Long Holler Poems
Long Holler Poems. Below are the most popular long Holler by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Holler poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep in the piney woods
A call beckons across the branch
A call that isn't animal nor human
A call that makes your hair stand alert and skin prickly from fright!
The light of the full moon awakens the spirits and the calling from the piney woods.
If you doubt my story and risk your very life, then make sure you take a
weapon into the piney woods. Well, I believe the call is from the ghost of the moon
shiners that have lost their lives in the mica mines many years ago.
The mica was
big business one time until the mines went dry.
The deep holes were perfect cover for the moonshine stills until
the revenuers caught the culprits. A great gun battle raged until death.
Today the crumpled mica shimmer in the red clay is all that is left of the mines.
The local children like to scare
themselves with the
abandoned rock graveyard along the edge of the piney woods. If you look close at
the mound of rocks...it appears that there is a bony hand protruding from the grave
and pointing directly at you to leave. The ancient thick cedar trees seem to
guard the graves and whisper "Warning, Warning."
In 1969 there was another vilolent firey death on the road through the piney woods.
A man died inside a burning wrecked truck, screaming
"Don't let me burn to death" repeatedly until the bitter charred end.
When the moon is right the echo carries his screams across the hills.
A young man only age seventeen lost his life in a fatal car wreck on
the steep curved road. His life was taken so fast; he is said to walk
the hills searching for his sweet ride to
carry him on his journey, unaware of his eternal fate.
On a short walk along the shallow creek bank reveals an old rock formation covered
in moss now but built by a people of long ago. Maybe Indian or early settlers,
no one knows the architects but if you stand in a certain spot where the
ground is always wet with a reddish ooze. You can feel a cold icy finger
across your face and neck.
Is the call a young buck calling his bride in the after life; is the call an
evil doer fighting to avoid beelzebub's snare? The apparition can be seen
briefly if you desire look when the wind and moon are right. Waynesville
holler offers more
than beauty in the day but beware of the moon lit walks that
young lovers
brave or you
may be the next victim of the piney woods!
Take a glass and fill it half full of water.
We have often heard by some the glass is half full,
by others the glass is half empty.
Now which is it half full or half empty?
It is both,
it is how you look at it.
Now that the world and maybe yourself have gone mad,
how are you seeing this glass?
Half full or half empty?
For the half full group let's take a deeper look.
As you get bored which is coming,
what shall I do?
Clean out the basement, attic or garage?
You say, I don't have a basement, attic or garage.
Great, I know you have a closet or two and many drawers.
We may find things we have been looking for,
We may find things we forgot we had,
We may find things we need to be using,
We may find things we can give away,
We may find things that are a surprise to us.
For the half full group let's take an even deeper look.
We may want to find those old board games and dust them off,
put away the computer and TV games.
We may want to find those old books and dust them off,
remember what it was like to feel and read a book.
We may want to find someone in your home to just sit and talk with.
If living alone then pick up a pen and write a long note to each person you know.
Do your Christmas cards with a special note inside,
be productive with the down time and life you have been given.
For the half empty group let's take a deeper look.
Guess you can sit around and watch TV until you go insane,
scream and holler until no one will listen to you,
have nothing to show for the wasted time and life you have just lived.
For the half empty group let's take an even deeper look.
Will you make yourself sick over this,
Will you walk the floor and not sleep,
Will you come out of the other side when it is all over.
Yes it will all be over one day.
How will you come out of the other side?
May I suggest you have one very special book,
I know you must have this very special book on a dust filled shelf or in a box somewhere.
If you truly do not own this very special book then go online.
What very special book is this you ask,
the bible which has all of the answers to all of the questions you are now asking.
Maybe, just maybe, after reading this very special book for all the lonely days and nights, people will continue to read this very special book for the rest of their lives.
