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Misfit Poems - Miscellaneous Poetry

  Those without a category that fits. 

Last updated September, 2014  -  Request to use Materials
~ ~ ~ Leap Day, Birthday Little Belle Leap Day Baby
leapday Baby Swell New Roll Cast Ever Looming

Bright Decibels

Pedigree of the PoetPatriot Signaled Wait Scotland Bemused
All Are Bad Drivers  Anti-lullaby-by Appointment with Ice Artificial Display
The Bus Ride Carefree Children’s Toys Discipline
Duct (Duck) Tape easy Echoed Past Flying High
FireWall Greener God Forgotten Gypsy Magic
 Hero Least Home Sweet I’m A Whirly Gig Internal Control 
I Think I know?  Journalist’s Creed Monkey's Tree Never  Learn
Outside Perch Past Dance ---


Reality Check  Seattle’s Past Below Space Frontier SPINACH
Step into the Light  Stuttered Endurance Time… Time
Techno Blues TOOL  RULE Truth’s Fiction Up-Town Nose
Valiant Peace Voice Melodic Which What With 
Wonders Wander Word Wind X'd ZONED OUT
- - - Watermelon - - -
 Cowboy Poems  Poems of Faith Poems of Love  Patriotic Poems 

Daniel, Leap Year Gal

The first six poems below were inspired by the leap year day birth of Daniel M., born February 29th, 2008

Little Belle     Leap Day, Birthday     Leap Day Baby     Leap     Baby Swell     New Roll Cast

Little Belle
by Roger W Hancock

Danielle little belle,
gazing at the tiny bells,
twinkling, jingling.
Seeing, hearing,
           … wondering.

  © 03-04-08 Roger W Hancock

Leap Day Baby

Danielle, a baby born,
baby born on Leap Year Day.
Rare is the baby born that day,
day that’s rare or so they say,
calendar declares.


Need no special day adorn,
special is, each baby born.

  © 03-04-08 Roger W Hancock


         by Roger W Hancock

Women listen to tradition,
when your man in hesitation,
when he meets with your appraisal...
on leap day,                 
               you, can make,         
                                  the proposal.

© 03-01-08 Roger W Hancock



Leap Day, Birthday
         by Roger W Hancock

Leap one day every fourth year.
one day lost, three years between.
What of a child that is born that day?
Birthday once every fourth year?

Parents will not make mistake,
one day short, still February,
will celebrate on the 28th,
a birth-month celebration.

One thousand sixty days,
between each birthday,
add one more, reach the next.,
to celebrate the real day.

“Have their cake and eat it too!”
After eighty years, twenty birthdays.
“Twenty birthdays young,” you’ll say,
still having fun about the day.

© 03-01-08 Roger W Hancock

Baby Swell

 by Roger W Hancock

Danielle little Belle,
do you wonder do you tell?
Baby babble, baby swell,

In God's hands you dwell.

© 09-17-14 Roger W Hancock

 New Roll Cast

 by Roger W Hancock

Six years old, one birthday past,
leap year baby growing up fast.
Baby fat is now surpassed.
new roll as little girl, been cast.

© 09-17-14 Roger W Hancock

* * *    - - -    > > >     < < <    - - -    * * *
Ever Looming
         by Roger W Hancock

Sifting loosely through old fingers,
hour-glass of life.
Once a stronger grasp of grip,
tighter fit of a younger man.
Nostalgia remembrance, moment’s time,
half lone day slips by.
Fenced playground, children playing,
oblivious loss, of passing time.
Carefree play, no regrets,
for time beyond their prime.
Standing, leaning against lone tree,
automobiles pass by.
Leaves clutter a golden ground,
death’s carpet encircles.
Empty nest, bare branch above,
life in death lives on …

© 03-08-08 Roger W Hancock

Bright Decibels
         by Roger W Hancock

Towered, perched on foundation stone,
sentry stationed, warning beacon.
Passing vessels voyage deep night,
pilot, far rays of signal light.


Tethered, floating, anchor sure,
sentry stationed, sounding gesture.
Passing vessels journey fog vast
tunes course past, resounding blast.


Sentinel of danger, sight unseen;
white out, dark out; heed warnings.

