Long Hangers Poems
Long Hangers Poems. Below are the most popular long Hangers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hangers poems by poem length and keyword.
Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie
Oh, so lonely -- Where do such people come from
They come from all walks of life, from the priesthood
on down to the hangers-on at village churches
And where do they all belong? -- In a desiccated church
where Father McKenzie preaches sermons that no one hears
and Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice thrown at others' weddings,
surely lamenting her own lonely, dreamlike existence...
They belong together, but Church doctrine, frustratingly, keeps them apart
this lonely woman with the happy face, concealing the ache deep inside
and the devoted priest, so determined to look ministerial, to deliver a sermon
for no audience, that no one will hear, that will save no one...
So many lonely people in society today, like Eleanor Rigby
people who come from nowhere, whose contributions go unrecognized
and who return to nowhere, buried along with their names --
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...
August 08,
Eleanor Rigby Who was she Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
He was a one-of-a kind little pup
Mostly white, with caramel patches.
His tail curled up, like an Akita
With big paws for dangerous scratches.
He was no pure breed, but he was ours
His name was Charlie, or "Charlie Bar"
Who was sweet to family, but not all others.
He grew to a fairly plump eighty pounds
And loved to wrestle under the covers.
He was erratic and awkward, but he was ours.
At the sound of a doorbell, real or TV
He would launch into panic mode.
Barking and charging toward the door
To defend the family and our abode.
He wasn't the smartest, but he was ours.
Food was Charlie's chief motivation
Never deterred from a morsel or crumb.
He ate at a frenzied, gulping rate
And drank 'til his tongue went numb.
He was never graceful, but he was ours.
He followed my wife wherever she went
No room was off limits, no treat rejected.
He reacted to everything that moved
But my wife felt safe and protected.
He was "a baby" for sure, but he was ours.
He felt challenged by two tiny dogs next door
And attacked the fence with great zeal.
Pretending to be our home's great defender
But we knew his attacks weren't real.
He was a menace we know, but he was ours.
He loved walks and new toys would thrill him
And hangers under doors he attacked!
Timely meals and snacks were important
And no attention or affection he lacked.
He was a wuss, but he was ours.
Thank you, Charlie, for the years in our family
For the laughter you gave and your loyalty too.
I wish there were more, but I cherish the times
You enriched our lives and you saw us through.
For profound happiness, thank God he was ours.
So simple is so so elusive,
It's down there, somewhere
beneath the layers of
complexity which shrouds,
covers and clouds
elegant simplicity.
We love complexity in all its guises,
calling up all sorts of objections, problems,
what-ifs, if-only's and yeah-buts,
in endless procrastination
and hesitancy.
Complexity, confusion and
simple cluttered thinking
leaves 'mind in a muddle'
lengthening the journey to the simple
adding twists and turns, hills and ravines
to what should be a 'crow fly.'
The design and creative process
seems to always need
an obligatory complex phase,
which is refined, reworked re-done,
sometimes painfully
to elegant simplicity
our elusive simple goal.
It would be so nice to avoid this,
but only the truly gifted
can do it with KISS.
But, perhaps the pithy, elegant,
nice, simple final product,
rid of its complexity garb
and unnecessary hangers on,
is all-the-better for having to draft,
refine and draft, and refine and re-draft,
over and over again.
Sometimes it pays to simply start
all over again
from scratch.
At Cape Canaveral
Working for CNN
Carolyn Devonshire
With a news bulletin
In less than three days
The second comet will hit home
All the worlds governments are working
To halt it's destructive roam
Here at NASA
They are preparing a shuttle
To carry a weapon
Deadly but subtle
Scientists from Russia
China and Japan
Are working together
To save our lands
Inside these hangers
A mission is planned
To arm a shuttle
Electronically manned
Aboard it will carry
A weapon of power
Once it strikes home
We await the meteorite shower
In the NASA control room
The count down begins
Our world as we know it
Under three days from its end
The engines roar
As the rocket zests
Inside the shuttle
Is a cargo that's blessed
As it hits Mach 23
It disappears from our view
Beyond our world
A mission so true
With the comet in sight
The shuttles doors now agape
Releasing a small craft
With flags of the world, proudly draped
The shuttle that's followed
This comet of death
Captures the moment
Man left it reft
A craft coloured gold
Approaches at speed
Reaches the comet
Blessed by all creeds
A blinding light
As bright as the sun
Destroys the comet
As the meteorites run
The second shuttle
Is peppered like earth
But she makes it home
Her witness, well worth
On CNN
Footage is shown
The death of a comet
In obliteration blown
How many more
Are lurking out there
As we await their entrance
We stand together, and beware
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-8.php
The Death of Art
He was an artist, a painter spending much of his time
in his mother's garage painting when not out drinking with his many friends who were art lovers too, although some were hangers-on enjoying what they thought was a carefree life.
