"haws" poems
It is December in Wicklow:
Alders dripping, birches
Inheriting the last light,
The ash tree cold to look at.
A comet that was lost
Should be visible at sunset,
Those million tons of light
Like a glimmer of haws and rose-hips,
And I sometimes see a falling star.
If I could come on meteorite!
Instead I walk through damp leaves,
Husks, the spent flukes of autumn,
Imagining a hero
On some muddy compound,
His gift like a slingstone
Whirled for the desperate.
How did I end up like this?
I often think of my friends'
Beautiful prismatic counselling
And the anvil brains of some who hate me
As I sit weighing and weighing
My responsible tristia.
For what? For the ear? For the people?
For what is said behind-backs?
Rain comes down through the alders,
Its low conductive voices
Mutter about let-downs and erosions
And yet each drop recalls
The diamond absolutes.
I am neither internee nor informer;
An inner émigré, grown long-haired
And thoughtful; a wood-kerne
Escaped from the massacre,
Taking protective colouring
From bole and bark, feeling
Every wind that blows;
Who, blowing up these sparks
For their meagre heat, have missed
The once-in-a-lifetime portent,
The comet's pulsing rose.
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Where are the songs I used to know,
Where are the notes I used to sing?
I have forgotten everything
I used to know so long ago;
Summer has followed after Spring;
Now Autumn is so shrunk and sere,
I scarcely think a sadder thing
Can be the Winter of my year.
Yet Robin sings thro' Winter's rest,
When bushes put their berries on;
While they their ruddy jewels don,
He sings out of a ruddy breast;
The hips and haws and ruddy breast
Make one spot warm where snowflakes lie,
They break and cheer the unlovely rest
Of Winter's pause--and why not I?
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pulling back the covers
dimming the lights
an owl calls
from the holly tree
just outside
of my window
the garden below
has grown beyond my control
weeds sprout vines tangle
in the summer squirrels gnaw
on the green holly berries
littering the courtyard
with half-eaten haws
in the spring mockingbirds
gorge on the bright red fruit
their florid songs
celebrating
light sky life sun leaf air
closing my eyes
I think back through the decades
to when I planted the tree
it was a time of hope
a time when we dared dream
of a world without
mortal enemies
when you could imagine
shaded islands of calm
hidden coves immune to rancor
now look at us
heads down lost hurtling
stumbling
under a trance
we have turned on one other
distracted by those
who grab wealth and power
under the cover of night
confused by the constant
trumpeting and alarms
blind to what we share
we retreat
into the darkness
of our fears
Tom Spencer © 2018
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 7:50 AM UTC
I bear the Scales, where hang in equipoise
The night and day; and whenunto my lips
I put my trumpet, with its stress and noise
Fly the white clouds like tattered sails of ships;
The tree-tops lash the air with sounding whips;
Southward the clamorous sea-fowl wing their flight;
The hedges are all red with haws and hips,
The Hunter’s Moon reigns empress of the night.
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(For G. H.)
Say, does that stupid earth
Where they have laid her,
Bind still her sullen mirth,
Mirth which betrayed her?
Do the lush grasses hold,
Greenly and glad,
That brittle-perfect gold
She alone had?
Smugly the common crew,
Over their knitting,
Mourn her -- as butchers do
Sheep-throats they're slitting!
She was my enemy,
One of the best of them.
Would she come back to me,
God **** the rest of them!
**** them, the flabby, fat,
Sleek little darlings!
We gave them *** for tat,
Snarlings for snarlings!
Squashy pomposities,
Shocked at our violence,
Let not one tactful hiss
Break her new silence!
Maids of antiquity,
Look well upon her;
Ice was her chastity,
Spotless her honor.
Neighbors, with ******* of snow,
Dames of much virtue,
How she could flame and glow!
Lord, how she hurt you!
She was a woman, and
Tender -- at times!
(Delicate was her hand)
One of her crimes!
Hair that strayed elfinly,
Lips red as haws,
You, with the ready lie,
Was that the cause?
Rest you, my enemy,
Slain without fault,
Life smacks but tastelessly
Lacking your salt!
