Long Hankies Poems
Long Hankies Poems. Below are the most popular long Hankies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hankies poems by poem length and keyword.
Fire hydrants, fire trucks and firemen's faces
After they have been heated up
Chocolate heart boxes, and the prettiest roses
Some of the most fragrant tulips
Ruby jewelry, all sparkly and haughty
My favorite boots, my checkered shirt, my brick oven
An artist once told me without a splash of red, art is not art
I do not know about that, for I favor orange, which is red with the sun
Red umbrella with orange cats, red dog collar, red french fry holder
Valentines, and Santa Claus, Christmas stockings trimmed in green
Best of all, my mother's red stove in the early 60's
Which no one else bought because all other stoves were white
She did her whole kitchen in red and everyone loved it
Pizza Huts, and Christmas lights; all in reds.
Bulls and red hankies, clowns and red noses.
What would we do without red? How would we know to stop?
We danced all night on Maxwell street
singing the blues and eating chicago style
hotdogs driving by Halsted my hair blew in
the breeze as I winked at the Cermax river
flowing of winter green this year the infamous green
mile lounge can be seen in a distance glare after visiting
Logan square headed straight through the Dan Ryan
driving past Sam Giacana place I thought of sausage
and peppers grilling real slow in a cast iron skillet
as I noticed my heel had broken off back there somewhere
between Taylor street and Roosevelt rd. I notice
St. Ignatious steeple my blonde hair tossed around the
lights from the city seemed to glow streams of brilliance
dancing chatter awakening James Dean we dashed
through the sand dunes moving quickly down Lakeshore
drive the night was moving fast but there was more life
more laughs more love we didn't dare park over the crowded
evergreens not tonight instead we poured in the theater
seated in the fourth row my favorite seats matinee began
early with John Dillinger I began to smell stale popcorn
under my feet removing a chunky chocolate bar from my
purse a few hankies
embroidery prints of roses custom made by my Irish aunt
we dashed into Antonio's for a deep slice reading all the
license plates on the wall from years past why I envision
how our future would be why would it be fast never boring
or set to a charming suburban movie script filled with
Gaelic Celtic laud tainted lore why today was the
beginning of our lives tomorrow was yet to be the future
was ours to see and so on and so on certainly a
St Patrick's day to remember here now where's
the powder room dear
I watched a sparrow go mad
Right in front of me
It charged a red bush like a bull to a matador
To build a spring nest in November
Head first through the air
It smashed into the branches
Shaking and breaking its tiny bones with fury
Weaving the straw of this insanity
Into something more familiar
Beneath its wings and hoofs
As the summer-like day cooked
The record books
They’re not telling the truth
On Fox News or across the AM dial
Or from the pulpit of Reddit and Energy
They’re just making money money money money money
Maintaining those ratings tithings and paychecks
Audiences waving their white hankies
Ole’ ole’ ole’!
These people make me sick
These false prophets
These religious money pits
These well dressed demons of deception
Nothing but
Con artists
Liars
Purveyors of pure sacrilege
Pretending to offer you salvation
Offering you the comfort of the lord
For a price
Selling you a seat in heaven
The more you pay the better your accommodations
Religious travel agents
Without their blessing
You’re doomed to be left behind
You wont get into heaven
Without your donation
I myself believe in religion
Support all religions
They may be different in their views and customs
But the end goal is all the same
Eternal peace
But these people are different
They to,
Want peace…
Your piece
My piece
And anyone else’s piece they can get
Their goal is simple
Fleece the flock
Sell them promise
Sell them an eternal ticket
Guarantee them eternal bliss
For a price
Sell them anointed hankies
And blessed books
Promise them wonderful lives
With their religious looks
They are the one-armed bandits of the new age
With a bible in one hand and a credit card machine in the other
We take Visa, MasterCard, American Express and Discover
But no checks please
We need your “prayer” right now
Not in 7-10 days
These people make me sick
There are so many of them
Saying they represent God
Flashing 800 numbers
Requesting your “prayers”
Which will only be “answered”
As long as credit card is valid
Are people that dumb?
