"hampton" poems
So I'll have mine
and you'll have yours?
who could ask
for anything more!
grey beards march
the union jack
build a wall
and send them back!
Grudge, sludge
a sanguine view
****** off
and take the cue
hide, plunge
aristocrat
run the field
like an old tom cat
Narrow pass
and capital flow
falling crude
and currency woe
deep depression,
mutineers
the mastermind
of project fear!
Silver spoon
at Hampton court
madness waits
in Davenport
divisible
and off the grid
**** it up
100 quid
Helen’s horsemen
unified
the springbok club
will never hide
plebiscite
in deep despair
an open scroll
Trafalgar square
Grapple, grovel
sentry shame
along the shore
of river Thames
king of wankers
lord of beat
break the rule
of old elite!
Stone the posse
bullets bare
load the chambers
fists in air
voices, faces
haunted souls…
should i stay
or should i go?
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production conveyer
The boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce
Ocean meets carnival
Teen screams and seagull shrieks
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale
Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams
Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
I'm Bored in Brighton
Can't you see?
I'm locked here in this mansion
with just my family.
I'm Bored in Brighton
Yes, I've traipsed the streets
From Church to Bay to Hampton
I've jogged along the beach!
I'm Bored of Brighton
The Daimler's in the drive
The staff? Well they've just up and gone
All this to stay alive?
I'm Bored of Brighton
The twins are going mad.
And Rupert? Rupert's all a-moan
It's just so terribly sad!
I'm Bored of Brighton
The cavoodle looks a fright!
O heck! O no! It can't be so!
My Lulu's ...they're slightly tight!
I'm Bored with Brighton
You people are the pitts!
Try Lockdown in a high rise
And don't give us the pip!
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 7:30 PM UTC
*In a great fountain garden,
tulips and lovely flowers bloom,
vibrant colours give life
to the Hampton Court Palace
Catherine of Aragon sat with grace,
watching the tranquil sky
as the bird sends sweet greetings
She slowly wipe the sadness coming
from her eyes
The Roman Catholic fell down from King Henry's hand
as the pope opposed his wish
Tyranny started to rule,
20 years of love and struggles come to an end
'Oh father, my heart is in pieces. Spare me the light, make me alive.'
Catherine whispered an agonized cry
begging for mercy in the Heaven's above,
she stood up and smiled in so much pain
Then slowly, she walked away
knowing Henry and Anne Boleyn is in a happy place.*
a.k
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Numb me with marijuana
Grown somewhere in Tijuana
Excite me with a line
Pretty soon I’ll be feelin’ fine
Money can buy me happiness
Meet me in the back of the bar
Smoke that musky Cuban cigar
Touch me with manicured hands
Glinting diamonds of wedding bands
Money can buy me happiness
Traded morals for skyscrapers
A Hampton house with too many acres
Smoothing down in a velvet gown
Baby don’t you see? I own this town.
Money can buy me happiness.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
When I was 16 and done
Cleaning out his horse stalls
Mr. Sodie Hampton said,
"Son, don't never work for less than
$1.50 an hour the rest of your life."
Momma who grew up choppin and pickin
Cotton said it a different way,
"A hard day's work deserves a
A good day's pay."
Momma also said,"You ain't any better
Than anyone else, but nobody's
Better than you either."
My Tennessee Momma also said,
"Son, your word is your bond and
A man looks after those weaker than him."
I learned as a man that children come first.
Syd and Sam taught me love
I'd never known.
We are all children of the same God
Breathed to life with the spark of
The Divine.
That's all why it ain't workin today.
We forgot all that.
We ain't all individual robots
With the strongest devouring the weakest.
And too many never worked for
Mr. Sodie Hampton and learned there's a
Floor beneath which we will not work
Indignities we will not bear
And disrespect we won't accept.
And our children deserve joy and freedom
And even skittles on a summer night
No matter their color or their clothes.
Too many of us got it ass-backwards
We make up all kind of reasons to
Hate and fight and **** and some
Even try to justify reape and ******
When Momma and Mr. Sodie Hampton said
It so different so long ago
In Tennessee and Missouri.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
Feeling at this time, that I should really go to bed, but
Still I lay awake, and contemplate, what Fred Hampton said:
“If you dare to struggle, then you dare to win, if you dare
Not to Struggle, then you don't deserve to win.”
