"hanna" poems
She was the one who made me belive in happiness.
She was the one who was there two years ago,
With me.
And now,
I think she dosen't need me anymore.
Well, yes.
She comes back when she's crying,
And I'm the one who conforts her,
But after this,
She just runs away.
But, what about me?
What if I'M sad?
What if I'M crying.
Nothing.
I call this a game.
She's playing with me.
And I let her.
Cause I know Karma will take care of her.
Hanna says it: Sometimes you poke the bear. Other times, the bear pokes you."
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
I search for some decor
to pretty up my house
A headboard, some dead boards
or maybe a couch?
The said so to do it
on public TV
my kitchens not pretty
as pretty as can be
But what will the neighbors
think of my design?
they'll report to the magazine
that it's beautiful and sublime!
Some ship lap, some sconces
all wrapped in a bow
i will trend till tomorrow
then die all alone
Rip it all down
Says Chip and Joanna
They are more popular
Than Hanna Montanna
They live on a ranch
an take millions to make
a spectacular suprise
for a couple to take
We all laugh an cheer
at Chip's child like antics
Which makes great TV
as Joanna gets Frantic!
Do Chip and Joanna really
care about you?
As long as the station
gets ten million views
They tell us to fix it
even though it's not broken
go shop till you drop
and spend every token
Buy that cool sign
made from cheap yellow plastic
The richer get richer
but, our wall looks fantastic!
Do not give in
to the big corporate greed
there are sick, hungry people
and starving mouths to feed
so every cent spent
on the corporate wealth
helps the richer get richer
and we go to stealth
Wake up and see vanity
is causing distress
don't give in to pressure
of this corporate mess!
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
Jackal in his church pants,
Bad kid with punk jams,
Cramming nonsense in his conscience,
Skateboarding prophets,
Dividing light into chambers,
Bag of **** for his neighbors,
Turned into a living demon bleeding thru the paper,
Applesauce in the inside,
A coconut shell for the front,
Pineapple knives for the slaughtering,
Right into a strawberry's gut,
He was not a normal scorned, occulting youth,
But the lore of a regretful teen plaguing the afternoons,
Till that strawberry gut cracked his coconut noggin,
And shall he rest in bygones and Hanna-Babara monsters,
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Swirling a frosty straw
Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground
With my lips wrapped around it
I stare into this empty canvas
of a vanilla malt
And project my cartoonish headaches
into it to devour it
Oh those Scooby Doo monsters
Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor
Only to formulate semblances of evil
A Mojo JoJo caricature
I then project into my milkshake
His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird
In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield
Colorful spirals of animated joys
Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun
That was mugging my creativity
And robbed me of my motive
Let me taste the refreshing winds
That flow through the deserts of Road Runner
Taking laps around my heart
With its true intentions in a love letter
I will never get
Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts
And now I hope I can drink another
To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
The beast cobbler somber suited to putrid minions,
And picked apart the whiskers of death and scribed a diction,
"He hath no fury than an arcade weapon scorn"
Tis I blasted through virtual vitriol levels with life unborn,
Licking the literature scriptures and propagandizing dilemma,
I trained Cerberus into a vicious ************
Biting heathens with the molars demons fear to run from,
Too **** farmer to sail away from my problems,
I reaped too many seeds to bleed,
So all your fuming won't do absolute **** to me,
I'm a dark stepchild of instability and fertility,
Shallow stocking delinquent seeking fire with an angel match cracking humility,
I'm a typhoon buffoon with Hanna-Babara tendencies,
**** with me and get a lethal dose of dynamite and Trojan Horse remedies,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
After the painting by Fritz Von Uhde (1848 – 1911)
Sophie is twelve
Hanna thirteen
dear pinafored girls both
home from school
this summer afternoon
they sit knee to knee
but far enough away
from mothers’ chatter
at tea on the terrace.
The girls have gossip of their own
to share and talk is ten
to the dozen (and more)
whilst Hanna turns the pages
of a story book (with pictures):
a woodcutter’s daughter
a handsome young squire
ensnared with love
by a magiced white owl
there’s a castle by a lake
an endless forest dark
a mountainous domain
so far away so long ago.
