Long Hankie Poems
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2025.12.24
About 18 months ago,
A black hoodie was acquired.
With a grey platypus printed on it.
And a heatfelt poem was written,
To commemorate our friendship.
2024.6.22
It was fine you still have not found me.
It was not like I play hard to catch.
I just don't know who I can trust.
Having my image on your hoodie,
Was the closest thing you can get.
You are one of those who found me cute
For that I am sure I can't dispute
You aware that my species is facing extinguished.
If for any reasons. I can't be your friend,
You know I still love you
But did not know how to let you know.
If you love me then you have
A very strange way to show.
Now, I feel deserted and ignored.
I am being buried long before my species.
PS
When are you going to learn how to swim
So you can join and find me in the stream.
Both the hoodie and the poem,
Were left behind after being rejected.
One year later, after months of waiting.
I decided to give the hoodie away,
It is now overseas and admire by someone.
I embroidered the platypus on a hankie.
I also embroidered your image,
The icon of your firmware Apps
And the poem which I compared
You and the 12 Apostles,
On my back from Great Ocean Road.
One day, after I am gone,
When I can see and miss them no more.
Please give them all away
As you did to our friendship.
They used to say when I was young
See with your eyes and always hold your tongue
Momma said' GIRL, YOU KNOW" Mercedes, you just aint right
Wrong color, wrong nose, wrong skin, too much backside, and too much height!
I thought momma was right
I grew up wishing I was white
Why is my chest so doggone big? Why are my thighs so wide?
Reminds me of the girl Pecola from Toni Morrison's "THE BLUEST EYES"
A literary genius, she is so wise
One day, I got some enterprise and traveled worldwide
I saw the ninth wonder when I saw the other side
Girls of many colors, shapes, and sizes none of them look the same
They were from other countries and Kiesha wasn't their name
One girl was from Africa and she reached out and touched my skin
She told me to deeply love myself because my ancestors were deep within
She told me to hug myself and don't beat people up so hard
And if I didn't have no one else I will always have God
Today, I saw something beautiful
A true woman I did see
As my silk hankie touches the looking glass
The woman looking back was me
The suns had never had a queen before
But it was an idea the solar system did not deplore
Matter of fact, some planets thought it was the way
To honor a sun who was merry, joyful and gay
They held a contest and the willing female suns strutted in
One of the older ones had spittle sliding off her chin
A young sun dabbed it with a hankie, helping her immediately too
As far as the judges were concerned, this is what a queen should do
Placing their ballots in secret, they figured out right away
That the empathetic young helpful sun was merry, joyful and gay.
They gave her a gorgeous tiara made of flowers in pastel blue
She was excited, and appreciative and grateful too.
Lying on my back,
the warm sun blanketing,
I watched the cloud stacks drift,
breezily blown across the bluest skies,
imagining, dreaming . . .
Dangling from my lips,
sweet honeysuckle straws dripped nectar candy,
delicious extract for flavoring dreams,
visions of the joys to come
when I was older grown,
reveries of life and love
and children of my own.
Beneath the apple tree,
in spring pink blossom carpeted,
I laid out the charming rooms
that framed a happy home.
The hollyhocks lent their blooms
for babies hankie-swaddled
and clothed in petal gowns of white and pink.
My flower-children, plump and fragrant skinned,
rocked in cradles strung between the branches,
were lulled to sleep with tender lullabies.
The happy days of childhood passed,
and I was suddenly grown
with tiny babies of my own,
sweeter far than any flower known.
The kisses that I gave to them
were answered, returned to me,
from lips like rose buds formed
perfumed with baby breaths, fragrant and warm.
The childhood dream that I held dear
I treasured year after year
until I found it realized,
reflected in my babies' eyes.
Copyright, August 16, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Mixing two things will create
Something new that's really great
Yellow and blue will make green
And an outside pretty scene
Purple comes from red and blue
Growing violets==rare and new
Pink is made from red and white
Lace is a soft pretty sight
Two more things can mix together
Two lonely hearts bound forever
In one happy and sweet place
There's never a single trace
Of pain anywhere or time
Two hearts with a long love line
Formed by mixing two great things
Wedding vows and golden rings
A warm outsides serene and quiet
Hair decorated by nice violets
Pink lace all along a dress
Matching hankie in his vest
No scene could be quite as nice
Than two hearts joining for life
I don’t want to see you inside this house
Unless your foot has fallen off or you are bloody
Does a bloody nose count?
Hell no.
What if a blood eating vampire eats my face off?
That could be a good thing because you would be silent.
Wow.
Mother of the year here.
We looked at each other for about two seconds before we thought of it.
She opened the door and said “And don’t go into that old shed!”
Damn.
This ruined things
Not so fast, my cousin Hankie said. I know a secret way in.
