Long Hang around Poems
Long Hang around Poems. Below are the most popular long Hang around by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hang around poems by poem length and keyword.
Grabbing my attention…something is grabbing my attention…my cat is my best friend that always hang around me in my bedroom in Lake Arrowhead…doused in dread once upon a time, but now I am feeling good enuff… like is ruff… but I must be buff… but I can’t get enuff of the addictions I have in this lifetime – can you help me? Someone? I’m insane and yet, I think otherwise…it’s a normal feeling to be willing to seek help…I yelp like a child needs his parents…or a child who throws a fit just because he can’t have the chips or the candy he’s been always wanting to get…I won’t throw my childish fits today, so don’t worry – I won’t cause misharray (mishap and disarray)…you see? This condition has endless possibilities – no joke. What can I say, man? I try to be humble for the gifts I have and I learn to accept any challenge that will come my way…today is today – let’s make it the best day ever – better than YESTERDAAAAY… But, I think about yesterday’s tomorrow, which leads me back to tomorrow’s yesterday…I overthink things or I overwrite things…you know what m’I saying? I’m dyslexic…I told you I am…ma I uoy dlot (it’s backwards)…life is full of ups and downs and also, it’s perpuzzling… confuzzling… unpredictable… you name it!
As days come to cross the changing sunsets
So far from a scripture of love and peace
I'll pass these days consumed without regrets
In held hope, the length of breath will increase
These days of life and times span so few years
As time's mirrored window reflects today
Dressed in colored curtains from our fears
They hang around my face now on display
As I silently count my grains of sand
I'll hold the blood of my born blood with love
From their rendered colored charms days expand
I'll read to them some scripture from above
Through these days I hold a wish to be young
I'm old and now the lifeless gray has come
5/28/18 contest These are the Days
I know that all of God's creation serve their good function and purpose,
but there are forces of nature and systems that add fuel to the fire.
They are many and various, and in my neck of the woods, we are
experiencing one presently. They usually come with a little bit of
tease that's never designed to please around late Spring, early June.
No one invites them, but they come anyway like they own the place.
They don't seem to wave goodby to Spring nor say hello to Summer.
They simply show up with a bang, hang around for a bit, and disappear.
But if anyone really knows them, they will surely return in energized bunches.
When the meteorologists forecast their coming, we must not take them for granted. In some places, they are harmful in the 90's, but in other places and regions like mine, we take them serious when their temperatures reach into the century zone. At that level, we waste no time preparing and building defenses against their onslaughts of heat. Heat Waves come, and Heat Waves go, but through the Summer, they are continually coming and going.
A couple of years ago, our air conditional went out in the heart of a Heat Wave. Not cool and Not good. I'm not a weatherman, but my best advisory for Heat Wave versus broken down air conditioners is, "Don't try this at home".
061821PS
Word Lyric #9 for Music
“Testimonies of Old Hippies”
We are still traveling by the speed of mind,
We’re the old freaks, and survivors of the great Be In,
Winsome hippie girls, now old and still kind,
Play pan flutes with feathers glued to their skin.
We were there when Joe and Jimi stole the big show,
With their mythic renderings cast in vinyl stone,
What was it? Where are we? We did not exactly know,
Janis and Pete and Alvin Lee lacerated the night alone.
And we heard The Bear boogie on down the wooded road.
Some of us saw magic mushrooms smiling on a giant toad.
Richie Havens and Carlos Santana let it all fly as we sat there,
Far away into mind space, their epic explosions resounded,
Electric guitar hysterics with screaming rants compounded,
We were all laid to waste there, in the rock n’ roll blare.
We old freaks still travel by the speed of mind,
Old dudes, and hippie girls hang around and are still kind,
We still secretly toke at midnight, all of us with the ghosts,
Of Joe and Jimi, when they sliced the sky, before that vast host.
This town is filled with reasons, reasons why you can’t.
You’re in contempt to protest; so you better save your rant.
If you are creative, your art must be approved,
If it’s deemed offensive, it will be removed.
You can’t have too much fun, it’s a liability,
All enjoyment must be ordained by your municipality.
You can’t start a business until you pay the fees,
Proceed to the cashier, have your money ready please
You can’t hammer a nail; you must be up to code
Enforcement will come knocking, for improving your abode
You can’t do it yourself; you must be licensed by the state
Any change you want to make, they will regulate.
You can’t have a party; it might get out of hand,
Only sanctioned celebrations, strip-searched for contraband.
Each of your essential needs, all require cash,
Our humanity is hidden, beneath a red circle and a slash.
It’s a waste of time to hang around and stick it to the man,
I’m leaving this local of “can’t” for a place that says I can.
How I pine for those carefree days when I was seventeen!
I weighed a mere hundred twenty pounds and was rather lean!
I thought I could mount an Arab steed and conquer the world!
Before me bold adventures beyond the horizon lay unfurled!
In my precarious youth I never dreamed of growing old.
I assumed I'd be seventeen forever, truth be told!
But suddenly in the blink of an eye I was thirty-five,
Then I reached fifty, so stealthily did it arrive!
I hardly turned around and suddenly I was sixty-five.
Grandson Zach exclaimed, "But Grandpa, you're still alive!"
A reward upon reaching that exalted rung of maturity,
Was that I became eligible for medicare and social security!
So quickly did I reach the age of seventy, a septuagenarian.
I might as well hang around and become an octogenarian!
Though I enjoy the privileges of the golden years, forsooth,
I'd much prefer the unpretentious days of my youth!