Poised in the doorway
of their teenaged years
our girls imagine
the courteous attentions
of uniformed cadets
who one day soon
may very well sit
at the garden table
in the dappled shade
and silently gaze with longing
on their oh so delicate charms.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
I want to find a Boo-Boo
for my Smokey Bear
So now that you’re aware
of this just stop your
staring at me
Please hear my plea
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
The forest fires burn
burn, burn, burn, burn
Keep tryin’ to contain them
but those whack-a-moles
yearn to be free
Please listen to me
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
Smokey needs a
Boo-Boo Bear so
when he retires
he’ll take over his work
preventing forest fires
Can’t you see?
Please hear my plea
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
Mark Toney © 2021
“Created in 1944, the Smokey Bear Wildfire Prevention campaign is the longest-running public service advertising campaign in U.S. history, educating generations of Americans about their role in preventing wildfires … Though he has already accomplished so much, Smokey’s work is far from over. Wildfire prevention remains crucial, and he still needs your help. His catchphrase reflects your responsibility: Only you can prevent wildfires. Remember that this phrase is so much more than just a slogan: it’s an important way to care for the world around you.”—smokeybear.com
“Boo-Boo Bear is a Hanna-Barbera cartoon character on The Yogi Bear Show. Boo-Boo is an anthropomorphic bear cub who wears a blue or purple bowtie. Boo-Boo is Yogi Bear's constant companion, and often acts as his conscience.”—Wikipedia | Boo-Boo Bear
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 11:50 PM UTC
The little towns near Egmont
That nestle on the plains
To gather close the winding roads
The homing trails and lanes,
The little towns near Egmont
That sleep the whole night long
Cooled by the scent of mountain breeze
Lulled by the sea wind’s song.
The little towns near Egmont
Will ever seem to me
Like stars that deck the evening sky
Or isles that dot the sea,
Like beads that sprinkle here and there
On Taranaki’s gown
Like figures in a rich brocade
Of yellow, green and brown.
The little towns near Egmont
Seen through a summer haze
How fair and fresh and free they lie
Beneath the golden days,
Not crowded in deep valley’s,
Not buried in tall trees
But open to the sun, the rain
The starlight and the breeze.
The little towns near Egmont
What busy lives they hold
With happiness and health to keep
Secure from heat and cold,
The comfortable homesteads,
The park like lands so fair
God keep them restful, clean and pure
As Egmont’s snow peak there.
Hanna Hair
Dawson Falls Lodge
Mount Egmont, Taranaki.
January 1926
This poem, hand written and forgotten, was written by a guest of the house, in a thick, ancient tome of comments and articles, secreted in a dusty corner of the beautiful and quaint Dawson Falls Alpine Lodge, nestled comfortably in the dense, high podocarp forest, far up the snow clad slopes of volcanic Mt. Egmont in Taranaki, New Zealand.
From its high vantage point on the mountain looking out toward the curving coastline of the vast Tasman sea, the lodge affords magnificent views of the sparse settlements and farmlands spread widely on the lowland plains before it. By day the smoke rises from farm house chimneys, by night the warm honeyed glow from scattered windows dot like an expanse of fire-flies amidst the velvet blackness extending out to the luminosity of the line of breakers pounding the distant coast.
This delicate work captures the sparse beauty of this magnificent rural place, it further affords a snapshot of that particular era and of the pioneer spirit and rugged endurance of the settlers who made this isolated land home.
Marshalg
Dawson Falls Lodge
26 October 2015
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
WickedHope and elsa angelica amd Hanna Ventura
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
I've decided
I don't care anymore
Hey Soph, wanna go
Kiss my boyfriend?
Have fun babe.
Hanna! Hey! Wanna call all my
Other friends worthless losers
To my face? Cool.
Lauren. Keep on spreading those rumors,
Knock yourself out.
Because
I
Don't
Give
A single
****
Anymore
Oh and sorry this isn't all rhymey and ****
Not everyone's creative
But everyone has problems
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
Room 306
May 26th, 2011 3:06 p.m.
was the last day i saw you
funny how it rained all day
i wanted to hold you
tell you that you were going to make it
please dont go just yet
stay with me
but people come and go
your ghostly thin face blended so well with the linen hospital sheets
your hand was so cold
your time was coming to an end
i just wanted to believe that God would spare your
life
i didn't want to lose my best friend
God where are you, listen to me!
but there was no saviour
beep beep beep beep
went the flat line
i'm choking now
gasping through my tears
oh not my Hanna!
she's dead
take me with her
the shine i knew in her green eyes went out
i lost the light in my life
come back
so i can show you how much i miss you
(m.p)
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
Kamau Brathwaite wrote
That "the hurricane doesn't roar in pentameters"
And I really believed it could be true
That Caribbean hurricanes had their own cadences, their own dances :
Ida was reggae, Allen was merengue Brigitte was gwoka
David was cha cha cha and Edith was kadans rampa and Dorian calypso
All dactyls hatched instead of iambic pentameters
Out of each island Zeus 's head
Until i met the still eye of Hurricane Muse.