They shot him dead in his bed, tell me how long has it been?
10, 20, nearly 50 years, since the things that happened then,
What happened to the Panthers, Malcolm X and Dr. King, or
The Anarchists in Spain, the songs of victory they'd sing?
What happened to the world of struggle, in which they all used to live?
Where liberation's sweet embrace propelled the efforts they would give
You see, we need to put the ‘unity’ back into ‘community,’ and
That begins with you and me, living side by side, and
Working with each other, taking measures to deride, the
Ills of our condition that serve only to divide,
Those old notions of race, those old notions of gender, with
Raised fists, as we march, taking heed to engender,
A whole new way of life, and a vision to render,
Filled with class consciousness, making us a contender,
Maybe I could lie down, and I could find some rest now,
If we would only stop to realize that we're the real ‘how.’
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
I am somewhere, maybe everywhere, but mostly nowhere.
Home is fictional; I am drifting in this city of strangers. Another night without rest, a candle burning, a boy crying, blood on the kitchen floor. I tried to buy cigarettes but my account decided it was empty. From the window on the fourth floor across the street, it might seem that I live a lavish life. I stay in Tribeca- I even have an elevator. When I go out, I dress well. Beautiful people surround me and usually drinks are free. Sometimes they buy me breakfast or coffee or give me a place to stay. My weekends are often spent in East Hampton, in a three house lot that serves as a sanctuary. I go to nice places for dinner. I am not the one paying. I buy this with my silence, a silver tongue that keeps quiet when food and water are scarce. It's okay, it has to be, that's what I tell everyone who asks for help. How can I ease their wounds when mine are gaping, when I feel sick and weak and lost? I pay them with compassion-I give them kindness. I am exhausted.
I don't remember the last time I had money in my pocket or an answer I can stand behind.
This is what I wanted.
I kiss the man next door goodnight. I listen when he is sad. I carry the guilt of the woman I stay with in exchange for a corner to sleep in. My eyes are heavy with concealed bruises. My heart is heavy with the pain of others. My body is light with the heaviness of hunger.
This is what I wanted.
Will someone tell me what to do? Can I dream about a studio with a bookshelf full of my favorite authors and a man beside me each night? Am I weak if I walk away? Do I go back to school after a summer of travel and pretend that I am the same? Can I look love in the eyes and promise purity?
I am somewhere, maybe everywhere, mostly nowhere.
I am suffering quietly. I am proud.
I am absolutely terrified. I am alive.
This is what I wanted.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
I left with very little, expecting a week or perhaps two in the city, quick cash and then home to the sand of my beaches and the touch of my bed. It has been exactly two weeks and I am starting to say that I live here. There's an exhilaration attached to the detachment of a one-way ticket, I am a thousand people a day while being none, I can walk away from conversations without feeling guilty, there is not one person who cares enough about me to bother with my affairs-it is absolute freedom. Yet there is a loneliness that hangs on the hinge of liberation...a traveler has the world in their heart. We cannot stop ourselves from stuffing our experiences inside, gluttons of the road with the horizon in our eyes. Sometimes, though, we lose sight of what we wanted all along and then begin to search for what we desire, which becomes blurred and tangled by time zones and climates and languages...our stomachs are always empty and our chests are always aching for the unknown. It can break a person. I was on the bus back from East Hampton when an older man asked me why I was crying:
"I don't know", I said, "I suppose I just realized that this city takes everything from you, and you must prove yourself to earn it back".
He told me what they all do:if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere
I turned back towards the window before asking, "when you came here, did you have nothing, too?"