 © June 7, 2007, Roger W Hancock,


Pedigree of the PoetPatriot
                                                    by Roger W Hancock

I call it family folklore; I’ve found no documents.
No one came direct from John, child of Hancock died.
Through his brother William, did the offspring come.
In the Civil War three generals each held lines:
General Winfield Scott Hancock, General Mead,
and the rebel General Pickett.
Tributaries of lineage blood, converge on, generation next.
My sons, through my wife can add, … General’s Sherman’s rage.
Grandpa’s brother, Alonzo Hancock, dug up ancient fossils;
one American elephant skull from Oregon’s parched flat lands.
Though not so very sure of blood, heritage will stand.
Many lines reaching back, a travel through old times.
Long before any of these, over in the Hathaway line:
Anne Hathaway is said to have, had a fling with poet Shakespeare.
Could it be, just maybe be, my lineage from ...
bastard son of Shakespeare?

 © June 7, 2007, Roger W Hancock,


      Signaled Wait
by Roger W Hancock

Rush hour traffic, last hour past,
light ahead is set on red.
Three engines coupled together,
pulling car after car, rolling on rails.
Fellow over in the S.U.V.,
bobs his head to a silent beat.
Rumbling train on rails roll,
as far as . . . no end in sight.
Sedan behind, hand slaps dash,
in vain, impatient frustration.
One mighty long train,
freight after freight car rolls along.
Other side lady’s neck stretched,
touch-up makeup in rearview mirror.
Finally… from red to green,
traffic inches slowly forward.
Rumbled wheels on rails still,
Rolling on . . . on bridge above.

© September 5, 2007 Roger W Hancock


Scotland Bemused
              by Roger W Hancock

Never having been abroad,
thoughts abound of other lands.
Spoken words of other places,
exotic countries, other races.
Wonders, Marvels query,
frozen trek of Admiral Peary.
History rich of every politic,
every nation, each a trick.
Eiffel tall, crumbled coliseum,
pointed pyramids, Piza leans.
Castles, Palaces of Czars, Kings,
cultured architecture rings.
Highland thoughts settle,
upon lone Scottish petal
Thoughts of Scotland,
not abound in never-never land.

© 5-16-2007 Roger W Hancock,


             by Roger W Hancock

Round, often oval, a knock produces thud,
Riper ones resound a hollow to the ear.
favorite of the picnic, potluck, summer brunch,
snack to smack most everyone’s palate.
Though this fruit I loved so much,
when young, I swore off that snack for lunch.

Mom would cut in half then half again,
into small wedges distribute to kids.
Every bite, delicious morsel, moistened flavor burst,
upon every taste receptor across the tongue .
Hands sticky, pant-legs; only towel to wipe,
residued face catches every dust particle.

Years had passed refusing fruit, favorite
rather forsake then soiled hands and face.
perhaps time had caused remembrance:
nectar of cereal left behind in the bowl…
wheat germ in milk sweetened by honey,
reminded me, took awhile… tasted like watermelon.

From the ice box, cool hot-day’s treat,
flavor so airy, so full of juice.
Orchestrate now how favorite fruit ‘served,
individually cut into cubes, explode in my mouth.
Occasionally a wedge, but always assured,
always with napkin and water nearby.

Copyright 08-13-07 Roger W Hancock,



       Appointment with Ice
                                by Roger W Hancock

I hurry up and wait at the frozen pond,
I wait for the crowd to dwindle,
That I may test my lack of agility.
I hurry to slip off my balance to fall on my derriere,
Slipping on ice like
Rain-matted leaves on a concrete sidewalk.
I wait for a few able skaters to leave the ice,
While my anxiety builds so high,
I might, in heightened adrenaline rush,
Touch the clouds.
Hurrying, I now rush onto the mirrored pond,
Anticipation to end the wait,
The wait of the inevitable pain, expected reality,
I in flagrant lack of skill . . . fall on my derriere.

©  10-04-06 Roger W Hancock,


Which, What?
          by Roger W Hancock

Baker maker candlestick wicker,
Which tock did the clock tick?
Smock the doc wore to the dock,
Covered in slime, tied in twine.
Line taught with spiny fish,
the wish was not tail swishing.
Dashing tales of hooking whales.
Harpooning minnow schools?
What of which happened,
to baker maker candlestick wicker?

©  9-17-06 Roger W Hancock,

Wonders Wander
             by Roger W Hancock
Wonder of wonders,
Is it why I wander?
Traveling here,
Wandering there,
Wondering where,
Tomorrow I’ll be.
Wonderful this world,
Travel through books,
Stacked library rows.
Wander through isles,
Isles of wonderment.
Anyone can wander,
Far from home.
No need to wander,
When I wonder.
Wander book storage,
World’s wonderment.
Mind, thing of wonder,
Wonder without wander,
In confines of,
Library wonder.

