Long Hang on Poems
Long Hang on Poems. Below are the most popular long Hang on by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hang on poems by poem length and keyword.
Being thrilled must be genuine,
it's that joy one feels within.
You found me and seemed very thrilled
dancing to your happy beat,
never inviting me to a feat;
all along I believed I was somehow loved.
Being thrilled must be genuine,
it's that joy that one feel within.
Open the gates that keep your waters
of passion from flowing to me;
I like to feel in these veins that burning
burning endless desire of ecstasy.
Being thrilled must be genuine,
it's that joy one feels within.
Thrilled is a meaningless word to a loveless man,
you steal what I hold precious without guilt;
I could cut the string you hang on instantly
and make you fall in the deepest sea without me.
Being thrilled must be genuine,
it's that joy one feels within.
Being thrilled is not enough for me,
show me more and I'll be happy;
why do you sing the same boring melody:
give me more and stick around like a bee?
Being thrilled must be genuine,
it's that joy one feels within.
Feeling, true feeling is what I am asking;
don't wear a mask that hides honesty and truth:
yes, it makes you beautiful but not real and smart...
because no love can survive without giving.
Being thrilled must be genuine,
it's that joy one feels within.
Copyright ( c ) 2015 by Andrew Crisci
I made a wish by the sea, that I would never betray thee; I watch the waves washing up the shores, and ripples of hope beating on the door, while the fisherman in the sea hang on to the sides of their boat and suddenly a giant wave cover them, and that was the last time that anyone had seen or heard of them. Look to the stars when hope is gone, look to the stars when the current in the sea is strong and all you have are only your two hands, swim against tides with hope by your side and the wisdom of the sea will protect thee.
I woke up this morning in a rundown building to the sound of barking dogs outside but melody was flowing in my heart on the inside, I crept slowly into my working space, and my adrenaline was spilling all over the place, I had so much to say, but the early morning bugs try to steal my joy away and ripples of hope came along and breath fresh into my lungs. Morning suddenly comes alive and traffic start flowing down the street and ripples of hope settled my heartbeat. A burst of energy engulfs me and I feel myself entering into a higher dimension and elements in the skies surrounds me and ripples of hope covers me.
Come with me to town and let me show you where destiny is bound, let’s go to the marketplace, the shopping center, the mall and the gym, walk with courage in your hands, ripples of hope will sooth your sorrows and give you a bright smile.
Pour some water on top of your head and pull yourself out of that comfortable bed, come and have brunch with me, and we will go shopping by the sea, meet me at the sushi bar, we will have something light, before you board the flight. We have important matters to discuss so adjust your schedule so that you don’t have to shout when we walk about. Ripples of hope have covered you; ripples of hope will see you through.
Betcha can't guess what this is
Don't cheat and look down below
A unique and funky candy dish?
Or an ash tray, do you think you know?
Looks like a prize from a midway
Something to hang on your wall
A spittoon you find at a dentist's office
Or a kids game called “Toss The Ball”
Ha! You guys are ten miles off base
Won't believe what this thing is for
Used by both males and females
At times they line up by the score
Quite functional and a real necessity
Frequented at the pub or a game
Because of all the beer that's consumed
Okay scroll down to find out it's name...
(Scroll down)
So what did you say? Did you get it right?
Guessed “toilet bowl”?... you are correct!
You win a big bucket of horse manure
So what great prize did you expect?
© Jack Ellison 2013
Does life hang on a tiny thread,
haven't many been misled?
Discouraged? One needs the courage
to achieve the impossible!
Decry fate, never fling your sword
to wound a moribund soul already bleeding;
control your irrepressible rage, doesn't healing
begin when reasoning is finally deployed?
Does life hang on a tiny thread
as the breath, our lungs exhale?
Would one prefer the silence of Haden,
over the freedom of choices, or vale
yourself as a worthless martyrdom
that is simply a deplorable word?
Has your bottle run out of rum...
realizing your sin is unforgiven?
Does life hang on a tiny thread
when one succumbs to unfounded fears,
and mutters the words of a drunk?
Cowardice and valor don't match a bit,
look deep down and see how you have sunk,
no hands can lift you out of that abyss;
never dismantle the steel armor you have wrought:
victory is not attained without bloodshed!
Imagine being good at one special thing,
Distinguished in something you do,
When people want perfect done for them,
Then you are the one they go to,
Imagine being able to pilot a rocket,
Or play tennis or golf with the best,
Imagine being able to sing perfectly,
Sing better than all of the rest,
I wish that could be more than imagination,
More than a thought in the air,
I wish I was great at one little thing,
And not live as a wing on a prayer,
Hang on, one minute, it just came to me,
There’s something, I knew it, it’s true,
The one little thing that I’m really super good at,
Is loving all there is about you.
paint me a face,
paint me one so blue that I can barely laugh or coo,
paint me till the colour of my skin no more exist,
but all you see is the gloom,
peering in sympathy through my window panes.
paint me my dear,
don't be shy,
it's been long I took my time and listened to the cries,
and heard for myself what's been wailed on the streets,
for it's been long indeed I sat and felt the pain of the weak,
as life has been one on the move and no time to feel.
paint me so I can hang on those walls
that discriminate your young,
and be a reflection of your strength and courage
paint till the bristles of your brush prick my skin,
paint till your hands get weary, but your heart lightened
by the sharing of your grief,
paint me the colour of your grief,
so I can judge beyond the common colour of a skin.
paint me my love,
paint me with every shade of red,
from the colour of your blood to the colour of mine,
and our thumping hearts harmonise in warm kisses of the night,
eyes glowing bright in the dark till morning light,
like antelopes in a searing jungle.
paint me oh sister,
paint me the pain of the birth of your young,
a shade of joy and anguish.
paint me till I scream your voice in the colour of my strides,
as a woman learning from a girl,
yearning to be free from the shackles of my teen.
#You
You said I was childish, never serious , took things simple but what you left out was why I carried myself as such. Truth be told, thats what I resorted to after my aftermath of my being serious, being honest, giving my all
Maybe I have suffered so much pain that I chose not be pain in others life, maybe I have been betrayed so much that I chose to give my whole and unconditionally to others. Pain to love, betrayal to honesty. Not that I'm perfect but chose for myself a route that makes me sleep at peace every night.
This wall of enegry filled with laughter, smile and internal happiness, it's not a face but maybe I was fed with much love from a tender age, taught that humans were vessels to be filled with love, maybe that's why I give so much of it.
I said you not us, for in me some skepticism still lingers, for the human in you, I said my circle should match my aura, thus I wonder if you are capable, of being around me all the time, shedding love without asking questions.
Call me an illusion but I'm a cut from a different cloth, a piece that lives for here and now. They said life was a fleeting space, what is to life without giving your all? Pain and betrayal are part of the fleeting space, choosing to hang on to what have been, is robbing yourself a moment to cherish in your present, we are just not made the same. Takers take and givers give but then I'm just a giver.
I wanted to say us but then, the you' hasn't kicked in yet, maybe one day you would wake up and see through the curtains of life and see the worth and cherishing worth in every bit, without hesitation, maybe then I may say us. I say you for in you I see the spark, an ignite that my eyes and mind refuse to ignore, that as, I drip my ink in you
#Poetic_Ink
Retiring Cowboy
He hung up his bridle by his bed on the wall.
His rig is preserved on a stand by the stall.
His old Appaloosa has been turned out to graze.
As he sits in his rocker and dreams of old days.
For years he worked hard herding cattle all day.
He worked hard to earn a poor cowboy’s pay.
There were days he would rise barely bearing the pain.
He would climb in the saddle and hang on to the mane.
Starting out riding drag then flank and then swing.
Then point man a position he wanted more than anything.
The job was hard but it beat the rest.
It didn’t take long till he was the best.
He worked hard to work his way up to trail boss.
He was tough but fair a man no man would cross.
And his horse came to be his very best friend.
They stuck together through thick and through thin.
Hot summer days and winters so cold.
Misery torment and torture untold.
But when it was finally all said and done.
He would never have traded with anyone.
Cigarette smoke and cheap perfume
linger in a dance of remembrance
An unmarried aunt who clerked in a store
her rummage sale pearls yellow with age
wrapped around my memories and my fascinations
I was eleven years old when she died
and I heard my parents say: “Floss was never really happy”
But to me, she always smiled and took a
nickel from her shiny black plastic purse when it
was time for us to leave…
putting the coin in my hand and a big red lipstick
kiss on my cheek
Looking back, I think it was my parents who were
unhappy with who she was
There were whispers of past husbands and
maybe a child—but no one ever talked about it out loud
In a black and white 1950’s world Aunt Florence
was bigger than their disappointments
Living in the shadows of the post war mid-century
a ‘loser’ could slip into one and hang on
She has outlived almost everything
I was encouraged to forget
and her life has become rich in my memory
—growing richer with time
(Lansdowne Pennsylvania: 1959)
Emotionally drained
scars no longer visible
and I can still anticipate
the next slap
held prisoner by my thoughts
the pain deep within
a voice,
telling me I must have been at
fault
for him to turn from love
to hate in just a few minutes
mom always said the
husband
is always right
Why do I fear his love?
Why do I question who I am?
I use to know what I want
from life
now I await his approval
I’ve lost myself
in between the hidden scars
and the swear words
the constant refrain,
'you'll never make it without
me'
I’ve lost myself in between
his "I’m sorry and "it will
never happen again"
I’ve heard it so many times
every time I take him back
God knows I'm tired of his
broken promises and second
chances.
I've lost myself in my quest
for love
so lost, sometimes powerless
deep down I know this isn't
love
and yet I still hang on
hang onto his false hope
thinking it is suppose to be
this way
hopefully one day I will find
myself again..
I have to, so I can show my
children a better way
then scars and swear words...
Show them the true meaning
of love without fear
We are
approaching 16 days of
activism for no violence
against women and children
which is an international
event commemorated in
South Africa as well. 25
November 2011 – 10
December 2011
©131120111821