Stuck in a bog whence naught
May catapult me,
Come from the grave, long-sought,
Come and insult me!
WE knew that sugared stuff
Poisoned the other;
Rough as the wind is rough,
Sister and brother!
Breathing the ether clear
Others forlorn have found --
Oh, for that peace austere
She and her scorn have found!
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Please, read this with the thickest southern accent you've ever heard. It's my language. It's my home...
Hee Haws on the TV
Chicken's fryin' in cast iron skillets
Taters and maters scent mama's clothes
no AC
Papaws in the bacca field
Granny's sippin' on sweet tea
The law stopped comin' here they say,
Back in '23
The fruit's ripe for pickin
daddy did that last week
He said the Apple brandy
Tasted perfect,
bitter sweet
The moonshine makers meet
When the crickets sing at night
they pass around mason jars
'neath the moon
and southern stars
The wine stays burried till fall
muskadine,
other than strawberry
the very best kind
The yanks
buy it up
Its funny to watch 'em
they can't handle their stuff
The Demory Mart stays busy
oh Lord it's so much fun!
When the moonshiners play pool,
till the rising of the sun
Momma don't like it,
Lord she gets so mad!
But she puts my church shoes on me
and I know she still loves dad
But now the still's turned green
as copper always does
There are no moonshiners left
Time has passed, just 'cause
Papaw's gone
the fields have grown up
there are no moonshiners left
it's all store bought, mason jars
have turned to cups
Demory Mart is Yankee owned
the church has indoor plumbing
But late at night, I hear the banjo's
and the stills, copper humming....
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
Aye think o this
When winter breezes blaws aroun'
whare silent thochts are filled wae gloom
and drifting words,they echo past
frae fearful man an fearful lass
In haunted hooses and misty lans
whare Ghosties an gobblins an unco bans
Pass atween this an theirs, that form
amidst tha thunders crashing storm.
Aye tucked up aroun yeer mithers apron
wae teeth a nashing an voices wailing
Fine ye ken this unhaly nicht
tis filled wae all unGodly licht
Craw tha Banshee frae tha Ben
like howlet song throughoot tha Glen.
Satan, Auld horney casts his lots
for innocent bairnies fresh frae their cots
An' ancient stories there arise an fly
Like shooting stars that fill tha sky
for here in tales tha croonies dae rattle
in haunting airs and fiendish battle
leagons arise tae tha masters calling
This nicht hell awakens, aahhh tha heevens are falling.
Here in blackened darkened skies
whare lichtning flashes weaves an cries
An mortal man fears fa his soul
against that heelish burning coal
Ministers intae their beds are fleeing
wae ranting verses fa all their Dealing.
Whare auld worn hags an witches cast
upon tha waters that blaw an blast
drooning mony tha ship an sailor
all fa tha glory O their Demonic tailor
when cauldrens stir in bubbling brews
An damnation demands its richtful dues
tha lan' it heaves and haws
devouring all within its jaws
A Blood red Moon casts her lot
whare evil men have Died an fought
tha Earth auld an worn frae tribulation
demands the blood of every nation.
Here within the fields o life
brither against brither in war an strife
hae released all this fiendish nightmare
fa all their guilt,fa all they share
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
IF you never came with a pigeon rainbow purple
Shining in the six o'clock September dusk:
If the red sumach on the autumn roads
Never danced on the flame of your eyelashes:
If the red-haws never burst in a million
Crimson fingertwists of your heartcrying:
If all this beauty of yours never crushed me
Then there are many flying acres of birds for me,
Many drumming gray wings going home I shall see,
Many crying voices riding the north wind.
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she's borrowed wings of flame and steel
to navigate the stars
to find the pieces of her heart
In the land of yees and haws
Her family beneath the flag
Will wait to bare her arms
as USA takes possession
of her Philippino charms
Safe journey Sal both there and back
May angels guard thy wings
and may you find the joy you seek
the joy reunion brings
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
I am from inky cities,
From steaming street pancakes and cold noodles.
I am from lonely alleys beyond that dark turn.
