Best Coined Poems
Football coach Bobby Bowden was never one to cuss
But refs make mistakes and coaches have a right to fuss
“St. Bowden” as he was lovingly called by players
Instilled moral values and hushed all the naysayers
He’d not take God’s name in vain, so he coined dadgumit
It became his trademark, might appear in his obit
If a ref made a bad call, he’d race onto the field
Never said God d*** it, when the ref’s call he appealed
"Dadgumitrefereeism" got his point across
The refs would shy away because Bobby was the boss
Sometimes calls were overturned since Bobby was revered
Short and stout in stature, but the refs still shook in fear
The “Saint” played with God on his side and the refs knew it
Dadgumitrefereeism didn't bother God a bit
Here lies a grave,
a conglomerate headstone
without a name.
Weeds and cobwebs
wrapped tight around the heartless edge.
Caretaker whips around in a rusty John Deere,
Waking the dead and stirring mud.
Pretending he's a NASCAR stud.
He takes his lunch beneath a tree,
eating Twinkies with green fingertips...
For his love he'll steal a wreath,
and place it gently on her grave.
That bears a scar called, 'long forgotten"
A grave he's coined "no name".
Frequency Holders
This phrase was first coined by Eckhart Tolle
Holding space with you in a seemingly fashion
I allow you to manifest your own reality
I dip inside your energy and find you, " talking"
like a babbling child, dying to be heard...
You bounce off me like you were a rubber ball
all I get is elastic energy ...
Accommodate, house and receive me as yours
for inside me there are many holding rooms
Go through me, air yourself through the window
of my soul, allow our souls to touch
hold space with me .... no words*
True love lost direction
when bloomed my affection
for you, who magically weave word
decidedly smitten
by your comic verse written
my long-dead emotions were stirred
Chats online
yours and mine
the order of the day
word-sparring and witticism
rhyming and rhythm
intoxicating; who needs rosé?
By poetry joined
rich phrases we coined
muuuchly our lives intertwined
o'er miles merged our aura
with a burning urge for a
naked horizontal align
When in waltzed a skirt
you hit pay dirt
a writer within her own right
my utopia thwarted
firm resolve faltered
my love remains steadfast despite
Who coined this term?
Who decided to limit one’s spirit?
Who decided to deprecate those qualities that remain hidden?
Out of my league…
What is the measure?
Who created the scale?
Is it beauty????
There is an inner splendor that defies the term
Is it grace????
There is the graceful movement of the soul that
moves beyond the boundaries of description
Is it shapeliness???
The shapes and forms of the mind, the curves and lines
Are unclothed in words and unseen by eyes
Is it sexual dynamism???
The body may be painted by an artist, but it has no power to satisfy
desire unless it succumbs to the promptings of a sensual mind
Is it wisdom???
There is the wisdom verified by degrees and the wisdom of the world
which is broader and at times deeper than the few letters at the end of a name
Is it wealth???
The wealth of the world does not even begin to tip the scale
In comparison to the wealth of human character…integrity, loyalty, mercy, and love
What is it???
What is that illusive quality
That demands the stamp of
“Out of my league?”
I defy it
I renounce it
No one can label me…
Yet...I am in a league of my own
Beautiful
Sensual
Shaplely
Wise
Wealthy
Dynamic
A dynamism that a label cannot hold
A wealth that cannot be weighed
A wisdom that guides inner spheres of life
A shapeliness that flaunts the norm
A sensuality that inflames thought and movement
A beauty that shines in its own right
Yes! I am in a league of my own
If you are turned away
By outer appearances
By lack of wealth
And the trappings of prestige
You are missing the treasure
The sheer enigma
Of a mind that is deep, unbound, free
In this league that I live and breath in
This league of....ME!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Mr. Franklin "coined" that old saw, "A penny saved is a penny earned!"
I mused upon that fabled adage and for the olden days I yearned.
Then, a penny was worth a cent, but, alas, it ain't no more.
Ah! The myriad of things a penny could buy at the local store!
For a penny you could send a postal card through the mail.
And for a mere copper you'd get your weight read on a scale!
A penny would give you a handful of nuts from peanut machines,
And for the same, get a fistful of scrumptious and colorful jellybeans!
I recollect the cutesy cards we shared for the school Valentine party.