The man nodded and smiled. Maybe he was lying, but he gave me 50 dollars and paid my cab fare. I hugged him goodbye and he wished me luck. I don't know how he knew I was completely broke with no way to get back to my apartment, but I cannot imagine the forty-block walk with three bags. There is a kindness in a fellow traveler, one more seasoned than we are, who will always understand what it is to be poor and hungry and tired. But we chose this life, I chose this life, when I stepped on the plane with no way back. I realized this as I was locked atop a rooftop in SoHo, watching the pink and blue of sunrise with champagne on my lips. It is okay to admit your inadequacies, to ask for help, as long as you appreciate the sheer genius of the universe. That, after all, is why this life calls to us.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
The news spread over the countryside
As a clatter from iron rails,
The ominous sound of clacketty-clack
From their intersecting trails,
The plodding Goods of the 0-4-0
To the proud Express from Cheam,
It muttered as it was going past,
‘They’re going to get rid of Steam!’
The sudden shock brought an answering hoot
From the stack of the proud Express,
That whispered by on its 4-6-2
But shuddered to draw its breath.
‘And what will they pull their Pullmans with?’
As it passed through an April shower,
A 4-6-0 on another track:
‘They’re moving to diesel power!’
The steam from the Earl of Erin laid
A trail through the valley floor,
Its coals glowed red from the firebox grid
As the fireman shovelled more,
A Day Excursion that quietly sat
To wait for the train to pass,
Had whispered, ‘Sorry to see you go,
You’re King of the Master Class.’
The smoke that billowed from out the stack
Had turned from white to black,
The footplate shuddered, the furnace roared
As it raced along the track,
‘They say they’re moving to diesel power
And they’re getting rid of steam,’
The Earl of Erin had hurtled by
As a Tank Engine had screamed!
The driver, checking the frantic pace
Was trying to slow it down,
But nothing worked, not even the brakes,
‘We’re headed for Hampton Town!
We shouldn’t be doing sixty-five
We’re twenty over the top,
He slammed the door of the firebox shut
And the fireman’s shovel dropped.
The tender’s couplings opened up
And the Pullmans fell away,
The Earl of Erin had surged ahead
With a new found power that day,
It passed a struggling 0-4-0
As it headed toward the sea,
Gave one long blast on its whistle then
To say, ‘I’m finally free!’
The fireman jumped at the water tower,
The glass was going down,
The driver jumped when it hurtled through
The Halt at Hampton Town,
The Earl of Erin went racing on
When the sea came into view,
But locked the brakes at the water’s edge
Just as the boiler blew.
The Earl of Erin’s a rusted wreck
That still sits there on the line,
And children crawl on its footplate there
And dream of another time,
A time of dragons, a time of trains
A time they can only dream,
The age of romance, gone at last,
It died with the age of steam!
David Lewis Paget
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war;
And at times from the fortress across the bay
The alarum of drums swept past,
Or a bugle blast
From the camp on the shore.
Then far away to the south uprose
A little feather of snow-white smoke,
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
Was steadily steering its course
To try the force
Of our ribs of oak.
Down upon us heavily runs,
Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
And leaps the terrible death,
With fiery breath,
From each open port.
We are not idle, but send her straight
Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
Rebounds our heavier hail
From each iron scale
Of the monster’s hide.
“Strike your flag!” the rebel cries,
In his arrogant old plantation strain.
“Never!” our gallant Morris replies;
“It is better to sink than to yield!”
And the whole air pealed
With the cheers of our men.
Then, like a kraken huge and black,
She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!
Down went the Cumberland all a wrack,
With a sudden shudder of death,
And the cannon’s breath
For her dying gasp.
Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,
Still floated our flag at the mainmast head.
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day!
Every waft of the air
Was a whisper of prayer,
Or a dirge for the dead.
** brave hearts that went down in the seas
Ye are at peace in the troubled stream;
** brave land! with hearts like these,
Thy flag, that is rent in twain,
Shall be one again,
And without a seam!
1.1k
***** our fingers, we do. on the porcelain and the rampions.
we are twisted into crapes, the shape of which
are halcyon, though we refrain from them.
We are ' something else '.
the salad is the farce and the painting; yes !
the gruel and the cinders in the mock turtle soup
of our living quince and the meddling
of our every-ness.
clink our eyelids. we do. on the lamp-stand in the Hampton's
we are gifted and innate. the grey twitch
accounts for them bones we contain from sin.
We are " something felt "
the ballad is the Art and the Nothing;
yes ...
the cruel, is the mender, in our lost little group
of unseasoned heckling and
our Winter's
truth,
and absinthe.