Copyright 12-23-03 Roger W Hancock


I’m A Whirly Gig
                              by Roger W Hancock

Wind picks up and swirls around and 'round,
Have you heard the story to stand and fly?
Step into the wind that twirls and whirls,
Hands out stretched for the wind to lift.
Ouch, twisting beside me a thorn tree,
In the whirlwind I feel but failed to see.
My, oh my, scratching, grabbing,
Need escape, shelter from this storm.
Twirls and swirls with branch of thorns,
Awkward dance of dunce and branch.

Copyright 12-01-03 Roger W Hancock


Space Frontier
                       by Roger W Hancock


Where no man has before gone,

vast openness of empty space.

‘Voyager’ is ‘Lost In Space’,
Battle Star Galactica’, too,
Robinson’s seek them both.
Robots, Droids, and Data,
help man’s exploration,
among star trekked light-years.
Evil ‘Storm Troopers’
or half-human ‘Borg’,
‘Star War’ battles rage.
Wormholes, freeways,
through time and space,
Man’s imagination,
the ‘Final Frontier.’

Ó Roger W Hancock September 27, 2003


Seattle’s Past Below
                                        by Roger W Hancock

Secrets hid beneath the streets,
 Seattle’s Pioneer Square.
Deep foundations history’s past,
exist below the Square.
Bill Speidel teaches us,
though he’s six feet down,
Seattle’s past, beginning saga,
in the eighteen hundreds.
Bad planning, greed, corruption;
founding fathers guilt.
Northwest conforms,
 white men and seamstress row.
You won’t believe the stories told,
upon the boardwalk deep.
Commercial tour, interests raise…
to preserve Pioneer Square.
Sidewalks concrete aged,
glass design, purpose designed;
Allowing light on sub terrain,
underground shopping once.
Walk upon lost time’s,
concrete covered boardwalks.
Below the tourist crowds,
historical Pioneer Square.
Nostrils fill, dirt, musty, methane;
scents of history’s past.
Time’s debris on trail’s side,
illustrates tour guide’s tales.
History taught of Seattle’s truth,
nasty as it was,
Tide plain, Crapper Device,
city’s early lawsuits.
Private rights may erode
existence of this past…
Visit now!
Experience now!
You’ll not forget,
 below the Square,
Seattle’s ‘Underground Tours’.

Roger W Hancock
Ó September 1, 2003


    by Roger W Hancock

Cursing swearing,
Bearing our being.
Lack the discipline,
On a lower plane.
Self inside displayed,
Mouth splays words.
Picture inward self,
public venue speaks.
Look self-wardly,
Listen… worldly words.
Pleasure to your ears?

Roger W Hancock
Ó August 18, 2003


Past Dance
    by Roger W Hancock

Singing along to the old time rock and roll,
nostalgia fills the nostrils with times gone by.
Swaying, rocking, twisting, dances past,
moves now stiffer than danced back then.
Playing along missing past practice,
remembering jam sessions, mind’s reunion.
Reliving the good times, mind’s youth retreat,
singin’, swayin’, music playin’. . . Rememberin’.

Roger W Hancock Ó August 10, 2003


Gypsy Magic
    by Roger W Hancock

Hippie attire not quite,
cultured ages of nomadic tribe.
Sweet wayfaring girl, so young,
Bohemian tongue her secret;
youth’s sly Gypsy intent.
Pocketknife, prized possession,
cannot be found, in air disappears.
Not to accuse, a sad story I told;
through family heirs has passed.
The knife appears from nowhere;
no malice intent, Gypsy honor,
sympathetic magic of the Gypsy girl.

Roger W Hancock Ó August 2, 2003


Written for a contest, I did not win...

The Bus Ride
                   by Roger W Hancock

Slouched back, relaxing, perhaps just a few winks; beats the highway’s rage.
One driver, frustrated, cuts off another to catch an exit three lanes over.
My comfortable window view; auto drivers, stewing, cursing each the other.
Dreams of drivers wish elsewhere be; on this bus, I smile, closing eyes, relax.

Ó August 5, 2003 Roger W Hancock


Word Wind
                   by Roger W Hancock

Which is what you must work,
And what which of when.

Where’s in the world on which to stand,
Here and now; which, where, when.

Way is the how which to work
or the path which way to why.

When’s the time to wait a while,
In God’s hand to help withstand.

Why the reason which to work,
Where, when but understand why.

How, to which place where,
When now, the why shows how.

Wind blows that way which,
How ever, where and when.