Date Written 3/19/2020
I spend time with a friend
well, a pseudo-friend
an acquaintance of sorts
no, I guess he'd be a friend,
****, who knows
one of those types you never really share your heart
that authentic trembling you
I guess
he's more like a radio station
on a long lonely road trip in the night
or late night cable when the kids have left
a thousand channels
bright flickering nothing
we meet after hours in the deepest of dives
I just sit, listen,
curl myself into that hunching shape
looking like someone piled old laundry on a stool
and act as chaperone
an escort of sorts, you know, like those fresh faced kids in college
earning some bucks walking lifesize cartoons around for pictures
and with a bar top slap, I know he's got one, he's revved up
a steampunk machine running on old rye and spasms
"know this! I have faith in our sacred family values, our brave military and our cellular plans!"
(it's hard to not chuckle a bit, enjoy the aerating effect a good laugh does to spirits and your pallet, just avoid aspirating too much or you bellow and cough like an amateur drinker, good god don't show weakness in a place like this or the crows will circle and I swear the shadows lengthen under the bar)
most times, as I sit next to him, removed from his sphere
detached observer that I always find myself
I notice he talks to that small sliver of himself seen between the dirty glasses
piled up against the old mirror with faded silvering
and the blackened spots frame his face
like an old time picture
representing a vast loneliness of a nation
this goddamn solitude we find in crowded rooms
"My opponent here is working with Chilean miners, violent video game makers and angry chefs, goddammit"
once curse words are added, we'll be on our way soon
the barkeep's tips weren't that big
and the mutterings from the corners are beginning
as his outbursts begin to chisel into the hazy bubbles of regulars
I pull him out into the night
away from cheap wine and leaded glass
red faced, blustering,
cool air confusing him for a moment
and, lightswitched, he walks with a purpose,
back to the maindrag and streetlights,
calling it a night with a wave and one last holler:
"I want an America where Somali pirates and Rupert Murdoch yes-men cannot corrupt our precious environment!"
I just stand and wave back.
The most awaited result got publicized, but
Internet hadn't landed the soil of my country.
Televisions were tabled in few pocketed places,
Still they worked, minute and achromatic.
With huge audience circling, signal was word alien,
Viewers would holler in unison, "It's raining!"
I now understand the fluctuation of signal,
We'd leave the jammed hall. No rain outside!
Correspondences saw only lethargic typewriters,
That sounded a poll pecking of a woodpecker.
A single wireless station would be queued
With people waiting for, "Pom, pom, Tango, Charlie."
Communication gravely sought its transmission,
Three-band radio justified on its little way,
Only richer lots bought and owned pompously
And my country had a single frequency squeezed.
The announcement was radioed in a succinct brief-
"The result of 1997 ICSE examination is out."
Nothing more or less, of the India-based examination,
I jumped on my toes only to later feel crushed.
My kiths were dejected with my abortive result,
An unofficial hearsay, they caught hold onto
Their dejection pierced my heart, agonizingly.
I'd to visit my alma mater, result matted least.
A two-day-long journey, not by a luxurious car
But on the hood of a truck on a bumpy roads,
Only the Indian highway would ease the journey
Like relieving the physical pangs of exhaustion.
The mental turmoil intensified as I neared
My school where the sheets would be displayed,
The wall would announce to a hundred lot of us,
The failure provoked sleepless nights and journeys.
My heart thudded as I entered the school premise,
Lips dried, even a pool of water wouldn't wet them.
Shivering, perplexity and numbness, crippled me,
I just wanted me alone to declare the performance.
I walked up the staircase with thundering emotion,
The entrance seemed gloomily unwelcoming,
Saw I a crowd of my mates craning and giraffing,
On the either sides of the entrance, sheets full.
No greetings, no handshaking, I just shied away,
Waited for the crowd to go thinly populated.
Just in one particular column to refer, wanted I,
PCA or PCNA - biggest summary of a year's toiling.
My comrades filed out slowly, forward I lunged,
Searching my name, throbbing took its tempo.
Spotted the name, from the wall, PCA grinned,
Pass Certificate Awarded, I became triumphant!
©?Khachab Dorji
I'm Melvin, C.E.O. of T.W.I.S.T.,,,which stands for "The Way I See This"...