I mean really that naïve?
Do they really believe?
The cheap suits
Silk ties
And piss poor acting of sincerity and caring
Do they not see the obvious?
Are they truly blind?
Do they want to be spiritually slaughtered?
Do they not remember the one very important rule?
You never have to pay to pray!
All God has ever asked of anyone is their faith
Time, is your most valuable asset
It is what you have the least of in life
And this is what you pay to God
Your time devoted to him and your faith in him
Wake up, before it’s to late
You don’t have much time left
Spend it wisely
Spend it on God
Eric (and sometimes not)
Can't believe how much junk we collect
In our normal day to day living
Won't throw stuff out, may need it again
Napkins from last year's Thanksgiving
Hankies Mom used to keep in her sleeve
Smelled good but not anymore
Love letters from a sweetheart of mine
Old pictures we took by the score
Some preserves from the nineteen-sixties
They're sure looking kind of iffy
Don't open the jar for fear little animals
Will jump out and bite off your bippy
An argyle sweater my Daddy once had
The suit I wore at four years old
Walked down the aisle with the flower girl
When my sister got married I'm told
Junk we keep, cause someday we'll need it
But someday never quite reaches us
So we keep on gathering this useless junk
This “might become valuable” stuff
© Jack Ellison 2013
It takes two to make a tear
It’s Christmastime so no more killing now!
Let’s get together, sing some carols here.
In no man’s land, we’re brothers for today.
A merry Christmas, season’s greetings, mate.
Und frohliche weihnachten to you, my friend.
Oh, stille nacht, holy night: a lovely sound.
I’ll trade some brandy for your schnapps, old mate.
Und bratwurst for your bully beef, my friend!
It’s nice to know you, as we’re friendly now.
I wish that you could meet my folk today.
Your German language is a pleasant sound.
Und Englisch klingt gut, now it’s spoken here.
It’s good when laughter is the only sound!
A cigarette? Und zigarette, my friend?
It’s good to smoke it either way right now.
I’d take you home to meet my folks, so here’s
A photo of my wife and children, mate.
I wish that I could be with them today.
We’ll have a game of football, Max, my mate:
A Christmas friendly five a side today!
Ah, football das ist gut, my friend.
And only friendly rivalry from now.
With Cheers, instead of cries: such happy sounds!
And No Man’s land’s a perfect pitch right here.
I wish I had some gifts to offer here.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give for hankies now.
Let’s sing again; it’s such a jolly sound.
It’s snowing; friendship keeps us warm today.
You’re welcome to mein mantel, Bob, my friend.
I never thought I’d wear your coat, Max, mate.
The world is now a better place today.
I think we’ll stay gute freunde, do you, my friend?
Of course we’ll be good pals from now on, mate.
I couldn’t shoot at German soldiers now.
We’ll tell them straight that we’re all friendly here -
And no more fighting in the world sounds sound!
They say we’re enemies again, old mate.
Ja, weihnachten war gestern, Bob my friend.
Forgive me if I take your life today…
*In 1914, the German and English troops had a ceasefire at Christmas.
I think my German words are correct, but apologies if not!
We want to heal-
scab stealers wont allows us too
sneaking up on us-
giving us new busy work
side trackers –
killing us
the only hope we had left
invested in our progeny.
progenitors
Our children become our ancestors
Arrested -
Denied freedom.
assaulted,
Degrading us our offspring.
They make examples out of noble men.
Leaders not knowing what day will
be their personal doomsday while
They recite a healing prayer on balconies
Thinking “is this my end”.
"As they risk healing folks in large crowds with
un-trusted friends watching their backs
Let me get these words in As
We begin to heal from
the power of love.
These "scab thieves’ who snatch
scabs off the old wounds.
Create and open new wounds,
As they dare us to heal.
We fall to the ground.
as the targets keep
Dropping they
Kill the mighty to
Control the weak.