Roger W Hancock Ó July 6, 2003


     by Roger W Hancock

With in sincerity meaning meant,
within sincerity I present,
 with insincerity truth invent.

With in tended discipline write,
within tended sources right,
with intended meanings sight.

With out boards no claim to stake,
without boards no boat to make,
with outboards to wake the lake.

How ever clear it may be,
however clear I must see,
now Everclear in court to plea.

With in sanity, profoundness came,
within sanity, I kept the same,
with insanity, all is lame.

Roger W Hancock
Ó July 5, 2003


I Think I know?
            by Roger W Hancock

What I know... I may not,
I will try that which I cannot do.
To try and fail I then learn,
True limitations, then I'll know.
What I know I may only think,
Until I try, success or failure.
Failure teaches my true limits,
Then to reach beyond perceptions.
Success awaits for those who dare,
Failure for those who will not try.
What I think I may not know,
Try I must... might learn success.

Roger W Hancock copyright October 12, 2004


Echoed Past
            by Roger W Hancock

Once when oh so young,
Overnight visit across town.
Street graveled shoulders,
Phone lines on poles in air.
Other side of street a crew,
Buried cable newly spliced.
Old in air soon history,
Echoes from the past.
Young boy questions;
Scrap wire to leather lace.
Patronized by each;
Attention of a boy.
Long forgotten memory,
Future echo of the past.
Boy grown-up begins career,
Working same city streets.
One day finds himself,
Where those men had been.
Surroundings jog the memories,
Echoes from the past.
Images long lost return,
Men who trained my craft.
Ol’-timers’ image past return.
As silky feather’s touch.
Déjà vu reality,
Fabric of minds time.

Copyright 10-01-2004 Roger W Hancock


      by roger w hancock 

i love easy 
easy is good 
easy accomplishes
easy motivates
easy moves
past laziness
easy does
when difficult denies
easy comes
from ingenious minds
mother of invention
hard, discourages
encourage improvisation
to creation
of a new invention
easy the dream
of the couch potato
easy comes
easy goes
no excuse
on easy street

Copyright May 2, 2004 Roger W Hancock


 God Forgotten
                   by Roger W Hancock

The land was never ours, never ours to possess,
Nor was it belonging of any other peoples.
To take, to use, to refuse the refuse,
Using the land to subsist, survive.
Survival needs so beginning basic,
More complex as our land consumed.
Desert parchment to fertile sod,
Consumed diversion of life-blood’s river.
Domination, commandment, entitlement,
Man’s dominion over animal nation.
Breed, care, then to butcher,
Man ever richer but oh so poorer.
Land created as seas displaced,
Propagation’s overflow.
Wants become man’s need,
As perspective of basics lost.
Possessions, obsession temptress,
Blindly our living souls perish.
Land’s words are many . . . listen,
Lonely as man’s loneliness increase.
Appreciation for exploitation,
Lost . . . man forgets land’s God.

Copyright March 10, 2004 Roger W Hancock 


Truth’s Fiction
                     by Roger W Hancock

All have wondered but never worded,
To wonder this dichotomy.
The irony of opposites,
When young, opposed my intellect.
“Non” was not when I first learned,
with out the “non” was truth.
Then to learn the novel’s lie,
Fiction without the “non,” what! why?
Learning ‘tween “non” or not “non,”
Which gives truth or just fond lies.
Years knowing opposite truth,
Still bewildered how could be.
Wondered of others wonder,
I asked my son about those words,
“That one should be the other?”
Paralleled my own when young.
Truth remains the same,
Even when the words say, not!

 Copyright January 5, 2004 Roger W Hancock 


Artificial Display
    by Roger W Hancock

 Winter's night so crisp,

Darkest when no moon.

Even with reflector snow,

Still, so very dark.

Power out who knows why?

Darkens each corner standard.

Boy pulls out new generator;

Inside TV, decked lights outside.

Eves, elves, bushes and trees,

Island of light in sea of dark.

In the sky, what do I see?

A firefly, spaceship, Santa?

No. . . not at all…

Just an airplane backed by black.

   © Roger W Hancock 12-10-04,


 Outside Perch
    by Roger W Hancock

 Hammock hangs between metal frame,
support depends not upon two trees,
in just the right spot, right distance apart.
I envy the trees placed just right,
for purpose of a hammock tied.
Even my camp membership away from home,
cottonwood, evergreens do not lend themselves,
the hanging of that restful recreation tool.
There too a metal frame for hammock stretch,
between which and far from couch I lay.
Home hammock I should have, but not, put away,
for winter, keep fresh for next spring’s snooze. 
Back yard east of ornamental garden it sits,
back dropped by cedar, treated wood fence,
built with artistic flavor by my own two hands.

