"hankered" poems
The antique shop,
a cauldron where memories
from far and near boil and froth,
where chronological order
didn't matter, time stood still,
part real, as much magic,
different lives from distant lands and time
rolled in to one.
Here they met, by chance,a man
and a mysterious woman,with an eye for unusual,
among what was on display were
things a conman would seek
and also favorite stuff fit for kings,
artifacts and articles they must have used
or hankered after.
Past uses these museum pieces
as baits for us, secretly preparing us
to surrender before future,
unkind and rude in mind;
he changed roles as both con and king,
there was a constant yes,
she was the mate in each
he couldn't take eyes off her,
and she asked what he looks for,
"The famous ****** quilt,
that was to be mine twice before,
I missed making it mine,
narrowly every time"
He wondered how did he
make up that story so quick.
"I can take you to the quilt,
but it isn't here" she said
not a bit hesitant
He was flabbergasted by
the turn of events,as if
a hidden scripted move shows the way
They left by her car,
she was eloquent about
the effects of the ****** quilt.
As they stood near the ****** quilt,
in this room he thought was part
of an antique shop, the place looked deserted,
and her eyes shone when she suggestively said
"Want to test the effect? Don't be disappointed"
It wasn't. How could one imagine, that
the quilt can be so voluptuous.
That secret shook him out of his shell,
she had nothing to do with antique of any kind,
just another visitor like him, and the quilt
was an ingenious plot she hatched
in keeping with my sudden flourish,
the quilt, was a new addition in her bed
patch worked in silk, light weight,
it wasn't a blanket, but ****** in its very touch
it was them, the moment of adventure they found
had brought the rapture,who would regret?
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and tolled, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at "Buzzard’s Breath."
"The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la ****
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the Mother Lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, "Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! Boys, *** the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the Earth, and the heat increased by day.
"Buzzard’s Breath" became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
of recent days
the solar panels
and wind turbines
couldn't ALLEVIATE
the cold indoor climes
thereby causing the folks
of Texas to freeze
under the many inches
of thick snow
how they all hankered
for that old fashioned
coal generated
electricity
which would ALLEVIATE
the boreal conditions
atrocity
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
*Holding her hand , walking on the streets.
Realizing the life in those skipped heartbeats.
Exuding the attar, she dulled my senses.
Tremulous tattered talks due to spooking menaces.
Then she talked in her asthenic voice.
And suddenly everything was just background noise.
All I could do was , stare in her eyes.
And I glimpsed into her soul beyond visible lies.
She was the configuration of pain and hope.
Inside, she was in a scrimmage and clinging with a mope.
Zealously & tenacious , inside , she was a fighter.
I hankered to describe her beauty in my words, as a writer.
But to describe such aesthetical effigy I constellated nothing, not even a single word.
I was stupefyingly stuck , like a fallen wingless bird*.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
And then...
A diffident embrace,
Hankered after bedeviled yearning.
Instead, butterfly kisses,
She planted 'pon breathless lips;
Scarved my neck
And schlepped,
Into mystery miles of misty memories...
But now...
That yesterday lingers forever,
Leaving evocative footprints
Left behind by flirtatious fragrance,
That oft beguile my pathway,
Into memories of her;
Whence fantasy atones reality...
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
She purchased a Trilby hat in lieu of a Stetson
Her shoulders seemed to stoop
whenever she lit her famous Sobranie.
The rolling countryside always felt like despair
more bramble than Strawberry Fair
She found herself in New Brighton, bracing the sea air
a sought job in a Mobile Fish and Chip Van
was assuredly the Lisa Presley way.
But her heart hankered for Hull, the dare was brazen
to partake in a Photography class
to record civil disobedience.