(shadowy, quiet,
filled with whispers of cats wild and shabby)
I am from square, paint-dried courtyards,
A secret hideout to breathe in the murmurs of ancient trees,
Only shared with shadow thieves,
Whose yellow eyes glow and ***** tails curl.
I am from the mountain beyond the choking greyness,
From the spot atop the hills where city lights could be seen
In stealthy nights through rain and frost.
I am from candied haws and stinky bean curds,
From chalky evenings
Spent high inside a climbing gym
Wearied, exhausted, inside-out.
I am from the toxic city,
Swarming with masked humans and silenced voices.
I’m from albuterol and Ipratropium bromide,
Sick from the cupboard of budesonide;
Saved again by the sky-blue machine feeding marshmallow clouds
Into my heavy, wheezy lungs.
Upon winter, I travelled far, said farewell to the city
Where ten years of memories lie dusted, submerged.
Thus I am from the serene seal cove and clear turquoise waters,
Where maple drips sweetly and pine needles rain,
From matted red-forest trails like a padded trampoline.
From the realm of black bears, red berries, and duck-duck-goose.
I said goodbye to the Chinese cats and Canadian bears,
And seized my pen to write the rest of my poem–
Because life, as they say,
“Is the art of drawing without an eraser”
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 2:23 PM UTC
I hear you laugh in different languages
Which has me guessing what that's about
From the high pitched cackling of the French
To the Italian baritone laugh out loud
Your German snickering has people wondering
What you have going on the side
And that burst of British laugh all by itself
No other country could deny
Of course there's that high pitched scream
As you guffaw in the Middle East
Where the situations not all that funny
But if you didn't laugh you'd cry to say the least
And America's snort's, teehee's, and hee-haws
Travel North, South, East, and West
There's not a time that you can't find
This country giggless
As laughter makes the dull Earth sunny
In all these different languages
From one side of the globe to another
We can see above all the rest, laughter is best
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
What aberration would cause:
Someone to attend to such foul play,
As the annihilation that would pause
a life, one filled with the air their being draws.
What aggravation could possibly stray,
A sound mind into transgressing a written clause
Of which all human life agreed to in our laws.
What Delusion would bring someone to slay
Another human being, meeting the jaws
-Of death, as their heart is transfixed by claws,
Seeking to steal their life, unafraid to disobey
And attempt to take away the life of a young fraus.
This crime can not be mended by gauze,
Instead, on the heart it will surely weigh,
Until it infects the perpetrator and gnaws
Picking on every grain, every haws,
Til it unravels and will portray
The nightmare within, the criminal withdraws
From their sanity, only to begin a constant stream of guffaws.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Wandering down the road an ***
Encountered a lion's skin.
He dressed himself up in it
Without an ounce of chagrin.
Frightening all creatures who saw him--
Animals and humans as well--
The *** stifled his braying and watched
As they all ran off pell-mell.
Finally, unable to hold it in,
He brayed some loud "Hee-haws!"
The fox heard him and also happened
To notice his hooves--not paws.
"Well, my friend, if I'd only seen you,
I might have been afraid.
But now that I've heard you speak, you can
Dispense with your charade."
The moral? Clothes can disguise many fools,
But despite their fancy array,
When they open their mouths--Yikes!--
Their words give them away.
Or
You can put on fancy airs,
Pretending you're suave and urbane,
But if you are truly an *** at heart,
An *** you will remain.
- By Bob B
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
Earthly treasures drag me down
Pleasures and short term comforts
All my heart's desires
feels like i cant stand a chance
but my eyes are open wide
and getting off the way is my choice
Sitting all by myself
end times signs l see
fear of death and hell covers me with a strong shivering
noway to escape for i am so blinded
looking at these beautiful and **** girls
walking half naked, cant vent
wish i could hold a hundred grand
to spend with haws and *******
enjoying life dearth is coming
feels like after dearth comes cipher
with no treasures to hold
Life is supernatural, metaphysical
we all came from something
and we are going somewhere
will i stand the taste of time
with these useless short term desires
Cover me Lord
The treasures that l hold
the beaut that i posses
they are stealing my time
Lord, would you take me as i am
show me the right way to live
and make me taste the fruits of paradise
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
Phone cord
Across her stomach
Fingers twining
In singular desire.