Fence posts placed to highlight fan of ferns,
that splays beyond suspended hammock.

Spring’s flowering tree looms out beside,
ferns and fence to canopy my outside perch.
  Behind fenced art in next neighbor's yard,
towers a redwood out-of-place in Washington,
I thought, “Redwoods south in California grew?” 
Hammock alone awaits my presence,
to which I have of late neglected.

Back yard’s serene silence waits…
until great-nephews, -nieces come to visit.
Next spring will bring my step-grandson,
of two years age to swing upon the sling.

I can hardly wait first new years until first born,
Grandson, now six months, to attempt first mount,
of the swaying twisting hammock perch.

Copyright January 1, 2004 Roger W Hancock 



           by Roger W Hancock



Sticks and stuck,

Should be loose,

Tool to use…

Is WD-40.



Slips and slides,

Should not move,

Tool to use…

Is Duck Tape.



Those joints

That creak;

The rule you seek.

To keep you slick.


Duck Tape,

Straight joint,

Not slip apart,

The rule you seek.

You’re cool to stick.


Oil or tape

Tape or oil,

One or other,

Should do the job

Duct Tape or WD-40.


“The right tool

For the right job”


Has just two,

WD-40 or Duct Tape.


Roger W Hancock Ó June 2, 2003


Back to Index





 Some call it Duct Tape and some Duck Tape,
but if it does not quack and it sticks, it is either one.


Duct Tape


Duct Tape, the improvisor’s tool

Duct Tape to hold in place,

Reassembled by Duct Tape.

Decorate with gray, now with color!

Seal secrets entombed.

Boarder poster board.

Get crazy, creatively,

Duct Tape project together.

Prom date’s gown or Duct taped tux,

Wear it, use it, abuse it.

Greatest invention

Velcro cannot match

What you cannot latch or hook,

You can always Duct Tape.

Many uses, imaginate,

In a pinch, fold the skin and tape it.

Quiet quacking ducks with…

 Duct Tape. 


Roger W Hancock Ó May 14, 2003


Duck Tape


Duck Tape, the improviser’s tool

Duck Tape to hold in place,

Reassembled by Duck Tape.

Decorate with gray, now with color!

Seal secrets entombed.

Boarder poster board.

Get crazy, creatively,

Duck Tape project together.

Prom date’s gown or Duck taped tux,

Wear it, use it, abuse it.

Greatest invention

Velcro cannot match

What you cannot latch or hook,

You can always Duck Tape.

Many uses, imaginate,

In a pinch, pinch and Duck Tape.

Quiet quacking ducks with...

Duck Tape. 


Roger W Hancock Ó May 14, 2003




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Journalist’s Creed

                     by Roger W Hancock


To be trustworthy, faithful,

to truth, justice, and the American way.

Accuracy, my motto.

I shall not be moved by pride of my opinion.

Objectivity is my aim in my reporting pride.

Opinions be kept on the opinion page.

Indignant of injustice of others and myself,

Facts be checked, checked again.

Original works not plagiarism.

I shall resist greed of power.

Fairness to each story’s sides, basis of objectivity.

I shall be tolerant of all never careless.

Source identity be protected unless against the law.

Privilege or mob mentality I will not succumb.

My strength resides in my integrity.

To maintain the public trust, my goal,

Strengthens my value to the public, my employer.

In my religion, fear God; respectfully honor all men.

Realizing religion is the heart of civilization.

Any lesser work betrays public trust.

Neither right, left, between nor off-the-wall agendas,

shall divert me from my duty of accurately reporting the news.


Roger W Hancock Ó May 13, 2003


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Monkey’s Tree
by Roger W Hancock

Three Monkeys sat in a coconut tree
You know the story about the three.
One monkey refused to see,
He missed the view of the sea,
Sits up high is he in the tree.
Another monkey wished not to hear,
Missed songbirds morning share,
Sits up high in the tree is he.
Third monkey refused to speak,
Did not tell, his becoming weak,
Now broken, he fell from the tree.
The moral of these monkeys three,
Use the sense of the coconut tree,
See, hear, speak; common sense three.

Roger W Hancock Ó April 26, 2003

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Home Sweet
                  by Roger W Hancock

Warmth and familiarity of home,

Calms the soul, sooths the nerves.

Seagulls soaring, gliding peacefully,

Lift by updraft of ocean wind.