Perhaps a suitable hat
would be a beret
for that inveighed look
our dear Sandra McClain.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
I know you would never love me
I know perhaps there would be someone else who loves me truly
Yet the future does not concern me now
When I know you will never be in it
Could you spare me a loving touch
even though I postulate nothing more than a passing glance
How does attraction work
the unknown machinations of the fragile cage
and the weeping bird inside it
singing of sorrow coursing through mauve streams
inundating the body whilst weakening the mind
Once I hankered after the thought of love
but now I just think about you.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
1. I wanted profunity, you gave me surface.
2. You never really loved me
3. You were never taught how to love
4. You became your insecurities
5. My silent cries for you were too heavy for my heart
6. Our hearts hankered other things..except eachother
7. My prayers about you never reached heaven
8. You woke up one day and decided that our love wasn't worth war
9. Its not that you don't want to love, you just don't know how to
10. You were never content with my flaws
11. I wasn't what you prayed for every nightfall
12. I just wanted to be loved
13. Writing about you became useless
14. You could not live up to the man that existed in my dreams
15. Loving you somehow killed me
16. I had leave
17. I needed someone who knew how to stay
18. You're still searching for me in every woman
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
Their sacrifice a forgotten story
Their braveries are fables untold
In lives they hankered not for glory
In their graves they won't be old.
Lines of them lying under stone
No medal they won no star
In end they've found a silence zone
Where their memories the soils blur.
Someone was too young to die
Still dreaming a life of bloom
Yearning to reach the blue sky
Now sleeping in the casket room.
Youth so cruelly deceived them
Little was written on the white page
Blown away with the war game
Years cannot make them age.
Out of focus, out of lens
On unknown memorial just a name
Let's bow our head in silence
Lest we forget them.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
neither could totally renounce
the feelings they shared
the tie between them
made in childhood days
it held a cohesive twine
on separate journeys
they did travel
until their mid years
yet they hankered for
each others company
the bond between them
ne'er came untangled
perchance their destines
bought them together again
whereupon they rekindled
and renewed their lasting flame
sweethearts at childhood
sweethearts they'd ever be
the sweetheart link
they shared was of
a perennial deed
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
into the abyss of envy he
fell
it gobbled him down in its
well
the desire to be the class
act
tormented his resentment
tract
they of quills superb of
skill
outshone the poseur's paltry
till
he hankered for what they
held
yet alas his penning so bad in
meld
at espying their brilliance of
verse
the ground swallowed him up as a
purse
jealousy he'd never ever
subdue
of the green hue there'd be an enduring
due
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 3:25 AM UTC
no diminution in tiredness arose
gnome hatter how off tin ma dis bows
Zoe let his bot tee succumb,
via mental application
of autogenic phrases
and/or counting crows
cuz upon awakening,
aye immediately wanted ta doze,
thus this artful dodger hankered to expose
extreme cockamamy idea incumbent,
where corporeal essence gets froze
zen, the scientific procedure named
emergency preservation
and resuscitation (EPR)
more familiarly known
as suspended animation
pursuant under the appellation cryogenics,
where living tissue no longer grows
old, a wishful yearning
approximating immortality i sup hose,
yet this copacetic drowsy
generic human struggled in vain
trying with utmost effort to stay awake
Swiss to hobnob among urbane
feeling helpless (fearing
he might be narcoleptic),
nonetheless aye didst train
intent concentration
(and/or feeble exertion mustered)
to swat away worrisome thought
this hypochondriac,
could be afflicted with mononucleosis
since lassitude less likely sprung
from overcast and rain
knee skies, which type weather
generally energies me
to conjure a quatrain
sometimes complex versus
written straight away plain
panacea hit upon finally
to ward off sleepiness,
whereby literary endeavor
boosted by a strong brew
namely fair trade
manufactured coffee chew
zing among socially conscious entities,
and hoping to do
some dollop of positivity
without fanfare I eschew
to fulfill personal hue
man conscientious anonymous impact
that some benefit will en sue.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
Though among the chosen,
Judah opted to cross floor,
Out of his way
Heading to the path of the fallen!
In a spectacular way
Breaking loose from
The tight grip of the fallen,
Mary Magdalene braved
The ardours track of the chosen!
Heedless to a heavenly
Crown at hand,
Judah hankered
For a monetary reward.
Giving attention
To soul's worth,
While Mary Magdalene
Gave a red card
To her cherished perfume,
Though to procure it
She saved hard.
It was with a kiss
"This is He
You should not miss!
Now, mission accomplished,
Give me the 30 Birr please!"