They cost a cent apiece and were so witty and so very arty!
As the cards were distributed, secret admirers gave a sly grin.
Blushin' lads received saccharine cards much to their chagrin!
A copper penny would purchase a huge all-day sucker to lick,
Or a twisted string of chewy red or black licorice on a stick!
You could buy a kite with your penny or some candy cigarettes,
Or some wax-bottled sugar water or silly false teeth sets!
Ain't it ironic that the profile of Honest Abe whom we so revere,
Appears on the coin that we toss about and treat so cavalier!
Even in my second childhood, I'll still pick a penny off the ground!
Shucks! "Someone's disdain for that lowly coin is my treasure found!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
First Place Win in Joe Flach's "In Other Words" Contest - September 2010
Other violence this world
There human flames ceased
Sick swan six
With circles some melancholy
Doctor failure some
Different universe copy soul
Wrapped little body respect
About shoulders stopped arms
Flash doubles wife
Early patient
Stopped her crown
Simple modern
Loop provided effect
While hate challenge simple.
[This was my first attempt at the "cut-up technique", a surrealist technique coined by many early surrealists, including William S. Burroughs, an obvious influence on my work.]
Hillsides shimmer in summer's golden fire
as marmalade sun dawns on poppied slopes.
I run with Monarch butterflies higher
barefoot in honey with tangerine hopes.
I hear the butter chirp of a warbler's song
and smile at God's creative citrine zest.
While I inhale the gold-coined sun, I long
for the Monarch's dappled orange vest--
If only I could shed my morose shades
and pluck the redly poppies off his grave;
I could be one with this saffron parade,
embrace euphoria, live the colors I crave.
Hillsides of valor: once I held his quest.
Now I turn to ruby poppies and I scorn,
but at myself or all in us that's best.
I cannot change the past nor can I mourn
a past I cannot change. But on this hill
I feel the poppies in their sherbert folds;
they lilt like orange butterflies and fill
life with sunrise, the beauty Monarchs hold.
7/5/17
Hallelujah, born again
chapels scheming, mankind reeling
in holy water's baptism of wizardly elixir
postulating an all consuming reverence,
rejuvenated myths of deiform fears
as reinvented nature flows in
lickety split's Latin discombobulation
Aggrandizement randomly written
in santuary's intensly scripted blather
increasing histrionics' translations,
'pon bled origins' of original sin
Amen's passed the poison apple mid shrines'
overflowing baskets of coined redemption
Tilt, you go to that fantasy in the sky
Hallelujah, born again
wherefrom archangels' herald lightworks,
otherwise Beelzebub will gladly impose
his heated grasp in welcoming you warmly
to a dark side of the fried fray,
difference in ashes' revival supposedly
are prayer & the almighty dollar,
naught to do with compassion & good will towards men,
ailing old frail women nor starving children,
falling prey to greener hard currency's salivating salvation
priestly entitled behaviors' disconcertingly repugnance,
who knew...gospel's chapter & functional verse
could be so dastardly rendered in man's
higher power of accommodated perversions
Grateful am I for the gold coined sun that warms my heart
and thankful too for all the stars that shine so bright;
I am indebted to my maker for these blessed hands that can,
write poems of great valor, with a mind that works just fine.
I am beholden for the eyes that see and the voice that speaks
appreciative, for the breath that lives in me .
I am glad I have bread to eat and water to drink
but most and foremost I am thankful for the precious
souls, that make up my family.
Some of my fears are warranted
some might be coming true
but I've coined a lovely catch-all phrase
to keep me from feeling blue...
“Probably not today” I say
as my health is in decline
I'll probably not fall dead today
just gripe, and groan, and whine.
“Probably not today” I claim
as I look inside my cupboard
I shouldn't starve to death today
no, the thought is quite absurd!
“Probably not today” I state
as I think he loves me less
but he's not fallen out of love in a day-
no, it's needless, senseless stress...
“Probably not today” I judge
that my creditors won't be inclined
to seize, and freeze, and take away
all the things I consider mine.
“Probably not today, my dear”
I comfort myself by saying
the roof will hold another day
'though the shingles are decaying.
“Probably not today” I think
no, it's not as I had predicted-
although the rent's a few days behind
I probably won't be evicted.