Her lover hems
Her lover haws
The tighter she grip
The tighter her patience
Wanes
As he speaks
The weak excuses
Of unfaithfulness
Not tonight
Not now my dear
I can't get away
I can't see you today
She slowly
Slips the communicator
To its cradle
His voice a constant
Mockery of her indulgence
And she says
Not tonight
Not tonight
He barely hears
The disconnect
Hello
Hello
A look to the phone
and a shrug.
Not tonight will he get away
Not tongiht will she stay
The car she drives
Takes her right there
The door she knocks on
Opens to his face
Anger ensues
Fear replaces as she shows him
Her intentions
Gone
He's gone
Not tonight
Will her patience be tested.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
Jour de Poisson
en France.
In the UK they
say, fools day!
He-Haws, is
how they are
often described
by the media.
Bankers, Accountants,
MP's Mep’s, *** Royals
Lords, Ladies, Gentlemen
Peers, Toffs, Tossers.
Cabog's, gobshites,
ignoramuses, mug's,
clowns, jerks, clots,
muggins, cuckoos.
But imagine, The British
only dedicate one solitary
day in every year to all
of these ****** eejits.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 2:04 PM UTC
You are a flower of many names
Woodbine twisting around bright haws
Irish Vine with blarneyed whispers of sweet scent
Honey bind and Goats leaf
and Faerie Trumpets with a call to reassure
that steadfast in love shall admirers be
I shall welcome you into my humble home
that you might bring gold into my coffers
and into my garden to give protection from evil
In my hair shall I wear a wreath of your florets
that I might of my future true love dream
around my doors to cultivate good fortune
your tendrils I will surely wrap
my children to be shall bite off your flower ends
thirsty as they will be for drops of your honeyed nectar
come, let me bind you into ropes for pack ponies
to carry sweet cargoes of you to colonise
all of the fast fading and forsaken hedgerows
my Father and my Mother forbade me
to bring you into my Garrett bedroom fearing that
your heady perfume might young untested passions ignite
but now I will pluck of your sweetness
and will your honeyed sweetness into my home invite
to make an elixir for the rasped throats of Preachers and such
I will seep you in fragrant oil warm and soothe coldness with you
Now I beg of you to bring all that you own to me
Feb 17, 2022
Feb 17, 2022 at 2:49 PM UTC
Where the boulevard nears the bridge
Liesel stands with arms akimbo
Defiant posture deflecting whistles like bullets
And low ball offerings like marbles
She heard:
Toss her a nickel watch her shake like it's a dollar
In a pig's eye
she roared
And spat hard for emphasis
Call her a *****
She might be persuaded
If you smooth your tongue with velvet
And dip your fedora to hide it's fork
Her belly rumbles
It's hunger for a snack points peekaboo
Toes towards Harry's good time diner
10 cent burgers draw an unscrupulous crowd
Her pious snubs
Of men who might fill her purse
Have done little for a definite need of sustenance
Though the fine slant of uppity *****
Now lifting her little chin
Seems to have really brought out her aristocratic features
Buck whoops and haws
As she makes her appearace
He is a huge fan of Liesel' s posterior
And cannot wait for her stride past
A thought hits:
With her rumbling challenging haughty composure
Feeling on the verge of fainted dead away
She snips:
Buck I'll let you pat me where I jiggle
For a five bag of burgers
And a side of beans
Buck grinned ear to ear
And picking yellow feathers out of his teeth replied:
Liesel darlin
For that *** I should only buy you three
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 5:08 PM UTC
hums and haws
"totally get it!"
basic blurbs
clothed in Schadenfreude
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
A lifetime lost through "hems" and "haws". Condemned to a perpetual limbo where one sees, at the horizon, a receding wave that keeps pulling into itself
Stuck on the shore, we wait for it to come back only for us to realize that the sea has taken off too
You look down at the sand only to see that the kelp has wrapped itself around your feet and you're left wondering just how long it has been there and if you can still move at all
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 8:54 AM UTC