So she won’t see us? I asked.
I don’t think she can, he said.
Hankie was always full of bloody good ideas.
This time was not one of them.
We ended up scratching ourselves up as we climbed in the broken window
Hankie was screaming bloody murder as she drove him away
to get a tetanus shot
Because he had landed on a rusty nail.
Bloody hell!
Women in times gone by did not have much to say
In matters of importance or happenings of the day
If a girl or woman tried to give her point of view
It was considered unfeminine not quite the thing to do
Her job, if she wanted one, was to look her best
Some found this time consuming and have to have a rest
They seem always to be writing to a relative or two
Mostly gossip trying to find out who was dating who
Marriage was important matchmaking in vogue
The grapevine was essential to meet noblemen or rogue
Who had married well or recently divorced
Who had given birth was worth mentioning of course
The writer of the letter told of whom she met while walking
A man she thought was following her today we would call it stalking
She dropped her dainty handkerchief part of her clever plan
She was quite excited, being pursued by a man
The letter became interesting the reader was entranced
Did the man pick up the hankie or give it a casual glance
The man was a gentleman who knew what to do
Smiling, waving the handkerchief said "I believe this may belong to you"
Dear lady what a way to meet, I would consider it a pleasure
To walk with you along the street"
So you see not much has changed in matters of romance
Men who think they have it made with women, not a chance
Women are not stupid when they have their sights set
On a man who takes their eye don't take on any bet
You're sure to lose if you, they choose to live with for life
It is a certainty she will become your loving wife
Muscle-bound goons. The kind that rape the world. Self-satisfied, in no hurry to devote their remarkable faculties to understanding another’s mind. Such wise men. Stares as blank as summer nights, red and black, tricolored, golden star-stung steel: twisted features, leaden, pale, inflamed; hoarse guffaws. A grim onslaught of pretense. To hear what these kids would say about Cherubino in their rough voices and violent ways. They’re heading to town to get it from behind, all decked out in sickening luxury.
A violent Paradise of runaway sneers! But no match for your Fakirs and hackneyed theatrics. In costumes sewn together with all the taste of a nightmare, they strut through assorted laments, tragedies filled with all every brigand and demigod missing from religion and history. Chinese, Hottentots, bohemians, fools, hyenas, Molochs, ancient lunacies, sinister demons—they slip savage slaps and tickles into your mother’s old chestnuts. A little avant-garde here, some three-hankie stuff there. Master jugglers who use riveting comedy to transform players and scenes. Eyes ignite, blood sings, bones stretch, tears and red rivulets run. Their clowning can last minutes, or months.
Only I have the key to this savage sideshow.
:: 07.31.2022 ::
Outside the sanctum, clenched teeth, tension,
a sense of being spun slowly, in comical ocean drift
Bobbed cork barely able to rein my orientation.
Luckily, current flux of haphazard happening flapped
a variable vantage.
Blown as though by silk hankie butterfly blessing
launched under lead light detail dragonfly wing
Inside the sluice.
tender seagrass arms greet me, surprise caressed
Silky entry to a tepid tub, a calm community
of smug inner sanctum club members, afloat.
Blind to bedlam, their faces automatically accepting
Smarmy, aloof, knowing the code
Clicked into correct holding pattern
Galvanized now among the longed for,
unlocked passage
Boasts a right angled me, porthole refuge
Catatonic sanctum immune to struggle
Bay of steady abundance
Top step mission for admission somehow granted mine
Spotlight shon on my cloned social demeanor,
Meticulously honed modesty of highbrow gallery.
24th February
Written for Contest: Gateway
Sponsor: Constance La France
2025.12.25
It was 18 months ago, besides the Platypus
Another hoodie with its proud poem,
Were also prepared for you
And heartless rejected by you.
2024.06.22
"I am amazed.
You found me when we are so far apart.
Please put me where
It is closed to your heart.
Keep me warm,
And excited me with your drumbeats.
Because I am
All yours to keep.
Not many people
Find me adorable.
So thank you for loving me,
But turning me away as a gift.
It was alright,
And what you did was fine.
However and whenever,
You change your mind,
I am sure,
You know where to find me.
Be amazed by my smell
I am under your spell.
Not many people find me attractive.
Touch me if you have a chance to do it.
Unless you don't want to.
Really, I really mean it.
One day, you let go all of your past,
No more of them in your heart.
Get marry and start a family."
Besides keeping both the hoodie, the poem
I went further embroidered
The poem on a hankie for you.
At least, you had no chance to rejected it.
When I am gone, you will then have the hankie,
But you have to give it away,
As you did to our friendship.
How different we were,
You loved the exotic animal,
But had no desire to keep its image.
I did not love you that much,
But I ...... ...... ...... ...... ...... ......