Whale pod playing rolling;

Family familiar play.

Sandy beach stretching far,

beyond lone lighthouse sentry.

Gulls scavenger hunt together;

Feasting family familiarity.

Lone beach, breaking ocean surf.

Calm sea by flowing wind,

Familiarity of home fire’s warmth.

 Roger W Hancock Ó April 23, 2003



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Stuttered Endurance
by Roger W Hancock

St - st - st - stut – stuttering,
‘got much to say,
but cah - cah - can’t get it out.
Ta - Ta - Talking not easy,
some take for granted.
Nuh - Nuh - Nuh - No patience,
for me when I wish to respond.
So I - I stuh - stuh - stuh – stew,
in quiet, frustrated reflection.
When on my buh - buh - best duh - days,
sometimes I pause, silence,
then proceed with rewrote words,
to avoid the muscle sp - spasm.
That bl - bl - blasted stuh - stuttering,
self consciousness over whelms,
when expression locked inside.
Loo - Loo - Look beyond the self yu - yu -
you see, release the inner you.
Gee - Gee - Geeenius lies in everyone,
reh - ready to express, when…
self conscious thoughts ignored.
Suh - Suh - Sooooh, I in spite of me,
find other means, other words,
to express my inner thuh - thoughts.

Roger W Hancock Ó 4-4-03



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Hero Least
by Roger W Hancock

 The Hero comes when least expect.
From the one, whose most unsuspect.
Without thought of danger faced,
With veins of iron adrenalin laced.
As unsuspect from nowhere comes, 
this one to help his fellow man.
The Hero works with no acclaim,
For work to save from future pain.
Just a job one must perform,
Meticulously plot to advance our norm.
As unsung from nowhere comes,
This one to help his fellow man.

 Roger W Hancock Ó 3-14-03


       by Roger W Hancock

Exploration is worth the risk,
in human life endeavors.
Stretch beyond limitations,
Past perceived perceptions.
Grandeur accomplishments,
potential reach beyond;
when one willing, selflessly,
exploring own frontier.
Status quo lies where,
the easy path leads;
within comfort-zone,
avoiding 'pain without gain'.
Limits be as one perceives,
view past your firewall.

Roger W Hancock Ó 2-9-2003


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         by Roger W Hancock

Oh… yuk not that

Horrible dreaded taste

Gag before a swallow success

Rather do without,

than that with dinner.

No reprieve,

if it takes all night.


for what?

It’s good for me?

I cannot believe.

It sits now cold.


clumped on plate.



"No way, Hosea",

 It did no good,

for Olive Oil.

 Roger W Hancock Ó 10-7-2002 



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X’d out, delete, cancel,

once was is gone,

no more to be.

Think twice before you nix

Before you place the ‘X’


 Roger W Hancock  ©  10-02-2002 



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The following poem resulted from an exercise on the website of the Live Poets Society.  The phrases, "with a voice as sweet as candy" was to have been written around to create a poem.  Click for more on the exercise.


Voice Melodic

by Roger W Hancock


Sweet song of angels;

from among the choir,

crisp, clear, soothing tones.

A single solitary vocal,

 with a voice as sweet as candy.

Lyrics pale;

so lovely the voice.


Roger W Hancock  9-29-2002 




Back to Index                   from an exercise




Up-Town Nose

                             by Roger W Hancock

Figuratively, nose in air,

esteem too high for earthly good.

More fortunate than others

so down on others look.

they do not see where they could have been.

Downtrodden, beaten, broke,

failing to see it could have been he.

Few can really claim,

their position be their own.

Father rich and so they are,

down on others look.

They do not see,

when past their nose down look,

others spot their shallowness,

looking down on them.


Roger W Hancock  ©  9-29-2002 




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               by Roger W Hancock


Am I in control?

Thoughts as such

Surely cannot be sane.

Am I depressed?

I do not think so.

But I would have thought

that such thoughts,

only be from a depressed

or deranged mind.

Calmly considered,

clear of mind thought out;

then surprising shock, that,

from me came such thoughts.

Am I sane or am I not?

Or is another question?

I then will wander,

in my minds own,

twilight zone.


Roger W Hancock  ©  9-28-2002 





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                   by Roger W Hancock


Waking early morning,

still time for former sleep,

Nature trip then back to bed,

attempt a sleepless failing.

Caught between,

day… night dream.

Wide eyes cannot close,

Along my side my wife,

dog stretched at my feet.

Now my lids heavy get,

The dog awakes,

needs her, nature trip,

 so much for that attempt to doze.