Judah betrayed Christ.
Repentan, while
Mary Magdalene
Washed Christ's feet
With tears.
Regretful Judah
Put a noose around his neck,
While ,Mary Magdalene happily
Saw the resurrection of
Christ before a daybreak!
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
I am swiss cheese I am somebody who is trying to relocate their shoulders, thrown about in a misty sin of congratulations
I am a sipless vulture attempting to be pure but coming out vinegar
juniper berries and sickly **** of packaged rawhide
inescapable landslide
unexcused, for what its worth
an imaginging roller coaster disaster, so far from my fathers, mad from too much beer and wine
hankered down by mood stabilizing pills
jipless, jockeyed, jiving to bizzare melodies
a sipter esphicator, ready to lunge into the excesses of butter beer
singing jollies with dumbeldore and other queers
misplelled, misplaced, outcast, on the bench with other pupils
and the carnivore sinks its teeth into its kills
shanking and shaking, singing in the bathtub with katy perry
muse the blues with cherub rock, loathing dylan, asking for more cohen
juxtaposed on top of everest and demanding a double feature
dickless angels
turnabout, shout, the end is near, abstract, understand the notion, the fear
and scream helpless hopless empty bottles of beer
nectar and graham the hector, a mellon bunnie with rabbid ears
run for your life! the fires of eternal flowers and bounds of life
seem sophisticated at the time
Turnabout, the beats are out
and the real madness, the real madness, is here
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
A single pebble
crushes;
do not minimise
destruction.
Pellets hold
the small, squeezed grain of bone –
a startling nakedness erodes
it, scars the air
it lies in;
frail and suffering
hung flowers
that hankered after warmth
ooze still their stilled perfections;
and
the innocent beetle
suffers mortally.
Grandiose, magniloquent,
the pebble forfeits nothing.
We are naked, Anne, and caught.
Inside ourselves a pitiless resilience
remains, bounds up, is shot.
The orchid in the spring
still sees it here:
as cruel as me,
as loving and perennial as you.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
He opened my limbs, slowly he poured his warm breath between me, so warm that it felt like a candle wax. Hankered so he could stroke in one of his fingers. Derided I was that I wanted to sink my teeth into him. Rainy his tongue was,that the drops felt like glaciers, moved by the tongue delicately that couldn’t move my corpse. Pricking every sense that I had left..... Ou he was divine
Devine that I splattered his image with my sap, finally he gave me a savor taste of my encephalon .
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 6:10 AM UTC
In the midst of thy
dimwitted beauty
o ' earthened
-thoroughfare
how seriously, I am
at a scrutiny, if what
I want a soul mate thou
is in ameliorate - fashion,
soulest heart's desires mate,
He's my ideal fit to live without
and that’s what I stand in need of,
My true soul mate is my mirror,
the one that shows everything
that is holding me back-
the one who brings me
to my own tender
LOVING care!
So can I invert lifestyles?
into his lest do whatever
it takes- let thee blessing
corset be what I say or do.
There are hundreds of
ways to kneel and
kiss the ground.
Through my cling
for him, I want to
express my
sweet embrace for the
whole cosmos,
the whole of
humanity,
and all beings
to caress.
By existing for him,
I want to dig up
For him more,
wholeheartedly.
Just I come
next to him
into loving him,
The way thou art love myself
I will be able to woo everyone
and all sorts o' order, disarray
Aside from unfit for the world
And of the world
[And I am beaming joy..
Yea glad with all my heart
That thus so blithesome
I myself can I be freely ache free]
A real understanding o' amity
What I really starve to do
is what I really aspire to affect to .
Whence doing well
what's purposely longed swell.
Whilst called for,
HOPE aught not get the worst of
Hard times
Nothing but good times
therefore,
Whether economics
meets waterloo breaks through;
comes to us,
Abundant mammoth o' thine mercy
open for us,
I feel functional,
and molded
deemed,
in the manner to be fond
of each other.
Discern to versed what I ache for
and if I dare to dream
of joining our heart’s pining
God's entwined love - waiting!
Because, all this time,
I've hankered to love you and you alone!
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC