Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership





Best Robert L. Hinshaw Poems

Below are the all-time best Robert L. Hinshaw poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Robert L. Hinshaw Poems

123
Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

Soul Of An Angel, Life Of A Moonshiner

He served as a deacon in his church and was as pious as they come.
(But on the side, he sold whiskey from a thirty-gallon drum!)
He taught the junior high Sunday school class and was a Bible scholar.
(But on the side, he 'stilled moonshine way back up in the holler!)

He was faithful in tithing ten percent of his ill-gotten gain.
(For his John Barleycorn he used only the best obtainable grain!)
He occupied the same pew every Sunday listening with attentive ear.
(It was rumored about that he also brewed some very potent beer!)

He proffered an "amen" at appropriate times and wore a suit and tie.
(He was renowned throughout the county for his very delectable rye!)
His tenor voice blended well when singing, "I Love Thy Kingdom, Lord."
(On back roads he did a bit of bootlegging in his hopped-up V-8 Ford!)

He was the first to offer succor to widows, orphans and others left bereft.
(He'd run his still for years - at evading "revenooers" he was very deft!)
When folks were needed to serve on committees he was first to volunteer.
(When asked his occupation he replied, "I'm a 'Spirit'ual Engineer!")

At Yuletide he was generous with the preacher giving him a beef, cash and pork.
(At the annual church picnic he surreptitiously passed a bottle to uncork!)
There couldn't be found a finer saint in all of Boondock County, Kentucky.
(He'll continue to "minister" to parched throats thereabouts - if he's lucky!)

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

Won First Place in the April 2011 Soup International Contest - September 2011
First Place in Paula Swanson's "Fill In The Blanks" Contest - June 2010


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

Warriors' Hymn

Lord, place Thy Hand on the yoke of those who fly,
And guide them through the vast reaches of the sky.
Bring them safely through their perilous flight,
And may they ever look to Thee as their Guiding Light.

Lord, protect the sailors who sail the treacherous seas.
Calm the roiling waters that they may cruise with ease.
May they always look to Thee as their Pilot for support,
And with Thy guiding hand, bring them safely home to port.

Lord, protect the soldier with Thy mighty sword midst the battle.
Give him strength to press on despite the muskets' rattle.
Hear his fervent supplication for Thy protection from all harm,
And provide him with courage as he leans on Thy eternal arm.

Lord, shield the brave marine as he storms the dangerous strand.
Strengthen him with fortitude and provide Thy protective hand.
Surround him with Thy angels as he strives to overcome the foe.
Bring him safely through the conflict and upon him honor bestow.

Lord, bless and provide comfort to his family, for they also serve.
Until that day they are one again, give them hope and steady nerve.
Hear their prayers O' Lord, for the safe return of heroes dear,
And from their trust, hope and faith in Thee, may they never veer.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

Bury Me In My Jeans

"I've rode the range now fer nigh on sixty years,
Brandin' dogies and ropin' them wily Hereford steers.
When I come to the end of the trail, I don't want no big scenes.
Boys, jes' wrap me in my hoss's blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

"I don't want you fellers carryin' on and bellerin' when I'm gone.
Jes' say a few kind words, git back in the saddle and carry on!
Think of me now and then when you're chewin' yer bacon and beans.
'Jes promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

"Promise me you'll take good care of my faithful hoss, Old Dan,
And let him tag along on roundups on the range when you can.
I love cowboyin', but boys you know I ain't a man of means.
Jes' wrap this poor old soul in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

"Buck, you kin have my scruffy boots and old sweat-stained hat.
Rusty, you take my saddle - Red, you kin have my 44-caliber gat.
Them's my worldly goods 'cept fer these jeans that's worn to smithereens,
But promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in them jeans!"

"I'd like to be planted on that knoll yonder 'neath that ponderosa pine.
If you kin scare up a preacher to send me on my way, that'll do jes' fine.
I've been a cowpoke since I was fourteen - I reckon it's in my genes.
Boys, promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved



Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

The Last Rose Of Summer

The last rose of summer is rapidly fading on the vine.

     'Twas once as brilliant as a splendid claret Bordeaux wine.

          Alas, autumn frosts hath wrought their deadly sting.

               Thankfully, another will bring me pleasure come next spring!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

Cowboy Saturday Night Hoedown

The cows is lowin' in the old corral and all the evenin' chores is done.
Hank scraped the manure off'n his boots 'cause he's a fastidious son-of-a-gun.
He drew his pay, jumped in his pickup and headed fer Clyde's Saloon,
To quaff some brew, grab a gal er two and dance to the fiddler's tune!

There was a hoedown at Clyde's where cowpokes met ever' Saturday night.
There they danced, boozed and let off steam that usually ended in a fight!
There was a band with drums, banjo, fiddle, bass and a steel git-tar,
And the pianer player Mike McGurk (when they could pry him from the bar!)

A gal named Mousy Bush sang with a voice that quivered like Robin Hood's bow.
That's where Hank hung out Saturday nights to blow his hard-earned dough!
Hank was dancin' the Texas Two Step and havin' the time of his life,
When an incident occurred that occasioned another night of strife.

Some dude splattered a Coors on Hank's new Calvin Klein shirt and jeans.
Now, stuff happens and normally this wouldn't amount to a hill of beans,
But this got Hank's dander up and since he never held his hootch all that well,
He punched the guy, bloodied his schnoz and began a-raisin' hell.