If I ignore she’ll make her plea,

if wakes the wife no peace to sleep.

Up I go to open door,

Standing, waiting, wobbling, heavy lids,

as I attempt to stay awake.

The bitch now beckons, I open door,

she waits for me to return to bed.

Again attempts to sleep,

eyes wide open,

I cannot quiet my racing mind.

“Sleep, sleep, sleep,” I tell myself,

“You need the sleep, so go to sleep.”

Routine of many morn,

destined wake as I try to sleep.

Mind zipping through last day’s trials,

as I quietly say “be still, relax, sleep”.

A sleepless nightmare,

a thousand thoughts,

 as I attempt to barricade.

Yawning, knowing, it shall not be,

to sleep no more as morning glows.


Roger W Hancock   ©   9-22-2002 





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- G R E E N E R -

                          by Roger W Hancock


Most jobs that seem glorious,
seem to also,                     
                     to be easy.
is not as easy
                                           as it seems.
However the
'grass is greener                    
                   on the other side,' 

as the hope of
'greener pastures'
blinds us to reality;
 difficulties of any job                                             
                                   other than our own.  

                  I know phone work well,
even a little electronics                      

 but writing                                    
becoming a passion
                                       is frightening.  
Writing skills lacking,                              
                  schooling not applied.  

to overcome                                   
                        to even write this piece.  
Hind sight                                                          
now becoming aged
Had I known then
what now I know, 
I would not be here today,                       
                    so say us all.  
So what seems easy
 may well be,
but only                          
to the one
                                 who worked, 
and earned the trade.


Roger W Hancock   ©  9-20-2002 





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by Roger W Hancock


Born naked,

no clothes to cover,

only air to shiver.

Born hungry,

the pain within,

new life begins

Born broke,

valuing little

now no worry.

No cares, no wares.

for others bare.

not for me to worry.

Of ourselves learn,

selfishness inside,

in life to overcome.

Later on,

the cares of life,

now of me to care.

My clothes wear thin,

for the children win,

responsibility mine.

I bare the pangs,

that others eat,

duty of this life.

Mortgaged house,

a car loan,

much now to owe.

Freedom of cares,

to other’s care,

dichotomy of life.

Cares to subdue,

life to overtake,

discipline to learn.

Beginnings carefree,

when first a babe,

not of life to live.


©  3-1-2002  Roger W Hancock 





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Reality Check  
by Roger W Hancock


I know you. you me,

We think we know the other.

But whom do we know?

Do we really know?

We think we know the other,

the other may think know we.

Know we they, they we.

we may be fooling ourselves.

We take what we like,

and ignore the rest.

Until some disagreement,

when we don’t get our way.

Then the nitty icky picky,

to pick them apart.

Now we claim strangers,

they are not who we knew.

They deceived they lied,

they are not the same.

Then they in turn,

throw we into our face.

That dose of ourselves,

puts perspective in place.

So to again hide our faults,

forgive we they.

To like what we like,

and to ignore the rest

Roger W Hancock   ©  2-19-2002 





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by Roger W Hancock


Time evasive,

when I blink,

time has just elapsed.


Time escalates,

ever quicker,

plans to expedite.


Time this instant,

fleeting by,

catch that moment next.


Time accelerates,

now is past,

quicker, faster, by.


Time elusive,

I grow older.

I no longer wait.


Time now is done.

twelve strokes chime.

No more time for me.


Roger W Hancock   ©  2-17-2002 





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   Not  Free
by Roger W Hancock


Nothing is ever free,

though to you it be.

Somewhere, somehow,

someone paid.


©  6-15-2001  Roger W Hancock 





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Valiant Peace  
by Roger W Hancock


Nothing worth is lost in peace,

if only peace could be achieved.

History shows man's tendencies,

but mankind does not learn.

Those that learn still must fight,

to keep the peace they have.

So onward go the wars we fight,

and dream of peace someday.

A dream of peace is just a dream,

though a valiant dream indeed.

So when World Peace to come,

you and I would long be gone.

Roger W Hancock   ©  2-10-2002 





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Internal Control  
by Roger W Hancock


I must give a speech,

With only just a few to hear.

I tell myself be calm, relax,

It does no good too much to care


Feelings, insecurity,

nervousness controls.

I tell myself be calm, relax,

within my mind I really do not care.


Heart races, palms perspire,

my stammering increase.

I tell myself be calm, relax,

my body doesn’t seem to care.


Vision blurs, my mind goes numb,

as I seek to grab control.