Here's some facts if you care to listen,
they're about people called Bedside Christians.
Do they love the Lord?, sure they say so,
if you notice to church they don't even go.
Step on their toes if you chance to dare,
that's one sure way to get them to swear.
Then they will holler Lord forgive me,
and turn around and kill, thinking God can't see.
(1 John 3:15)
They praise God for an hour or two,
and then curse out a person when they're thru.
Don't think that there are some I'm missing,
next come the Creeping Christians.
They tip in after the doors are closed,
make a mistake and they quickly turn up they're nose.
They're always on the go, never being still,
trying to get into Heaven on their own free will.
Backslidden Christians I pray for the most,
they've lost their trust in the Lord of host.
There are a few more I'll give you now,
the Spirit will teach you to know how.
That's how to live for the Lord Jesus Christ,
being a Simple Christian is o' so nice.
Bighead Christians think they know it all,
sometimes they are truly on the ball.
When it comes to their walk it's another story,
they forget to give God all the glory.
My friend they are quick to tell U what to do,
and that God will always see you thru.
Problems come their way they begin to grumble,
and you see them really start to crumble.
Sidewinder Christians go from this way to that way,
never believing anything for more than one day.
Every doctrine they try to go by,
not questioning or even wondering why.
They are Sidewinders because they go
from side to side,
they are always on the bandwagon for
just a free ride.
These are the ones I love tho',
cause they really don't know.
But let me tell you this my friends,
noone gets to Heaven by having loose ends.
SEE
We walk by faith and not by sight,
and not by our own might.
May we be blessed to have spiritual understanding,
so that we aren't living a life so demanding.
We should live lives that are totally shameless.
I've been all of the above Christians at one time
or another, but I now know how to love my sister
and my brother...
T.W.I.S.T.
JLM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBZACUxTFLU&feature=related
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""Papa what about spring... ?"
"I don't know Son, Killdeer-draw-
you-away from their-nest, Blue-jays-
holler-to-all about-it, hungry-father
fox he knows-about-it... .
Kinder-yes I think-much gentler-Spring,
when the-rejuvenation is just first-arriving-
reminds-me of the-back-and-breaststrokes-
holding-your-breath while-doing-a-crazy-twirl,
all-the-(W)orld-alive-with-energy-(S)urrounded-
(T)ogether-in-warmth.
Saw three of them Kamikaze my humble dog-one
day. Samba just hit the grass rolled over boxed away-
at-them old Blue-jays on his back-yelping; I laugh, he
was-just a pup-then.
Best way to compare it... I would think Spring;
"The-hands of-time are-alliterate-Spring-is-but-the-brunt of this-
each Season-carry's snow-caped mountains-berries in-the-valleys-
lilies-in the-meadow-pine in the woods squirrels-rummaging-in-the-
trees.
Bird-Dogs are quite capable of pointing this out... as still-this-hope,
Spring-it-is I believe its-rejoinder-to-us for our-Winter's-supplications,
the-(h)arvest of-the-(w)heat-in the-fall (S)pring-rains I feel-remind-(u)s.
The Summer-Sun-always toasting-the memory's golden-brown... .""
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FF-pzG_XWY
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/
http://www.bartleby.com/119/1.html
http://www.bartleby.com/118/2.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18CJGlp5eiI&feature=related
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=269419
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That be cold sun rose yonder, our heads be hot, I'd declare,
I'll get Whitey my critter, worked all night, best she nicker.
'Bout saddlin' her real tight, or I'll headlong out of sight,
I want movin' nice and fast, cause just--nice--ends up a mess.
Must keep thin's dry 'round Whitey ... traps, she'll stir if caught any,
though we burn the breeze git near, passed two hoops long's a holler,
the homestead bout five miles back should see the first trap I set.
Nope, trap's clean and good to go, next, ain't whistle earshot. Whoa!
Need to slow time -- like disarm, well, no sense singin' to 'em,
come on girl, traps a waitin', ain't no worth to Dallas spin!
