Long Hats Poems
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I wear a hat because I've lost my hair
Folk would laugh out loud at my head so bare
Long ago my hair was thick and wavy
It was the colour of mother's gravy.
Her gravy was dark as the lumps of coal
She would light a fire with, when it was cold
If short of cash, then us kids had to sit
In the disastrous sweaters she would knit.
Often they’d be too clingy or too large
Though knitted with love for those in her charge
Mother said if we were cosy and warm
It did not matter at all what was worn.
The years have passed by, hair has disappeared
The worst of it is, it's cold on the ears
But my mother, bless her, before she left
Knitted a draw full of hats, socks and vests.
Once upon a time
I was, it seems like 100 years ago,
on an old fashion cargo ship, the carried all sorts
from potatoes, flour, machine parts, plastic flowers,
and tinned fruit, meat, and hats for the wife of the president
in Honduras.
For some reason, there was a door in my store room
it led into a cargo hold I filled the larder till it looked
like a corner shop. My task was to keep the cost of living down,
and the captain got a telegram from the company complimenting
me on keeping the cost down.
When the ship birthed in some obscure port, the unloading
took a long time and there was time to go ashore
have a bit of fun and a good steak with wine at a restaurant.
I was twenty-five and had a hell of a time, but nothing
lasts forever, the ship was sold to a Greek shipping company
and we all had to go home.
In Memoriam of brave, lost souls during the First World War
Our insides churn, nostrils flare, with the pungent stench,
Order given to leave our sanctuary and trench.
Battle cry, whistle blown and up and over we go;
Standing together in advancement row by row.
We, doomed soldiers, marching onto the battlefield
holding our rifles, killing weapons, as our shields.
Hats made of tin lay cumbrous on our head,
Boots holding chaffed, unsteady feet, as we tread.
Upfront the enemy and fast approaching us,
Peaceful bygone days, oh— how beautiful it was!
Loss of innocence, bloodied through war, outbraves,
Blades turn crimson red — so many early graves.
Bugles sound, shells explode, blinded and choked within;
Shattered dreams, shattered lives, battle we may not win.
Comrades that became friends fall at our feet —
Only death awaiting them now to meet.
Their last breathless, muttered words lovingly spoken,
A falling silent tear, plea, gesture or token.
Remembrance to behold for their sweetheart, mother;
Final last memories, thoughts, can be of no other.
Resonant of sound and echoes of war
a shroud of smoke filled air as now and before.
Remember us always today and forever more.
We gave to king, country and those we adore.
as I jog down Lakeshore drive
I drank hot chocolate as a swan took a dive
the water so cold, as old men played chess
the ferris wheel spins, blowing off hats
and up the rich lady's dress
Lakeshore dr you see all for me
the white horses, pulling the carriage
I'm not home I don't miss my marriage
the butlers two maids swing the wellington kid
another kid waits for he haven't even slid
the light house shines my eyes follows
the breeze deep into pine trees
the crows perch away from the city
and that's what we call hospitality...
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
May 14th 2004 Fort Myers Florida
My Sons Graduation day.
In memory of the homeless men playing chess on Lakeshore drive Chicago.
For today’s easy drive from Duluth, MInnesota to Bayfield, Wisconsin
as is our nature we took the scenic route
ready to discover what Wisconsin is all about.
We stopped often along the way…(we never drive anywhere straight )
so we could experience first hand the beauty of this state.
We paused at a windmill, an old jail, a covered wagon school bus
and to learn lessons the Ojibwe teaches.
We stopped to admire her trees and take a few walk along her beaches
As we continue on this road trip…we learn a little more each day
like how Wisconsin…just like every other state is beautiful in her own way.
As we settled down into our old Victorian inn
which for the next 2 nights will be our home
forgive me while I change the subject
as well as the direction of this poem.
I’ve noticed in most of my pictures since we’ve been on the road
In my bright colors and by my tie-dyed hat…
I’ve been in full tourist mode.
Which means I’ve been excited when I wake up…
happy to greet the sun every time she rises
excited for the things we’ve planned
and delighted by all the surprises.
