit by a leathery branch
oh, pain, make me strong
I forgave the oak had been standing there for hundred years
The former pope flagellated himself has been said, this, perhaps to strengthen
his fading faith; but he was a charming man, so we bear him no ill will
The valley of the naked woman has a hidden fountain
no tracks lead to there, the landscape is guarded by thorny bushes
and impotent apple trees.
After twenty years in the Algarve nothing to brag about
T’was perhaps by dint of fate
Or some demonic spell
That I, a sock, was granted
The gift of sniff-less smell
I gaged and retched in darkness
Of a foot’s pungent aroma
Finally, I fled the scene
Became a match-less roamer
I hang about old laundramats
With socks lost and unfound
They share a single loneliness
A fading hope of being found
Not me, I shout, I shan’t return
It’s the wanderer’s life I seek
For I miss not the brogans
And those feet that truly reek
Yet, you may see me resting
In the warmth of sunset’s fail
Singing songs of corns and bunions
As I walk that lost sock trail
They accuse me of cutting of my cock
Just to wear a frock
And hang about in bogs
When all I want
Is the peace to piss
Or to piss in peace
Just another of their
Disgusting spiels
Designed to turn me extreme
But hate is there language
Not mine I just rhyme
Im happy it’s gone
My meaty schlong
It just hung there all flaccid
It was always so wrong
But it never once said
Get this straight in your head
That off I should go
On the chance
A women to catch
In the stench of the lavs
I mean
Who’s idea was that
What warped mind
Full of hate could create
Such absurdist disgrace
Or maybe they reveal
A piece of them selves
All twisted and dark
So self loathing and reviled
Then push it out on the world
Rather than live with their shame
So as billionaires burn the world to the ground
And presidents and princes
Abuse kids with no charges
Of course they want you focused on me
Cos I’m the real threat
Cos I cut of my cock
FIRE, FIRE
The house is burning round me,
There’s no time to hang about.
Just enough for me to get
A few essentials out.
First, up to the bathroom
To collect my medications.
To a lifelong hypochondriac,
They’re vital preparations.
Next, the photo albums;
I just can’t let them burn.
My life recorded through a lens,
Through every twist and turn.
The car is parked close to the house;
I’m afraid it might explode.
So I have to find the car keys,
To move it down the road.
My fire insurance policy
Covers such a fate.
I’d better take that with me,
To prove it’s up to date.
I have to take my cell phone;
It’s full if information.
A phone book and a Filofax,
My life’s organisation.
I’ve put my warmest coat on,
Although the weather’s sunny.
Well, my wallet’s in the pocket,
Full of credit cards and money.
And, lastly, my computer,
To keep me in the loop,
And make sure I can enter
This poem in Poetry Soup.