But there's Something Else.
and Nothing
Less....
than Atlas.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Gee it’s great to meet good people,
hear strong words and see big sights,
Feel the atmosphere pervading,
seeping through the wrong & rights
of giant types.
Strength in structure, taste in art,
these things I did percieve,
when you and I dear we did cart
a cache of plums, deep blue and ****
under your grandma’s eve.
It’s funny how you feel at home,
feel acceptance without effort,
knowing that the breadth of foresight
will not judge you without cause,
Love and animation calling
through the sturdy timbers tight,
stretching down and pulling upright
countenance depressed by laws
of those callow public paws.
When we left my heart was singing,
I did love them like my own,
for I knew deep down inside me
I had found another home
in which we two....
could build our love alone.
Marshalg
Albury 18th March 1969
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 2:56 PM UTC
The sun set over the Hamptons that night,
A golden egg cracked into the ocean,
We napped on the beach. Goose bumps. Wrapped tight,
Warm blanket. Waves. Shared ear buds. She sang
solely for us sitting so comfortably
on the precipice of forty. If only
we had known this would be the best day,
we could have begged the dripping sun to stay
afloat but then we would have always known
the sun will never rise as high or shine
as brightly as it did. Each day a slow
erosion of the New York coastline,
degradation of the mind. Please remember—
even when I don't—our summer in September.
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 7:25 PM UTC
Echoes of lost dreams and lost hope of
Mans search for love. As you may have already
Observed any man can say I love you. However
True love comes from the heart and not
Idle words which just fly out unedited.
Oh I hope that you can see my message. These are
Not just idle and useless words. But when you
Say I Love You. Let it be true and from the heart and not just some
EMOTIONS.
Chris C Hampton
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
A pounding of gauntlet on iron and oak
Called a stout hearted watchman of local regard
How the rain played a march on his armor and cloak
As he dashed to the gate through the cobblestone yard
And he rattled the thunder itself when he spoke
"Are you friend or foe? Are you bandit or bard?"
A mighty voice spake thusly:
"Tis I, tis I, Sir Hampton Chase,
The worthiest of knights
A foe to all of evil deed
A dragon slain, a damsel freed
Quite often found atop a steed
In armor, helm and tights"
The guard retorted thusly:
"I can't say I've heard tell of you
My good Sir Hampton Chase
Nor can I, in this ghastly storm
Get a good look at your face
Pray, tell me more about yourself
Regale me, your grace"
A somewhat muted voice returned:
"Are you taking the **** mate?"
A deadpan tone responds:
"Try me"
A noble sigh and then:
"Very well
I marched upon the dreaded spire
Destroyed the evil lord
I cast aside the dragon's fire
And smote it with my sword
I fought the groaning garglebuck
I clove it's head in twain
In taverns all across the land
They call me Bandit Bane..."
A meaningful look towards the closed gate prompted the watchman:
"Please continue, Sir"
The gate received a certain look from the knight:
"Seriously? Huh...
I walked the path of no return
To find the holy grail
I crept up on a unicorn
And grabbed it by the tail
In certain taverns I could name
I'm known for singing shanties
When I'm in town each married dame
Gets locked in metal *******
Another meaningful look at the gate:
"Go on..."
A stony silence until:
"I sometimes rescue baby birds
And nurse them back to health
I spend my days amongst the strays
Redistributing wealth
I never miss the privvy ***
I always brush my hair
I went to school in Caldecott
My parents come from there
I'm running out of material here mate, can I just come in?"
The guard contemplated this:
"Sorry mate, I've just been killing time. **** off"
The sullen clunk of retreating armor was swallowed by the howling tempest as once again, the legendary Sir Hampton Chase trudged into the night...
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
"They'll ask how you lived without things, when you really lived your whole life without knowing they existed. Deprived some may say, but you've made it 20 years without it, and somehow you think it doesn't matter.
They don't really know you before this. That your childhood consisted of running through parking lots, visiting the same park and still finding it like new, now laters hot flamins, peach soda and hoping you'll get to grandmas house that weekend. Brain still being mocked by the Eric B and Rakim your dad always blasted on any road trip.