Oh, feckless youth, how hastily thou wast spent.
I clasped thee to my bosom and was so content.
But anon you abandoned me much too soon.
I really think that was so inopportune!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I wake up in the morning and have to decide which side of the bed I will get out of today – it
doesn’t really matter, because there is no one there to block my exit on either side.
I turn on the TV, not to see what’s on, but just to hear another voice in the kitchen other than
the one’s inside my head reminding me that I am having breakfast alone once again.
I once thought that working from home, through the internet, for myself and by myself,
would be a wonderful thing – but, that was when I used to change out of my pajamas at
some time during the day.
Now the keyboard sits there mocking me in my loneliness. The monitor acts more as a
mirror to remind me I haven’t shaved in weeks than it does to display words of a manuscript
that I should be working on.
How lonely am I? I actually called my mother the other day. Rock bottom.
I watch out my window for the approaching mailman so I can open the door as he is
depositing bills I can no longer pay into the mail slot on my door. He says he likes my
Spiderman pajamas the best.
If I had a reason to do so, I would probably take a shower. But then, I have become
accustomed to my own stench and there is nobody else around to offend, save for the
mailman, who I noticed doesn’t hang around to talk much any more. Could be related, I
suppose.
I don’t even please myself any more. My imagination is not sharp enough to fantasize about
things I haven’t experienced for real in such a long time.
There was a time when I would not answer my phone when an 800 number was displayed on
the handset. Today I do. Talking to someone bemoaning that I am late with another
payment, again, is, at least, talking to someone.
Stop mocking me Qwerty!
I have given names to the inanimate objects in my apartment. At times, they talk back to
me. I think today may be my birthday; the dishwasher was smiling at me. The dirty dishes
inside now have mold on them.
The mailman didn’t come today – perhaps it is Sunday. I wore my Spiderman pajamas for
no good reason.
I didn’t write anything again today. These words are just floating around in my head. I am
pretending you are a stranger reading them to make me feel a little less lonely. You
believing you are that stranger is just further validation that I am, indeed, crazy.
The second time was three years later,
when my cousin called me ‘hater,’
she had gone and got pregnant, see,
despite only being eighteen.
The father had, of course, skipped out,
she claimed,”I don’t need him anyhow!
I am just fine here on my own,
I can’t bring up this kid alone!”
Claimed that she didn’t need a man,
that on her own she’d proudly stand.
I said nothing, but I should have,
maybe stopped it from going bad,
but my cousin was obstinant,
and did not see the detriment,
When a year passed I came again,
saw what she’d been living in:
Basement studio, in downtown,
the place where folks don’t hang around,
could not work with a young baby,
lived off hand-outs, paid for by me,
had been robbed twice, never felt safe,
all of the light drained from her face,
she just said she was,”getting by,”
no hint of sparkle in her eyes.
I can tell you I was quite disturbed,
suggested she seek out the father,
see if he could pay his fair share,
her furry caught me unaware.
She still gave me the same old rant,
that she was fine, needed no man,
she claimed that she was,”Doing great!”
Yet her furniture was packing crates.
Despite the fact she was a mom,
she was a kid, throwing tantrums,
believing that an angry yell
could hide the fact she needed help.
So I went to the drug store quick,
stocked up on more prophylactics,
no kid of mine will live that way…
another stirring of the change.
Way down south at the edge of the swamp,
Was a little town known as Backwater.
A peaceful town that most folks found,
Was a good place to raise sons and daughters.
A plague hit the town and people fell sick,
And soon they were dropping like flies.
No doc could be had and the fever was bad,
So they called on the preacher and midwives.
They did what they could but it wasn't enough,
And folks were in fear for their lives.
One woman knew of a spinster who,
Had a sister who lived nearby;
Deep in the swamp, she never came out,
Shunned people and kept to herself.
Some thought her a witch, at best an old b-- h,
But right now they needed her help.
They sent her word through her sister and said,
For whatever she'd do she'd be paid.
She decided she'd make for her sister's sake,
The trip into town and give aide.
When she arrived no one could say,
Next meeting she was just there.
'Mid the fightin', and cussin', and much more discussin',
She pushed back screeching her chair.
My name's unimportant as are you all.
I came at my sister's call.
I'll cure your fever and then I will sever,
All ties and binds with you all.
She mixed up a brew amid the town square,
Soon the smell permeated the air.
Not really bad from the whiff that I had,
T'was the medicine we would all share.
Well the people got well and no one else died,
And the two sisters packed up their wares.
We'd best be off one said with a scoff,
Hang around here if you dare.
The town bid them stay, please don't go away,
For sure you will live like a queen;
But they took their pay and left the same day,
Never no more to be seen.
The townsmen searched high and searched for them low,
To bring them both back to the hollow.
They found on a post a note from their host,
We've gone, do not try to follow.
"gotta hide that cracked red ball somehow!"
Quote by _Constance
They are very old, my decorations, all inherited you see,
and they have had a long, long life, some with problems;
hard to see- sadly, they don't get any attention except at Christmas,
gosh, the stress of being inspected for worthiness, for chips and,
cracks - oh, the shame of being put aside, no wonder they
joined a group for therapy-
don't be silly, old and delicate Christmas decorations, I love you all,
and you will adorn my tree, even if you are very old and cracked, and
not so perfect anymore, no problem I can hide
your imperfections with garland and tinsel,
so, come stop your worrying, you are loved just as you are, so come
just hang around . . .
a little cracked and old, not so shiny anymore, well me either you see,
oh, look at that pretty tree with all those old, old decorations !