“Probably not today” I chant
as the storms about me howl
I probably won't be blown away
'though the weather is quite foul.
“Probably not today” I add
as the list is growing so
that I hardly can keep track of all
my probable someday-woes.
“Probably not today” I fear
probably not, I guess...
I'll probably not stop thinking these things
'though it causes a terrible mess!
Enthralled I am with such delight,
your hand embraced in mine
a kiss we share by fire light
how devilish and divine.
Embarking on a future set,
the stones all well and laid
a heart with our names finely etched
of every plan we ever made.
Could not this night bring a tear,
as I watched you fall asleep
knowing love is growing here
rich and ever deep.
Today I coined a wishing well,
though our wishes have come true
a heart of stories yet to tell
with memories of us two.
As we age and toil away,
there's no place i'd rather be
wrapped up and here to stay
with your arms embracing me.
Nov 5,2018
The old saw "Go West, Young Man" is attributed to Horace Greeley,
But it was coined by a writer from a Terre Haute paper, really!
Horace was agin' westward expansion and was filled with doubt,
So in 1839 he decided to travel west to see what it was all about!
He traveled by Concord stage which was then in its Golden Age,
Crossin' desert, plain and Rockies, bravin' robbers and Osage.
On the trek esthetic Horace rubbed shoulders with pious preachers,
Gamblers, sozzled drunks, "soiled doves" and decorous teachers!
He arrived in Carson City, Nevady needin' a speedy coach to reach
Placerville, Californy where he was scheduled to give a speech.
Now drivin' the swayin' stage to Californy who would a-thunk,
That hapless Horace would be ridin' with celebrated Henry Monk!
"Hang on, Mister Greeley. I'll git you thar with time to spare!"
With that he cracked his whip - the horses took off in a tear!
Passengers were bounced about as Hank avoided stumps and boulders,
Hurtlin' thro' mountain passes rife with precipitous shoulders!
Horace protested loudly to Hank to express his trepidation,
Sayin' he warn't in that much of a hurry to reach his destination!
Upon arrival, somewhat shaken, from the stage he reeled down.
An inauspicious appearance for a gentleman of such renown!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
It was a heartfelt indulge of an act
The night like knights we lighted
Like a king yah served my want
Like a deal we moved on and on
To the peak, the click of a nick
The first time, like a key and lock
Felt like a gentle, acted like a man
So young,naive, live and one
What led me there blasts my mind
What clogged into me is a virus not got
Had no intention nor retention for it
Thought not that what could follow
Not a life, a son to come through
Left with a smiley Illy face down the line
Like a plane never turned to take time
Left like a soldier out of a war field
Left all aback, your calls for blocks
Thought not again of the beauty of you
For to me it was like a ball to score and go
My conscious coined erect when you first called
Your message, I father another, a son
Like a a shock it stroke my nerves awake
The senseless triggered act of infatuation
The heartless deed and leave like a wind
Felt so silly and illy, but had nothing to counter
Figured and structured a reply but went dumb
Tried and cried but solved nothing
Sorry to say so young for parenting
Not ready to further father a kid.
Its creation’s simplicity still stands as a difficult puzzle
head is twisted backwards while in a forward motion
still looking behind at the chronicles of some centuries ago
long before the infiltration of Christian missionaries and Arab traders
is the exact factor making its existence seemingly complex.
Foreign politics and faiths both adopted,
have tied it with the ropes of inferiority
systematically indoctrinated to condemn
its history, personality and civilization,
while grabbing other languages and cultures so dearly
to the point of blindly pushed into Anarchy.
The modern world is on a high speed,
excuses of the west’s exploitations to build their civilizations
are noisy complaints and already cliched.
Small islands with no natural resources as Singapore;
the awe of the miracle of the Han River portrayed by south Korea
and the magical performance of India in information technology
are evidences of old colonies
beating their colonizers in some phases of development.
From Abuja to Addis Ababa, Khartounm to Kigali,
no Caucasian is seen, staying in charge of its state houses
but to give reasons to its mediocrity and indifference,
conspiracy theories and neo-imperialism twaddle are coined.
All these, just complications of a chronic low self esteem
but unfortunately manifesting at a time it should be confident
in the chaotic universe
of western imperialism, Christian materialism and Arab expansionism.