But when I think about my life…in living day to day
I like to think this is exactly…how I approach each day.
Whether in colorful clothes and hats…
whether on…of off the road…
I hope every day I am alive…
I am in tourist mode.
Foxglove faeries flitting freely,
tiny little ethereal sweeties;
picking blossoms to make hats,
faerie boys make themselves spats.
Mice, moths and butterflies,
are there strictly to apprise,
they're tiny judges of latest styles,
those faerie designs are really wild!
Among the flowers faeries flutter,
flying smoothly as hot butter;
wispy wings transparent be,
lovelier than the dogwood trees.
Fading blossoms made into clothes,
are fitting for the likes of those;
elementals craft some lovely things,
of colors fit for queens and kings.
If these faeries you ever espy,
say nothing and just pass on by;
disturb them not amid their duties,
just be pleased you glimpsed these cuties.
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.
You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.
"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.
Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.
You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.
You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.
You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)
When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.
I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”
You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.
We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.
Hat-ni-sta you are a classy, intelligent, and ambitious lady
take the compliment, not being shady
Hat-ni-sta what a sexy, sexy Mademoiselle
I adore the hat, the dress as well
enjoy the journey, live your life
ignore the haters, their jealousy, and bitter strife!!!!
Hat-ni-sta you caught my eye and stole my heart
I have so much to say, taking my time trying to be smart
Hat-ni-sta every single night I dream of you
pretty lady, do you even have a clue.
Hat-ni-sta I'm ready for the journey, please lead the way
I have many, many thoughts, but only this to say
Hat-ni-sta seeing you, this will be a great day.
I wish to view an Oct sunrise in my hometown.
Riding a train to class and eating bread brown.
I miss wearing boots in my charming homeland.
Jackets and hats close to the September end.
Home ought to be recalled with love and pride.
Akin street tag and rendezvous by the creekside.
My hometown has bleak fame for being notorious.
Despite adversity, the town remains victorious.
I used to opine life was only in this town.
It had whatever I wanted, so I didn't frown.
Driving around town and browsing the shops.
I believe it wouldn't pass higher than these flops.
On our reunion day, happiness was in the air.
The moonlit the path with a clear peep stare.
I chose to put a down payment on a house.
Since I've broken all its walls, as a little mouse.
Fulfilling the wishes of the wealthy with trust
And solving the plight of those in need is a must.
Embracing all guests, even if they show hesitance
I would be halcyon to call this town my residence.
No city can ever be completely tamed.
Heavy fog soothed scars that were pride-inflamed.
With an elfin town road lightings warm glow.
What city has such dazzling neon flow?
Clearing the dust and recalling the memory.
How lucky we are to live in this pedigree.
One way to relax and forget the planet
Is in embracing your hometown gamut.
Every page of life is ripped out as a book.
Life doesn't repeat, so cherish each brook.
You will thank yourself later for your sacrifice.
Strive at sprinting to meet your own suffice!
As I drive across town, I notice it is shrinking.
I imagine seeing most with others, I'm thinking.
The grass may not be as green as it once got
But those souvenirs were the best; I never forgot.
Written: May 18, 2023
If Your Birthplace-Country Was A Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Rafters shake in irritation, as if to say what their excuse?
It could be him, it could be her, but there's no love when there's abuse
A temper flames, then brings a tear. It sears self-worth, again...again
Someone there has claimed the right and then the pain.....again...again
...The cracking whip of lashing tongues, where ridicule is wearing thin
A lightning strike, and anger spikes and victims die in little bites
It's somewhere close, a house nearby, we may not know, it goes unseen
But seams are ripping someone's life, every day, every night
stripping pride and self esteem
With little thought, for what they do....is it someone you might know?
With no excuse, could it be you? Or if it's not, what will you do?
Between the cracks one hears the taunts, wearing old familiar hats
Each shingle fears another hour......of rain that comes behind the fire
Is it your street, beyond the gate, another storm, regret too great ?
Does hope still cling, where love is sought?...
Is this called love...? It's clearly ....not
_________________________________
Contest : "Dark Side of Love," Sponsored by Shadow Hamiliton
5/8/13