A grand brawl ensued with ever'one tossin' punches, chairs and tables.
There was a heap of cussin' with patrons lablin' others with tawdry lables!
Hank arose Sunday mornin' with a poundin' headache and two black eyes,
But he'll be back at Clyde's Saturday next to enjoy a hoedown with the guys!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved

(Not for the contest)


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

Another Glorious Autumn Is On The Way

When I look up at the pristine Colorado sky,
And see flocks of Canadian geese on the fly,
And watch squirrels hide their winter's fare in a secret cache,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the harvest moon graces the sky with its lustrous glow,
And at dawn I see Pikes Peak gleamin' with a dustin' of snow,
And view the golden leaves of aspen trees upon the distant brae,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the old ash tree on my lawn assumes its robe of amber,
Anon, strewin' the lawn with fallin' leaves t'wards late September,
And see golden punkins with a tad of frost at dawnin' of the day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the nights are cool and I need an extra blanket on the bed,
And note that the robins and all their friends to the south have fled,
And when I see anxious farmers harvestin' taters, corn and hay,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When apples are ripe for pickin' (after the worms have had their share),
And I've stored the lawn mower and at last can enjoy my rockin' chair,
And I sense that Old Sol is risin' later and settin' earlier every day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

A Well-appointed Cowpoke

A well-appointed cowpoke, of whom there are still a few,
Wanted to be properly clad for his first job interview.
So, to impress his potential and somewhat cynical boss,
He has a silver-studded saddle throwed across his hoss!

He's wearin' a ten-gallon hat, a Stetson if you please,
And a bandana 'round his neck to catch the dusty breeze.
The dude has a roll-yer-own a-danglin' from his lips,
And a shiny pair of forty-fours a-hangin' from his hips!

He's wearin' a hand-tooled leather belt of the finest grade,
And a "cowboy" shirt and a vest cut from top-grade suede!
A woolly pair of chaps covers his bow-legged knees,
And protects his Calvin Kleins that fit so tight they squeeze!

His gleamin' pair of Tony Lama boots with pointy toes,
Completes what he considers proper cowboyin' clothes.
The silver spurs on his boots glint in the noonday sun;
Ah, he's the ideal picture of a range-ridin' son-of-a-gun!

The boss, arms folded, feet spread, sportin' a knowin' grin,
Didn't seem to be impressed, much to the greenhorn's chagrin.
Sizin' him up from head to toe, he said, "You look fit and able",
Handed him a fork and shovel and sent him to the stable!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

I've Seen Angels

Angels are heavenly beings who minister to our needs we are told.
'Tis said they are celestial spirits with wings who play harps of gold.
But I see Angels ministering to others every day here on earth,
And of their tender compassion, love and care there is no dearth!

I saw an Angel yesterday who cleared a widow's drive of snow.
I saw an Angel helping an old gentleman with his back bent low.
I saw an Angel filling a bird feeder on a blustery, winter's day.
I saw an Angel in the park watching over little children at their play.

I saw an Angel who took a shut-in for a drive to view the hues of fall.
I saw an Angel who took a handicapped boy to a professional game of ball.
I saw an Angel preparing a Sunday school lesson for her Bible group.
I saw an Angel at her stove that for a sick neighbor was making soup.

I saw an Angel who simply held the hands of one who had suffered loss.
I saw an Angel playing with his dog with a simple stick he would toss.
I saw an Angel reading a book to an older man who was losing his sight.
I saw an Angel who visited a lonely inmate in prison the other night.

I saw an Angel who was being deployed to uphold the freedoms we hold dear.
I saw an Angel left behind to tend their family alone for an anxious year.
I've seen Angels ministering amongst us every day upon this earth,
And of their tender compassion, love and care there is no dearth!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

(This poem was re-posted by special request)


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

My New Years Resolution

My New Years resolution is not to make any more New Years resolutions!
I've made 'em in the past but they died on the craggy shoals of the Aleutians!
I'd swear to ease up on the vittles but I caught those scales lyin' to me.
I tried to curb my cussin' by usin' terms like gosh, darn and golly gee!

I resolved to be more courteous to other drivers and not flex my middle digit,
And be more patient with my kids when they wanted to squirm and fidget!
I vowed to take my dentist's advice and floss my choppers each and every day.
I flossed religiously but lost my religion leavin' my teeth prone to decay!

I promised myself that I'd exercise regularly in order to keep fit and trim,
But preferred lollin' in my LazyBoy with a beer sans goin' to the gym!
'Tis obvious when it comes to keepin' resolutions I ain't got much fortitude,
So I reckon I'll take my chances and not lock-in on any inane platitude!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved


Details | Robert L. Hinshaw Poem

Kresge's Five And Dime Stores

I was reminiscin' the other day about times that were more sublime,
And got to thinkin' about those old stores called Kresge's Five and Dime.
I recall browsin' through Kresge's Stores as a lad with Mom and Dad.
There ain't no more Kresge's Stores as far as I know and that is very sad.

There was a Kresge's in every sleepy town along Main Street.
Sittin' on a stool at the lunch counter was always a special treat.
Munchin' on a hotdog and tater chips and then a slab of cherry pie,
Or maybe a sundae concocted by the soda jerk would lighten up my eye!

Notions galore were displayed on tables, bins, racks and shelves.
Friendly clerks stood by to help but folks generally helped themselves.
The cashier put yer money in a tube that sailed off into space,
And in a trice returned yer change from some mysterious place!

I recall the squeaky wooden floors and visitin' the store at Christmas time,
When Santa Claus doled out bags of candy to kids at each Five and Dime.
Alas, those neighborhood stores have been replaced by huge national chains,
And only pleasant memories of Kresge's Five and Dime Stores remains.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved


123