Good girl, now just o'er that rise--Whoa! Rattler!--Where, is mascque-eyes?
I'm unshucked and up a tree! Hair in the butter, for me.
French leave, or hang fire--no wait--either fish or cut the bait?
Oh there! 'Neath the brush ahead. Steady girl--a rattler's head!
(BANG/Whinning neighs)
Where's my Arkansas toothpick? Then be trapped, you won't get nicked.
(Talking to the rattler)
Well, done checking all the traps, I knew it'd fill up two packs.
(Resting a bit before anything else)
Be back--stay drink, water's clean--up, I'd never drink downstream.
"Howdy," well, whaddya know? That is one among the willows.
(Passing rider nods and head on...)
All hands and the cook--don't need ... California collar--tree.
(Wanted rider drifts out of sight)
I'll start a fire real quick, then the rattler on the spit.
That was quick and good eatin', look like that sun 'bout settin',
Methinks the night out in town, whaddya think, how does that sound?
Toss belly wash on the fire, where's my comb and the mirror,
cowboys don't bathe, they dust off, come on it's late, let's head off.
You be good, hear, and wait right here, this stallion needs his mare.
That there'd square dance a bit more, must be rattlers on that floor,
My left-handed wife, sidekick. Lookin' for a dog to kick!
There's no call for that ... You mean ... two packs, tied up on Whitey.
Fire 'em up, boys, R O S I E ' S . R O A S T E D . R A T T L E R ' S time!
Tina-Louise dashed into a tattoo parlor
And asked for some ink in the shape of a flower.
Much below the knees so my mom doesn’t holler;
Would you hurry-up please, I’ve only one hour.
Seeing as that flower was never discovered,
Tina-Louise went back in for another.
And this time she preferred it higher to cover
A birth mark she wanted to hide from a lover
Since it turned winter, others were oblivious,
So each new tattoo became insidious.
As her pants concealed the vividly obvious,
This fact let Tina to be more devious.
Then before spring, Tina-Louise met a good man
Who was employed at emptying garbage cans.
In no time she had a diamond ring on her hands,
And a tattoo of “Stu” high up on her gams.
Tina-Louise’s belly started projecting
Because of the baby she was expecting.
And it mattered not that her Stu was objecting
To the art of ink that she wasn’t neglecting.
Even Tina-Louise’s gynecologist
Chattered on like a wannabe psychologist.
Saying stop with the inking, you need to desist,
And carried on like a show off apologist.
Well, TL’s final tattoo went high on her neck
Of some odd creature from the series, Star Trek.
And poor Stu could barely keep his temper in check
With that mouthful of Clingon he got with a peck.
Tina-Louise’s water finally did break
During delivery, Doc said for goodness sake.
It’s bizarre days like today that take the cake,
For there’s a glitch with your baby that’s a mistake.
The parents were concerned; well wouldn’t you be too?
They thought maybe their baby came out cold blue.
Nope, the shaken Doc said, this is completely new;
Your sweet little baby has a rose bud tattoo!
With one look, Stu fainted onto the sterile floor,
Since this wasn’t the newborn he bargained for.
Then Tina-Louise gave out one last birthing roar
That started and finished with curses galore.
Afterword Tina-Louise sat alone and bawled
Lamenting the curse to her new baby doll.
Why didn’t I listen to my mom at all?
And to all the others who made the right call?
TL and Stu’s baby now has beautiful skin
Thanks to the marvels of modern medicine.
Though Tina-Louise never performed a real sin;
She wished all her tattoos stayed below her shin.