They've never been to Hampton street or seen the cars drive by with their bass booming harder than ever playing the trap music that invades your house and makes your window shake to the rhythm.
That's where I'm from.
And somehow we both ended up here in buenos aires. Although I never left the states, never made it to the big city. Never got there.
Where I'm from we're hood rich and this just doesn't happen.
Deprived they'll call us, but i never saw a frown even when we pinched pennies.
Mama explained "there are rich people, and those just making it." We always made it and I'm just glad mama got me here."
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
with immediate effect chinas embassy in london to be at the tranis house at hampton court. the old lodge at hampton court where i lived in history in england needs to be tidied and checked by the police before i can go in. im pleased to see some eternity fund going where its needed around the world.
the banks are very nearly uncorrupt following hard work by bank of japan and america fall and bank of england hutchinson.
remember it against the law to raise a price in england scotland wales northern dansana and southern dansana, china or france.
house prices cannot increase more than 5percent a year unless restoration work or extentions have been completed.
it is illegal for interest rates to rise at all in china france and uk.
vat must be added as usual
if anyone( princes only please, wants to do trade please contact me here if you are a king or president or the embassy in your country.
embassys must assess if product would cause loss of jobs in home country if it is so china will not move forward. to trade with china england and france all food must be healthy.
to reiterate trade is 1percent inport 1percent export no other charge. exise must be paid in advance
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 10:36 PM UTC
(Song title from “Sunset Boulevard” by Lloyd Webber, Black, Hampton and Powers)
I wonder how it feels to have the perfect year,
Full of love and comfort, laughter and cheer,
Without crying and without shame,
No anguish and no pain,
Safe from the thunder and the rain.
I wonder how it feels to have the perfect year,
Full of joy and smiles, sunshine and cheer,
Without anger and without hurt,
No coldness and no dirt,
Safe from storms: no need to revert.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
19 year old woman killed in fatal car accident on 76th and Hampton.
5 blocks from my home.
I drove past the scene.
It was someone I knew. A someone that always spoke when she saw me, a kind heart. She was beautiful with youth and so many knew her as she will be remembered.
It's scary. It could've easily been me. I'm scared. These car accidents are becoming more fatal, these bullets are losing names, we're losing faces. God is calling us home so rapidly I'm terrified. Is the world ending? How am I still here.
I woke up and prayed.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
Role plays an important role in the home
and the Middle East. "Honest and Cool
Cold Russia" Michael, Black, Black, Al,
Both, Hep, 1, Fantasy Smile and Fantasy
Fourth of Hampton in 3rd Year, or 3rd
Kansas-Jones in the 3rd Quartet, Black-skinned
North American experts are right. The skin
is very cold. Trash on the city and the Middle
East and Russia, religion and Mary's corner,
pregnancy, hair, computer skills, noise, noise,
and text. The Rise of the Guide is the first
edition of the book. My mother is a modern
retailer and pharmacist for modern women
and for publishing. Marcus Black, Yellow
and Black Black, Raw, Apples, Cold Tea,
Toothpaste, Hot and Cold Water. Wing test
interviews and many women in five to seven
years. Traditional cultural values of worship,
Russia, pharmaceuticals, and lower-middle-grade
drugs are for adults, adults, pregnancies, hair,
computers, audio, air, and text. Hansen
Selected Professor of the Forest and Wooded
Mountain. Service wrote a special song
for FIM. As a matter of fact, I remember
childhoods, black, black, red, black,
different ideas, and shoes, and I encountered
problems in the city I experienced
in the West. Gameplay, the goodness
of the devil, the heavens, the elephants
with the flow of the prophets, the best
of the blue and Japanese royal genres.
Our children and homeless children
will complete a white baby white.
This book is from Hagar
and Clark, Clark's Star. But if it is
not worth the money, it's a privilege.
I will return food; food, clothing,
and now to eat, or, thieves, thieves,
thieves, but fiction's contravention,
computer, home, music, things.
O, circle. Jeremy Clark, his own
wilderness lakes, shadows and 400 stars.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 2:39 AM UTC