His family came from an industrious group who
had investments in many commercial enterprises and therefore were concerned about the clan's reputation
they regarded his attempt to develop his skill as useless
waste of time.
One day I came into the house having spent hours in the garage trying to get the color right in a landscapes
painting and failed, the clan waiting for him
they told him how great it could be if he joined the firm
paint he could do for fun
The family won, next day he appeared in a suit and came to
the office quickly grasped the trade of making money
he was good at this and soon advanced to higher-up
waiting for his turn to be the next president and perhaps
a title and fawning respect.
To make the picture idyllic of perfection and success
he had a beautiful wife and two lovely children not
a stable with Arabian horses and several dogs, but his mother, perhaps the only one in the family was worried
she missed her son.
He avoided his friends, no, he didn't want to talk about his art it was for passing the time. He now had a calling to make the business selling fertilizer products worldwide, but we saw in his eyes his deep desperation, a soul crying in the night
One morning the horses were neighing, dogs barking
he hangs from the rafter in his stable.
He got a stately funeral, flowers, and wreaths from afar
his mother was sad she had lost him so many years ago she had been crying
The eastern seaboard
Of the United States
As the sisters three
Evil dictates
Population massed
As the floods rise
Lands disappearing
Is the earth in demise
In typical fashion
We fight amongst ourselves
For higher ground
A higher shelf
Woman and children
Allegedly first
Money changes
It's the size of the purse
The frenzy quietens
As the sisters appear
Dressed in death
Many thousands in fear
Families scatter
Trampled under
Human stampede
Bodies asunder
As they slaughter in spree
The government acts
Maybe this time
They will believe the facts
The NORAD Complex
In the Cheyenne Mountain
A solution in discussion
This time, one we can count on
Hidden in it's hangers
Are weapons so great
For these sisters three
Will learn their fate
Around the table
The orders are given
To save our planet
From it's impending midden
Three Kestrel fighters
From a war torn past
Will have on board
A lifeline to cast
On this morning of thought
Our pilots of thee
From our silo's launched
To protect the world from the three
Their Ritual in the Forest followed by The Three Events >
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy4.php
MY VIETNAM VETERAN HUSBAND AND I RETURNED HOME TO A HORROR INTRUDERS PICKING OUR LOCKS RIPPING PAGES AGAIN AN ONGOING 23 YEAR HEIST FIR DOCUMENTS MILITARY IMMUNIZATION RECORDS OF MY KIDS THE DAYS I WORE WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI I WOUKD OFTEN TAKE THE KIDS TO GET SHOTS BEING IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER SCHOOL FBI RECEIPTS ARLINGTON HEIGHTS FIELD OFFICE ALONG WITH MY CHILDREN SHOT RECORDS MARRIAGE CERTIFICATES THIS STALKER PICKS THE LOCK WITH BROKEN HANGERS FINALLY OPENS OUR MILITARY TRUNKS AND BEGAN GOING THROUGH CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS UNAUTHORIZED DOCUMENTS IN OUR HOME BLESSING SHE GOT A BAD CUT WHILE HANDLED MEDICAL RECORDS FROM 1966 LEAVING BLOOD STAINS FINALLY PLACING STICKERS ON PAGES DOCUMENTS MY HUSBAND AND I BOTH SUFFER FROM PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY WE ARE VERY DRAINS AFRAID AT TIMES SHE ACTUALLY POINTED AN ASSAULT RIFLE FROM ACROSS THE STREET RED DOTS BEAMING IN OUR WINDOW IDENTITY FRAUD IS A HORRID THING WITH DATA BREACHES THESE THIEVES PULL HOME INVASIONS HEIST UPON MILITARY FAMILIES THE SMELL OF HER BLOOD TOXIC SADNESS THAT VIETNAM VETERANS FAMILIES WE SPEND OUR LIFE PLANTING FLOWERS PLANTING TREES PAINTING BRICKS FOR THE FALLEN LINING OUR HOME WITH FAITH CHARITY MOST OF THESE IS LOVE THE LOVE OF GIVING GODS EARTH I ADORE WATCHING THE TREES SWAY WITH THE FLAG WAVING WE ARE AMERICAN I REALIZE IT'S CIRO GARGANO ANGRY BITTER ALL THESE YEARS TERRORISTS THREATS ATTEMPTS TO EXTORT BLACKMAIL MILITARY FAMILIES MY PRAYERS ARE WITH THIS DEADLY TERROR REMINDING ME OF WITNESSING THE MURDER OF RASTA ANDREW HIS BLOOD STAINED MY DOORWAY HE ARRIVED WAVING HIS GUN TO MURDER ME BY GODS GRACE HE WAS KILLED BEFORE HE KILLED ME MY STALKERS IS HIS LONGTIME GIRL FRIEND TONI HER DAUGHTER JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY JAMAICAN DEALERS DANITA DELMONT AGENT TALISHA SHAW ALICIA HILTON KIWANI BUGGS LEAVING BLOOD STAINS BEHIND ON OUR FLAGS AND PAINTED BRICKS FOR THE FALLEN GOD BLESS AMERICA