For Juli- Michelle's Rhyme Battle contest 9/29/13
Yo. From a whisper, barely a breath, to a front-page roar/ EAST COAST JAZZ in the fifties, sixties/
Not just blowing trumpets, but blowing up the jazz scene jazz/
LPs stacked high vinyl spinnin’, cracklin' truth in every hip-to-be way. Jazz LPs, popin'’ the Truth, etched in black and white/ modern Jazz on the HIFI/
Jazz woke the airwaves up and made the radio take notice; everything felt right. Radio turned on, folks got wise and understood, and Jazz got the blood pumpin' in the mean streets day or night/
If you wanted to be hip to the now, the real, the raw, Late-night clubbing and listening was law, absolute law/
Ornette Coleman, man, a wild, horn-blowin’ free-to-be jazz king machine/ Free jazz founder/ hear his freedom RING!/
Then there's Mingus, righteous anger in his bass, Collective improv, settin' souls ablaze. Lay into "East Coasting," on Bethlehem Records, and let the music soak you down/
Starch your mind with Mingus, that ain't no stereophonic joke! No cover charge here, baby, just pure, unbridled bebop to the cool Miles sound/
A caravan of cats, late-night jams, playin’ something new and bold, Europe callin', TWA Flight 978 ready to take flight/
The Big Apple throbbed, a concrete, jazz-filled hang, Saxophone Colossus, Sonny Rollins, so raw, New York summer Hot Rollins, defying every jazz law/
Moody and quirky, a genius in disguise/ Influencing the young horns, reaching for the skies/
Sonny Rollins, deep in jazz thought on a New York big city day/
Sonny wrote a brand new Jazz Forever heavy page/
The jazz world exploded, on the silver screen, a fifty-cent ticket was your soundtrack to life, a vibrant, vital scene/
"Take Five," baby, the pulse, the driving soul on a jazz beat on stage/
I'm on the Lex Ave Trane, headin' for Groove Street! hold on, hold tight, let Abbey Lincoln sing, while we map our next gig, let’s name our new LP/ the Big Vibe/
Yeah… East Coast jazz… never really dies… spinnin’ vintage jazz LPs to keep my head alive/
ECJ morphs… and lives… in our own soulful eyes. Give me a holler give me a shout I’m talkin’ what’s It all about/ Want to be hip? Want to be in the know? Then listen late at night, and let the jazz sounds flow.
As thoughts travel from the mind to the heart,
And spoken words cause my lips to part,
Spewing forth praise, honor and glory as an art,
This is the way everyday needs to start.
Are you docile, are you humble, and are you meek?
It’s The Kingdom of Heaven first you must seek,
Before anything else will ever be done,
Genuinely pray to the FATHER through the SON.
Those who do not give GOD the glory,
In the almighty name of JESUS Christ,
They will not share in the promise,
For the gift of eternal life.
Holler, shout, jump, jive and wail,
The Kingdom of Heaven will soon prevail,
Don’t be caught standing in the wrong line,
Only the FATHER knows the exact date and time.
You will not conquer the strongman without a sneak attack,
Never being able to subdue him unless it’s behind his back,
On guard, be ready, for the second coming of CHRIST,
There will only be one time we don’t get to do it twice.
Although an unGODLY world our GODLY Conduct can still be right,
The only thing that matters is your name in The Book Of Life,
It’s up to you to choose forever where you’ll dwell,
A mansion in heaven or an apartment in hell.
Woe be to those who will experience the grief,
An eternity of weeping and gnashing of teeth,
Infinity in suffering with Satan and his kind,
Choosing to act on thoughts he shoots in your mind.
For 24 hours a day are here then they’re gone for good,
Don’t live tomorrow for yesterday thinking well, I should…
Eternity begins but never ends even with life on earth,
Live everyday through JESUS CHRIST knowing what you’re worth.
A seasoned grain of salt that’s pleasing to the taste,
Never allow a day to go by where you sit and waste,
The sun, the moon, the stars, whatever the weather may be,
FATHER in the name of JESUS thanks for all YOU’VE done for me.
I know that I could never send a child of mine,
To suffer the likes of JESUS for so many who are still unkind,
It’s not my place to tell YOU those who are doing dirty deeds,
For while I lived my sinful ways YOU still smiled down on me.
Never will there be enough pleasing words to say,
For there are still only 24 hours in each and everyday,
Days turn into months and months continue on for years,