I tell myself be calm, relax,

subconscious of its own to care.


Consciousness, body, deeper mind

control I do not have.

I tell myself be calm, relax,

of me, my body doesn’t care.


I may tell myself to loosen up,

refusing, my body will not comply.

I tell myself be calm, relax,

I surrender . . . joint existence share.


Roger W Hancock   ©  1-31-2002 





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My town, Auburn  

Has moved to the Auburn Poetry page at:

 Auburn Poetry



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by Roger W Hancock


Time lost is a great loss,

I grieve that loss of time.

   Roger W Hancock   ©  - 1-30-2002 



(Revised 10-8-2002)                        Time  
                                                                                  by Roger W Hancock


Time lost is a great loss,

grieve that loss of time.  

Roger W Hancock   ©  10-8-2002 





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 Children’s Toys  
                               by Roger W Hancock


Little girl at play, at home,

with the toys of a modern age.

Little toy doll it cries it weeps,

with towel in hand the tears she sweeps.


Little boy at play, in yard,

toys built in this synthetic age.

Tonka trucks now made of plastic,

with car in hand, drives into brick.

    Roger W Hancock   ©  1-14-2002 





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Techno Blues  
by Roger W Hancock


I must turn my pager off,

this day I'm not on duty.

I get depressed when I look,

the jobs get done without me.


Roger W Hancock  ©  3-3-2001





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Flying High  
by Roger W Hancock


Flying high in plane so old,

science principles to behold

Principles of fact are just that, facts,

enjoyment expands beyond all that.


When up high above the sea,

above the clouds, billowing waves to see.

Up above with the birds in air,

the sky’s so open with wind to share.


Turbulence may toss to and fro,

risks one takes for the grandest show.

The rush one gets from the wind and risk,

seduces to once again… avail the lift.


Roger W Hancock  ©  11-23-2001 





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      All Are Bad Drivers  
by Roger W Hancock


A driver is as his attention be,

You are only as good as training received.

Habits prevail without skills to perceive,

A bad driver to be, unless learned to see:


Bad habits come so naturally,

The good ones come from intentional thought.

Good training a tool to keep us all safe,

Rules are all good, bad aptness they show.


Two things at once a mistake surely makes,

Maybe it’s the bad habits that come to the front.

Attention is needed to perform task at hand,

Look what your doing my life’s in your hands.


Good training, you say, way back in your youth,

But no refreshing to keep rooted habits at bay.

Without conscious thought old practice prevails,

Keep your mind on the road remember the rules.


‘Rules of the Road’ a beginning to learn,

Good skills extend far beyond rules set.

Follow not close be aware of surroundings,

Concentration is the key to continued safe driving.


Roger W Hancock  ©  6-9-2001 





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Step into the Light  
by Roger W Hancock


Feathered Clouds on blue they ride,

taking shapes, your mind decides.

Brightness from the sun does shine,

frosting outlines of wind shaped blots.


Bright light of the closest star,

enhancing vision of nature’s view.

Gorgeous is when the sun does shine

flowers beauty even more enhanced.


The taller plants majestic in size,

blocking the view of the clouds and sky.

Trees outstretched between shadows shine,

contrast between light and the dark that hides.


Reflections of the greater light,

even unto man’s lifeless brick.

The mass blocks and windows’ shine,

into the blue, the towers, built by man.


When upon your life the shadow darkens,

life becomes tough and the lessons hard;

Dwell not upon the dark that blinds,

step out into the light that shines.


Life in light to all that lives,

nutrition to all life on earth.

Shadows fade when light does shine,

a lighted view does show life’s path.


Roger W Hancock  ©  6-8-2001 




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     Never  Learn  
                                    by Roger W Hancock


The computer is, the computer does;

the things I cannot do.

The computer is, crash it does;

file save must learn to do.


Roger W Hancock  ©  3-3-2001 



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        by Roger W Hancock

 Child raised today,

Freedom to learn, to play.

Allowed to make mistakes,

Few restricted ways.

Within freedom a child grows

Many mistakes will make.

General thought, failed wisdom,

Discipline’s tossed aside.

The bonsai is trained

In the master’s way;

lesson there for us.

Train a child in the way

Confine restrict his say.

Rules guide to future path,

when sure course defined.

Freedom too early, soon,

builds irresponsibility.

For all the mistakes

we’ve allowed to make;

discipline not learned.

Grown mistakes greater

then those within restraint.

Roger W Hancock  ©  10-1-2001



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My Town

Has moved to the Auburn Poetry page at:

 Auburn Poetry



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