Short Hand Me Down Poems

if you don't know 
here's where to go
tho its hand me down
they at around
mabe in you block
there is a good lot
AT THE
THRIFT SHOP...

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Hand me down memories,
borrowed not owned

Dreams that are mortgaged
—the present on loan

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)...

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Hand me down memories,
  borrowed not owned

Dreams that are mortgaged,
 —the present on loan

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)...

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Must morning return so soon?
her hand-me-down haste,
& moth-eaten bloom,
grieves for the rain,
of last night's pour,
but, I still taste,
the petrichor,
dancing,
on my tongue.
...

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some have no dough
in there face it show
eyes of tears
some have fears
of bad stuff
yes it can be ruff
at this time of year
have to share hand me down
face of  a clown
bitten dust
the
GETTO POOR KIDS AT CHRISTMAS...

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Listen to poem:

Hand Me Down Past
David J Walker

As if to say 
	What if It came to pass 
Taunting the future 
	With unproven ideas

Rearranging 
		the constellations 
Rejecting
 the hand me down past

As if to say
	How quaint 
	And 
Thank you 
Anyway...

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Skinned knees and darned socks
Hand me down clothes the lot
Playtime under the sun
Backyard cricket when the day is done

No need to be the best
Just join in with the rest
Go to bed dog tired
60s Summer time as we desired.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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H      O      P      E

“Hopeless,” they mocked her in school —
Oakiness in progeny opened other possibilities!
Palatable pearl curated grand’s hand-me-down.
Everlasting Hope - God’s prize.

1/8/2020
Juliet Ligon’s What's In A Name Poetry Contest...

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Hand me down the strength
to whisper and wail like the gods of lore
to tinkle and trample their ears
ride on asteroids,
hands up in the air,
hats catching wind,
and we lose them.
Dig them spurs in deep, gal;
this ride don't stop till Future-time
hath come....

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Salvage yards hand me down
 throttle starters transmission brawls 
Clutch drive spent wheels ravages 
Four-wheel drive, five-speed Savages, 
all this going on in the Salvage junkyard tow yard
Just 500 feet from the freeway?

2/21/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2022©...

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Books stacked in the floorboards,
her breath on polished glass

Together you would drive,
skipping yet another class

Playing hooky in a hand-me-down,
if only it could last

The memory of her fades each day,
like long neglected brass

Thank the Lord for that car,
& pray you don’t forget her laugh...

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Here I sit
a little lonely picture book
waiting for you to fill my pages
so everyone may take a look

Fill me with good times & bad
happy times & sad
dreams & memories
friends & family history

Treasure me forever
for I only hold the past
hand me down to the next generation
so my memories will last...

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None are yours yet I bestow them upon you
you bare the gift that was never yours
from generation on through
hand me downs are given to you
once neat and new
now I give unto you
you are not special enough for new stuff
but thread be bare we cant let you go bare
for all is not yet upon your back it shall rot....

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before time was time
throughout all eternity
you were always there

sending out signals
waiting, patiently waiting
for me to recieve…


Inspired by the song 'Ripple' by the Greatful Dead

'It's a hand-me-down
The thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let their be songs to fill the air'...

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You’ve seen it before
Never spoke of
The hapless Individual
Helpless in principle
Mercy, out of sale
Withered broke frail
Teenage angst
Hand me down hate
Weaken by the irate
A sitting bomb
Counts and waits
One last push
To the point to agitate
And detonate
An unjust fate
Could have saved 
Should have stayed
Didn’t manage a role
Hunting pack cruel
Achieved enlightenment
Silent excitement...

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She has taken herself 
Off the open market 
And made herself available 
To the wealthy at private auctions 
Wearing only the finest 
In silks and satin's and sparkling diamonds 
And though everything she wears is new 
She herself is a hand me down 
Shared for the price of Tiffany bracelet 
Or an Oscar De La Renta dress 
Longing for happiness 
Praying that someone might keep her 
Never seeing that she is kept...

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She has taken herself 
Off the open market 
And made herself available 
To the wealthy at private auctions 
Wearing only the finest 
In silks and satin's and sparkling diamonds 
And though everything she wears is new 
She herself is a hand me down 
Shared for the price of Tiffany bracelet 
Or an Oscar De La Renta dress 
Longing for happiness 
Praying that someone might keep her 
Never seeing that she is kept...

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She has taken herself
Off the open market
And made herself available
To the wealthy at private auctions
Wearing only the finest
In silks and satins and sparkling diamonds 

And though everything she wears is new
She herself is a hand me down
Shared for the price of Tiffany bracelet
Or an Oscar de la Renta dress 
Longing for happiness
Praying that someone might keep her
Never seeing that she, herself, is kept...

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The worst wedding gift I ever received was a vacuum cleaner.
I despise vacuuming and my dog hate the sound of it.
I wanted elegant things – glass goblets, droplet prisms,
lace curtains, not a small round annoyingly loud vacuum
cleaner. Thanks Mom and Dad. Great gift! This was before
you could make a list. You got whatever someone else
wanted to get rid of. They ordered a new one for themselves’
we received their hand-me-down-one....

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As the clouds pour its soul onto us all
You will see, a new age, a new dawn
A chessboard of life, and us, the pawn
But not the shops, related however
Used, worn down, hand me down
No more
I want to be kept
To be heard
Yet I 
Want to be free
Want to be lonesome
Leave me be
By myself, for this is better
How my soul is stormy weather
Clouded mind and fogged heart
Exterior so bright
Cleared for flight
Why must I fool you all?
Why must I fool myself?
No more...

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Those that I now love
are the dead who yet live on.

They are no longer memories,
but dwell under the rib cage
of this world.
Their lungs breathe in and out
magnifying every iota of creation
into a universe unto itself.

These are the hidden wombs
of all births.
Love is in them,
not as a past or future wave,
nor in any hand-me-down ocean,
but as an ever cresting Now.

Such a breath continually recreates
what the God seed has planted just once.
...

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Hand-me-down myths,
  like ancient monoliths,
    clan's fondest memories
      by nostalgia embellished;

larger-than-life sagas,
  truer-than-truth legends,
    hyperbolic narrations
      of happy exaggerations;

that's ancestral history,
  coloring one's genealogy,
    seeping, coursing down
      bloodlines, tribal milestones,


its gravitational whirl stirs
  generations'  imagination,
      east, west, north, south
         through word of mouth!...

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I kneel 
before an altar of dreams
and haunt the tombs 
of the Unobtainable.

I can't quiet the restlessness;
there is no pacifying
that ancient, 
hand-me-down heirloom
to own an Elysium
I can not describe.

Is it my inheritance
to long for fire
with the sun in my hand
and thirst for a stream
with the Nile in my mouth.

Will I forever crave magic
and gorge myself on it
only to vomit truth
so I might own the emptiness again
and once again
satisfy my restlessness?...

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