We are angry -No time to heal -
Angry People
Bopping ignorant
Pop ups- Bobble heads, popping up
like bobble heads at a carnival.
We needed the big black men-
who soon after that
Perplexed us
Who were they that stood
on Hunter street?
In front of Paschal Brothers
Over near "Don Clendenin’s"
surrendering
Waving White hankies
at tricks and enemies
We are bleeding now...
The scab makers are winning
where and from wince –
Do they come from?
or go to?
Wall Street or colleges-
White collar preppies-
promoting separate causes.
We still chant
Free Mandela
“we loved him too
They all were gone
to the grave or to prison.
Many wounds open
blood everywhere.
Perplexed.
Things fall apart again in...2013
2013 is here.
We are still with open wounds
Remember now wonder
can we heal if they?
keep re-opening our wounds.
My tolerance is no more for
nincompoops and
Poot—butts, chastising
Empresses and Kings.
Knowing nothing....
While pulling off scabs
Who am I, if I lose focus?
There will be no us-
So, I relent,
Leaving them where
they are - or at least
where I found them!
I really feel that until I die
I have a connection to someone’s
future I have wounds to heal.
I must remember-
“I cannot get angry for you”,
Lest I get stuck fighting your battle.
“I will get angry with you”
I will fight aside of you.
~The Hot Spell Is Over~
Watching the clouds gather
There is thunder in the air
After a beautiful week
It really doesn’t seem fair
We finally cast off winter woollies
Then sat with hankies on our heads
Tomorrow I suppose the Wellingtons are out
And we put back on our winter threads.
Our poor bodies don’t know what to do
From freezing to frying all in a day or two
Part of life’s rich pattern I can suppose
Life is short as the saying goes
Live it large as they now say
I think this means we should go out and play
Get our kit off in the kid’s paddling pool
Kick our heels we are nobody’s fools.
Grasp it now before it has gone
Make someone smile - just anyone
The air pressure rising leaves our skins moist
The air is thick and steamy as on us it is foist
Pressure flies are landing dropping from the skies
Blown out of the atmosphere before our very eyes
Sitting on the picture frames like little specks of dust
A flash a thunderous bang to come - we know it is a must
The thunder bounds around us with its lion-like roar
Taking the hot spell with it - but we hope not for evermore.
© 28/05/2012 ~GG~
SIGN OF THE TIMES
Stones will be thrown down. The temple succumbs like Lazarus.
Inconceivable evil hurled inside and outside satan’s circle.
Good perceived as bad and the reverse a similar fact.
Noah’s days before our rainy eyes, hankies blowing it.
Other christ, the false one, the devil incarnate arrives.
Feast of beasts will turn the world upside-down in defeat.
Torrential weather, hate and great distress to impress.
Heaven looks on in horror but not surprised.
Evening becomes the norm without moon or stars.
The persecutions worse and worser, God’s children cry, wanting
It to end sooner than later, having suffered and died, blood
Mixes like a cultural conglomerate - we knew the rat race
Eventide, on its plenipotentiary screeching wheel, couldn’t
Survive but for Jesus Christ — His victory secured at the cross.
4/22/2018
The temple in line one is Jesus. In the final line His victory.
In the distance I hear soft music on the radio.
The air is still and silence holds us
In her arms.
Quiet Sunday morning
Rode past the field where geese rested
Looking from far away
Like a flock of pigeons
In the sun.
See so many different kinds of brick,
Angles of rooftops,buildings haphazardly
Added to before planning laws.
I sit and watch the people pass,
Some happy,one weeping though she assured me
It's merely an allergy;
An allergy to loss?
Yes,I'm allergic to loss.
Loss makes my eyes water and my nose run.
Where does all that water come from?
Pass me your handerchief,mine is a ladies
Since men must work and women weep
Surely we should have the biggest hankies?
Men can wipe their nose on their sleeve
As long as they are not wearing their hearts there!
Or they might consider sharing hankies.
How kind;for at times, almost,
Every one weeps.