Muse was her nickname
Her real name was Shar
Named after shark and share and shear
and sharon,
Named after a calypso rose
Fearless except for lizards, a rose of tiny thorns
With a taste of a stormy black coffee
Born to a dragon of Jade and a white *** tigress
In the midst of the 1961
hurricane season.
Shar has the S of Sébastien Sally Sam Shary Sean and Sara
The H of Humberto Hanna Henri Hermine Harold and Hélène
The A of Andrea Arthur Ana Alex Arlene and Alberto
And the R of Rebecca René Rose Richard Rina and Rafael
And she dances not only calypso
And quadrille and zouk
But a mix as well of Salsa Hustle Affranchi and Reggae
In iambic pentameters
While she gently paints fearless green lizards
Having her five iambs of coffee
First thing in the unstressed and stressed morning
Before she even opens the syllables of her still Muse eye.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 3:23 AM UTC
36 hours...
Hanna called out to her friend Jory at
8:00am
She walked ther ten year-old brother to school at
9:30am
Afterschool, she hung out with her multiple friends and rode the train to Central Park,
She arrived home at
12:00 am
and her father soundly beat her.
Understandably.
24 hours...
Hanna skipped the first two classes and arrived at school at
11:49 am
She made out with her first boyfriend, Marcus, behind the dark school stairs during lunch.
Than, at
1:46 pm
during Calculus, Angela, her best friend, subtly slipped
some **** into her knockoff bag.
At
10:35 pm
Hanna fell asleep reading Hamlet.
12 hours...
Hanna found out Angela was in a serious street accident yesterday, but she had made it.
Yet, she decided no to visit and go to school
solving Angela's problems for her.
30 minutes...
Hanna broke up with Marcus and went back to those same stairs to think.
15 minutes...
She picked herself up, but left behind her knockoff.
2 minutes...
She decided not to pickup her brother.
Almost...
There...
Instantaneously.
Now Hanna exists only in our minds,
only to really live through my mouth.
Where she was last, her toes were bare,
her knees bent.
A classic diver's pose;
arms out.
A perfect splash, barely caused a ripple.
The audience, a monarch, flitting through and quiet.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
Last night my world caved in
so I went to you with baggage in hand
you didn’t turn me away, instead you
held it for a moment while you
listened and comforted me
you said **** the world
for what it’s put you through’
you said I’m not too much
just a lot and someday I’ll find
someone who can carry it all
but for now you will
I have told you every detail
to the deranged story of me
and you stay
that’s enough for me
all I needed was to know I’m not alone
and you’ve given me more than that
by loving me consistently
thank you for being the best friend
even half a country away
I always needed
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
poetry was hushed
or ushered out from being compared
with philosophy,
well... bye bye systematisation
leave you to it...
it's hardly an art, given it only uses
two extremes that can't be defined
as colour, but more or less x-ray vision...
i know... so much colour and so
much perfumery surrounding
me that i wish to not replicate...
hence the stance...
important dates like the battle of Hastings
(1066), or the great fire of London (1666) -
such importance goes hand in hand
with being up-to-date for a quiz show,
alt. to knowledge? quiz or trivia.
poetry is that: it's the sole mediator
of history and journalism,
entry of Darwin on a 10 quid banknote,
poetry has to marry someone else,
it can't be stuck in a rut with pompous philosophy,
and it's too crude to munch off a sharpened flint-stone
(Flintstones? Hanna-Barbera?! **** off)
of Pythagoras' cubism - cubism, you sure?
only cubes herrscht? well hardly,
Marilyn Manson is still an introvert anomaly
in Essex amongst the zombies... as i heard in
a HMV, one of the last strongholds of the
mutilated high-street and the death of
the postman profession... they're going, those postmen,
you hear? among the carrier pigeons
shot down dead! unlike Sartre i'm making a claim:
evolution precedes adaptability... essence indeed first
and existence last...
and with regards to poetry, that great mediator
of journalism and history...
ten sixty six mattered as much as today's article
headlined: GAMBLING ADDICT 'DIED OF SHAME'...
hmm? it does... you can just immediately pick
out the correlation for a national egoism.
if it weren't for skin-heads the metal rock enthusiasts
would have been called meat-heads for head-banging
too much: smooch smooch (x x in slang).