SARTORIAL
I went through my clothes the other day
Yes, some are well-worn, others quite new
They represent styles from both extremes
Living, or once lived, a varied life it seems
Can one assume identity from such a view
Maybe clothing choices have much to say
Formal suits on hangers in protective covers
The smarter are even in the tuxedo fashion
One even with a strictly grey striped trouser
White shirts, a formality unlikely to arouse her
But the wing collars may suggest little passion
As stiff necks are quite rare between lovers
A few checked shirts, almost lumberjack style
With a couple of casual jackets, almost sporty
Several predictable business suits, of course
Useful for financial meetings at the Bourse
Almost a City uniform after the age of forty
Occasionally may even raise an ironic smile
Then there are several Caribbean floral shirts
And various T-shirts with a holiday destination
An old style raincoat bought many decades ago
It might still look good and fit me, you know
A college striped scarf reminiscent of graduation
The memory of those younger days still hurts
There’s a woollen jumper and a hooded anorak
Chinos and a pair of jeans that I’ve never worn
Knee rips and faded denim was never for me
With all those echoes of nineteen seventy three
I wish my current extra pounds were still brawn
But then clothes can bring all the memories back
We carry small talk above our heads, ceilings drip clouds.
Nothing is put away. Coats dangle over chairs in layers.
Drugged by spate and mizzle, denim droops,
snagged over rummage
and the outstretched arms of impedimenta.
The house awakes to a soft toed patter.
Around us, cuffs pull the roof closer to damp collars,
hangers weep in wardrobes,
while the unhung sink in muddy shallows.
Before the light paddles away, calico, cotton, and shirttails
are rescued, bundled into higher heaps;
the soggy separated from the merely mildewed.
The muddled and fusty raised above an imagined tide.
Tomorrow, front steps will be scoured;
the washed-out made to flap.
Squirrels may walk the earth again,
and if a blotting wind returns, we will wave
from dry bathtubs.
I must think fast. My house is on fire and I'll have 16 minutes at the most
to decide what I will save!
For sure, I will rescue the computer, or the flash drive at the very least.That is number one, for this represents a great number of hours I have spent creating poetry.
The second thing is my photos. I've saved most of them in albums, and there are many! I'll have to grab them up in armfuls and make two trips back and forth to get them out!
Third, I really should not forget paper documents: proof of birth and house ownership, certificates, checks, etc. To get those things redone is a huge hassle, and luckily, I have them all in one big box.
What next? I think I will grab up my jewelry, especially my rings with precious stones that I love so much. Bracelets, earrings and necklaces too. I'll toss them all into one big bag and worry about sorting them later!
I've used up at least ten minutes of my time by now. Next I will try to rescue my clothes. There are too many of them to save them all, but I will grab up my favorites, yanking them from hangers and taking them to my lawn in big piles. I'll use the hamper to carry them in!
After clothing comes shoes! Of my many pairs, I need only to save a few which are my very favorites and my two most comfortable pairs which I wear the most often.
Finally, I have arrived at the final thing! Most of the sixteen minutes to get stuff out of my house has disappeared by now, so I will run into my kitchen and grab up my supplements along with any healthy nutrition bars and dark chocolate, all kept in my pantry. I will just shove them all into a large box and get my butt out of the house.
Whew!! The fire truck is here now. I am praying all my favorite nic nacs, books and old records will somehow be preserved! I can always get new sheets, blankets, furniture and televisions, but the things I most cherish are the things I grabbed first to take out of the house, especially those things irreplaceable such as photographs and my poetry!
And what did I learn from this little exercise? Well, I really need to have all my favorite things previously organized into big boxes which are easy to carry!
Feb.21, 2019 for
Caren Krutsinger's Seven Things You Would Save If Your House Was on Fire