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
as the thighs above the knees burn through tears in the jeans. as the
belly
burns. as we think of something nice.
as jet trails droop like wet knives in a daylight shooting
.
we don't make wishes on them.
we just wish that the a/c will kick in when we
step through the door.
summer like chapters of mangled honey.
fingers like attitude problems. she lept in front of the bus [and broke her
legs.]
i stutter for you.
here comes my:
fur lips. storage bins.facilities.knuckle dragging. shouting lisp_
it's rough like
tweed-belly-hairs pushing up against soft earlobes resting on them
in the afternoon.
Hanna Montana is dead and we are happy now.
and
some call megod.
my best fetishes are a housewife that wants you dead for wearing spaghetti straps
and a hairy chest.
she watches the news-
gets off to it.
as
her son and step-daughter **** in the basement.
they lean in place in nothing but those white cotton socks that get wet and sticky from the laundry detergent spilt across the rubber-
mat.
the *** stained push-up will get left down there.
the machine will tear it out of its wire armatures.
outside the sun is burning the lawn.
outside
the fat black flies are *******
they drop, heavy- inside the windowsill
after 4 days of fury. the good fight
is lost.
their wings are sparkling
like gems.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 3:34 PM UTC
There are always Hannas in wars
wars existed before her name—-
like clay, was shaped by mouths
in different lands and vernaculars
—-ripe in the kiln,
to be shattered by the killings
Hanna
was whispered by fathers
by mothers, torn from a sister,
a brother…
There was a war without Hanna,
she left
and took the battlements
between her breast
like a secret
and learned that it could
fence a garden.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
August 22, 2015
Hold me
In the midst of cold air and rain we sat beside each other
I put my head on your shoulder;
closed my eyes--savoring and holding
to each second of this moment
After a while
You held my hand;
And suddenly my breathing stopped and
my heart skipped a beat,
I felt a tingling in my stomach and
my heart is pounding and unstable;
Your skin on mine felt comforting and just;
your hand on mine felt like it was made
for each other--like it was meant to be
held by yours.
And for the first time in my life I felt,
that time stood still and stopped,
The noise became quiet and everyone faded,
Like there's nothing.... But just
the two of us
"Is this for real?" I utter, and as I open my eyes
I saw you beside me and your hand
in mine;
And I wished for you to hold me,
For always,
And never let go.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
**But what if they weren't friends anymore?**
She desperatly hopes it wasn't true.
You see, ali knew to much.
So hanna had some stuff to do.
She would **** her, thats her plan!
"Forget ali, she's a dead man."
***** when she found out that Ali had a twin....
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
for Hanna
"stop sitting with your head pushed so hard against yourself that you turn into a mosaic of the town"
the milk's smell fills the house that's barely made out of wood
I saw your green and white dress
your streets stretched out towards the bottom of the sound
factories closed down
towers grew silk
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
Hanna to me is the BEGINNING of an evolution,
She finds me the END(of her fervent seeking for long)
Many worlds (we knew) existed between us until then,
Willingly crunch to make a perfect ONE from the debris.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
December 31, 2015
From the moment you stand
and walk from the bus
I saw you outside the window;
standing; your hair was firm
and your eyes were searching
And I looked up,
saw that you faded.
And as I return my eyes to nowhere
I once think,
*How much I love the
way you walk*
and the way your shadow beams
How much I love the way
your eyes lit up and see;
How much I love you,
And how much
I look forward to
the day
I'll see you again.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
August 29, 2015
You kissed me,
And I thought I was driven
To a place iv'e never been before.
You hugged me,
And all of my broken pieces
were squeezed back together.
Suddenly all of my pain faded
And I said to my mind,
"Hanna, I love you..."
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
There were times
When whites were right
There were times
When we had to fight
Our independance is important
There were those who died for it
Do you remember those different wars?
We fought until we could no more
We were being rearranged around to suit their needs
Why are we listening?
Freedom!
I wanna have freedom
Coz I can do what I like
And go where I like
Without being restricted
Freedom!
That is the sound
Of our kingdom
Peace and quiet
From here to there
From near to everywhere
Liberty!
We hanna have
Fraternity!
Well have
Equality!
Let us all be free
Freedom!
Let's my heart beat faster
It helps my mind at ease
We should try and give
To our kids
Our wish
My wish
Is for us to have
FREEDOM!!!!
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC